Arabella

The folded slip of paper burned in my palm, my fingers curling tightly around it as I forced myself to keep moving.

The waiter who had slipped it to me walked ahead, pausing only briefly to glance back before disappearing into the crowd.

My heart thundered in my chest, but I couldn’t stop, couldn’t react. Not here. Not now.

Marco groaned against my side, his full weight pressing into me as I struggled to support him up the stairs. He was drunk; more than drunk.

His breath was hot against my neck as he leaned closer to whisper, “Arabella, my love.” He chuckled, his words slurred, the amused look...