The Siren's Sting by Miranda Darling

Author:Miranda Darling
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC050000, FIC022040
ISBN: 9781742694238
Publisher: Allen & Unwin Pty Ltd
Published: 2011-08-23T04:00:00+00:00

The diva was weeping hysterically in her cabin.

‘Angelina . . .’ Stevie stood by the door for a moment, waiting for the sobs to lessen. When finally she raised her head from the pillow, the woman’s face was swollen and contorted with pain.

‘Angelina, why do you stay with him?’

Angelina gulped. ‘Will you pour me a drink, Stevie, darling?’

Stevie handed her an inch of vodka from the room’s bar.

The diva swallowed it and it seemed to calm her. She shook her head. ‘When slur follows slur, and insults pile upon insults, the love that is left makes no sense, but it is also indestructible.’ She turned to look at Stevie. ‘It is a madness of sorts, and nobody chooses to be mad.’

Her false eyelashes had come unglued and fallen in front of her eyes like drunken spiders—she did indeed look a little demented. Stevie reached into Angelina’s purse, pulled out her compact and held the mirror up to her.

‘Tell me, Angelina,’ she said softly. ‘Is any man—any love— worth this?’

Angelina took the mirror, stared at her deformed face, and began weeping afresh. Stevie closed the cabin door quietly and left her to her tears.

She was halfway up the stairs when she heard voices in the main saloon. ‘Damn that bitch, I could—’ The end of the sentence was swallowed by a burst of collective laughter from the deck. Stevie recognised the voice of Skorpios. Then another voice spoke—Dado Falcone?

‘You tried, but you did not succeed.’

‘Who says I won’t try again?’

‘It’s an unnecessary risk. You don’t—’

Their conversation was interrupted by a woman’s scream, high, loud and as clear as crystal.

Angelina!

When Stevie reached the cabin door, she found the diva attempting to commit suicide with a letter opener. Fortunately, the letter opener was not as sharp as it looked and, as anyone who has tried knows, it is actually quite difficult to stab oneself with enough conviction to cause a serious injury. Angelina had managed a small—though no doubt painful—flesh wound that would not do any lasting damage. She refused to let Stevie touch her.

When Skorpios and Falcone appeared in the cabin door a moment later, they were treated to a dramatic tableau: the diva was sitting on the edge of her bed; her black dress had slipped off the shoulder exposing her milky left breast. Her head was thrown back, exposing her long and famous throat, and a trickle of bright blood crept towards her cleavage. In her fist she clutched the letter opener like Cleopatra’s asp. She gave a small moan.

Skorpios bellowed, ‘Leave us,’ and ran to his lover.

Stevie was only too glad to close the cabin door on the scene.

She smiled politely at Falcone as he stepped back to let her pass in the narrow passageway, wondering if she was the irritant the two men had been talking about. Was there murderous intent disguised as chivalry and bon ton in the man behind her? Her shoulder blades burnt in anticipation of the sharp sting of a knife.

None came and Stevie

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