The Mafia Kidnapped Me

(5) The gala - II

Finally, Marcel and Devlin shook hands. "I'm her boyfriend." Devlin said smiling, "And her date too, clearly."

Pamela forced her teeth out in a grin. Liar. Bastard. Illegal arms dealer and fugitive of the law.

"Oh, that's nice," Marcel responded dryly, almost with boredom, but was that jealousy in his eyes?

If Marcel still cared for her then maybe she should confide in him and tell him all about the chaos that was happening in her life. Should she? There might be something he could do to help. But what if Devlin got angry and took it out on her mom – a person who had zero interest in leaving his house and therefore might not want to escape with her? That shot the theory to hell.

"Marcel, dear?"

Pamela's head swung towards the female voice that had spoken Marcel's name in the most endearing of ways. It was a very beautiful dark-skinned woman dressed in a royal blue princess-cut outfit. Pamela had to admit that the woman was gorgeous. She had beautiful dark skin that shone like caramel, whereas her skin was pale and milky. Her previously high spirits plummeted.

"Hey," Marcel walked towards her and taking her hand, introduced her to Pamela and Devlin, "This is my friend and date, Fatimah. Fatimah, Pamela King, and Mr. Devlin."

"Hello." Pamela greeted, trying so hard not to be aloof. Wait, was she jealous of Fatimah? Of course, she wasn't. She wasn't. She really wasn't!

"Hello." She responded, smiling brightly. Fatimah turned to Devlin and greeted too. She noticed that Devlin smiled warmly at her. The phony bastard. He had never given her such a smile. Pamela couldn't help the jealousy that was seeping through her.

She pushed the thoughts to the back of her mind and smiled brightly. "Where are you from originally?" Oh goodness, she must seem as pathetic and phony as stiff-necked aristocrats. She hoped dearly that Fatimah wasn't offended.

"My mom is Arabian. My father is American." She said. "And I was born here too."

"Ohhh." Oh' d Pamela. "Beautiful name by the way."

"Thank you. My mom used to tell me that my dad – now of blessed memory – "

Pamela saw the sadness in her eyes and felt instantly connected to her. They had something in common – they had both lost the fathers they loved. Pamela could feel her pain. Truly, no one could understand what a person was going through better than the one going through the same thing.

"– took his stand, that I must be called something Arabic, but my mom disagreed, saying I must have an English name – Emerald precisely but at the end of the day, Dad won." She laughed.

"That's so cute!" Pamela said, actually referring to Fatimah's laughter. Why didn't she have such a beautiful smile? The two men seemed mesmerized by it. "I had the same problem with my parents. They wanted to give me separate names, but my grandma came to the rescue. She was like 'Pamela or nothing' My - my Father is dead by the way." Pamela said sadly.

Fatima gasped. "Sweetheart!" Then she held Pamela's hand and squeezed it. "I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," Pamela replied, at the brink of tears, but held back by a thin line to save them all the embarrassment.

Devlin cleared his throat. Pamela and Fatimah looked at the guys and saw they were looking embarrassed. The girls laughed apologetically.

"Well, I'm sorry to break this happy union, but we have to get going. We have other guests." Marcel said, smiling apologetically. "Please, excuse us."

"Of course," Pamela said with more gusto than she was feeling as the duo disappeared into the crowd, hand in hand. She released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.