Paloma Perez.
I glance back at Elijah as Rebekah and I walk away. He’s already locked into conversation with his friend—Seven, was it? I didn’t even know Elijah had close friends besides the ones I already knew. This Seven is tall, all tattoos and messy blond hair that looks like he barely tried for this occasion. And that handshake they did? It was immature…childish even, shoving at each other like overgrown boys but also, unexpectedly sweet.
Especially because it’s Elijah we’re talking about. The same Elijah who simply nods at people to greet. I have to poke and prod just to get him to wave at me in public.
“Seven Salvador.” Rebekah hands me a flute of champagne as we walk along the garden path. “He’s my mother’s sister’s first son. He just got made Mafia about eight months ago.”
