Beauty and the Assassin

A fifth of a second is all it takes.

* * *

Elizabeth

I run my gaze over the bar. It’s near UCLA, so it’s probably nice enough and clean enough, but not the kind of place I would’ve chosen.

Marcella, however, was adamant we go to this particular bar today. She also insisted we dress nice, but not too expensive.

“We want to blend in. Otherwise we may not be able to get any martinis.”

I don’t know how that’s relevant to being able to buy drinks. That’s what fake IDs are for. But since Vanessa didn’t object, I went along with the venue and the clothes. My cousin and I can humor Marcella for a night…even if I’m rapidly coming to regret that decision.

“So when are you leaving for Italy?” Marcella says as she opens the door to the bar. Her dark hair glints as the light from inside hits her.

“The day after tomorrow,” Vanessa answers for me as she follows Marcella in. Her freshly dyed hair looks startling against her black dress. Like arterial blood—or an apple, the magic kind that could make anybody hungry at first sight. Vanessa is an exact replica of her mother, who’s still one of the most beautiful women ever.

“The day after tomorrow!” Marcella whines.

I frown. What’s she upset about? I’m the one who should be annoyed. I have to spend my eighteenth birthday tomorrow in L.A. because my overbearing grandmother insisted. If I had it my way, I’d be on a plane to Tuscany already.

“Don’t tell me Ryder’s leaving too.”

My brother is too pretty even to my eyes, and has an army of girls stalking him and generally making nuisances of themselves. Their shameless fawning has only made him more insufferable, but what can I say? He hit the genetic jackpot.

And Marcella’s one of the worst. She has a major crush on Ryder. I can deal with that, as long as she doesn’t go the TMI route and tell me what she wants to do to him. He is my brother, after all.

“Then I won’t, and for your information, we’ve been here for three endless weeks.” I find myself hesitating at the door. Maybe I’m being silly, but I don’t want to go through the threshold and into the bar. “Come on. Let’s hit some other place.”

“Where?” Vanessa says, at the same time Marcella says, “No other place has

a bartender as hot as this one.”

“I thought you liked Ryder…”

“I do, but he keeps avoiding me. Come on.” Marcella tugs at my wrist. When I don’t budge, she pulls hard.

Ugh.

I almost lose my balance and stumble inside, my hair spilling forward to cover my vision. I push it back roughly. “Hey! You don’t have to get physical.”

“You weren’t moving,” Marcella says, as though that’s a valid defense.

I look at Vanessa, hoping my aspiring attorney cousin will tell Marcella that that won’t pass muster in court, but she merely gives me that “hey, she’s your friend” shrug.

Sighing, I glance around. “Let’s find a table.”

“Counter,” Marcella almost yells in her excitement.

Vanessa starts to say something. I lose the track of their conversation as the fine hair at my nape bristles—not unpleasantly—and my gaze lands on the sole bartender on the other side of the counter.

Everything fades away except him.

I’ve met handsome men, hot men, aristocratic men, charming men on both sides of the Atlantic. My family alone has four brothers and four cousins who make women stupid with their looks. Having grown up around such male beauty, I’ve always considered myself immune—able to appreciate it without turning into some kind of infatuated drooler.

But the bartender…

Everything about him is absurd.