He stared at the faint scar on my neck. “You really shouldn’t,Feather.”
My heart dropped right into my glittery shoes. I hated the guilt he carried for my attack. I hated there was nothing I could say or do to dispelit.
“We should go. I have a few people to see before the showbegins.”
Nodding, I stood and accepted his profferedhand.
In the foyer, Muriel was waiting for us. “Vous êtes sibeaux.”
He raised our clasped hands and twirled me. The unexpected movement made my heart bounce a little higher. “You meanLeighis sobeautiful.”
Muriel picked a piece of lint off his black satin lapel. “You too,monamour.”
He kissed the top of her head, then backed up, pulling me along. “Don’t wait up,Mimi.”
She grunted. “I’ll sleep when I’mdead.”
My heart drifted right back down.Dead. I’d never feared that word before, because death wasn’t the end. Except for Triples. I suddenly wanted to find out Muriel’s rank. I doubted it contained more than a single digit, but what if . . . what if her contact and enduring camaraderie with a mob family had tainted herscore?
* * *
The opera housewas another architectural gem in a city that already enclosed so many—a temple of gold leaf, oil paint, and ochre-veinedmarble.
Jarod kept me tucked into his side as I craned my neck to take in the splendor of the vaultedceilings.
My lips must’ve parted in awe because Jarod said, “How about I have this place closed down tomorrow so you can have a privatetour?”
I returned my gaze to his. “You don’t need to dothat.”
He kissed my still-parted mouth. “Consider it done. I’ll arrange for a few other sitestoo.”
“Will you come with me?” I askedhopefully.
“I can’t. But how about you take Celeste? I’m certain she’ll love it. Or if she doesn’t, it’ll give her fodder for new diatribes.” He added a crooked smile that made me shake my head. “I’ll send Amir with you thistime.”
My heart stuttered. Did Jarod think someone else would try to attack me? I was about to remind him I was immortal, that I’d rather Amir stick to him, when Tristan trotted over to us, arm in arm with a woman who must’ve been a runway model considering how tall, lithe, and exquisite she was. Everything about her was sculpted to perfection from her high cheekbones to her pert nose to the sloping shape of her eyes and the dainty collarbone on display in her strapless blackgown.
I burrowed closer to Jarod, feeling like a giant burr. I hadn’t felt so blimpish and lackluster since that last night I’d spent in New York, standing beside flawless, gorgeousEve.
“Jarod,” the woman said, a thick accent—Eastern European possibly—coating his name, “it has been toolong.”
“Good evening,Petra.”
She leaned over to kiss his cheeks. Even though her lips didn’t make contact with his skin, hovering in that polite way of the French, my fingers twined like vines around Jarod’sjacket.
“Nice dress, Leigh,” Tristan said with a smirk that brought out thorns in me. Who would’ve thought soft, supple Leigh could get soprickly?
“I almost regret letting her out of the house looking like this,” Jarodsaid.
Tristan’s smirk increased. “I can believeit.”
Jarod’s right-hand man probably thought me an eyesore amid all the majesty of the Palais Garnier. What bothered me most, though, was that, as I took in the room, I joined him in thinkingthis.
“Amir,” Jarod called out over hisshoulder.
His bodyguard broke rank with the other three trailingus.
“Please escort Leigh to theloge.”
