She grimaced. “He wouldn’t do that. They can’t stand each other.”
“They’re fucking,” I told her.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Great, we were back to this again. “Stella, I have pictures to prove it.”
She gagged. “They’re second cousins.”
“And that surprises you? Rich people have been inbreeding since the dawn of time.”
She looked too nauseated to respond, which was good, because we had almost reached the valet stand. Conscious of my earlier promise, I pulled out my wallet and tipped each of them a hundred dollars when we reached it.
“The S-Class,” I said, reminding them which car we’d arrived in.
While a kid in his late teens went dashing off into the darkness, I wrapped my arm around Stella’s shoulders and drew her away. “I turned Feddy down because I knew he’d tell Julia.”
“Whocanactually keep a secret?”
I nodded. “And also hates being told no. By the time we see them again, they’ll be both be desperate for an invitation, and I’ll be in a better position to threaten them into silence.”
Stella made a contemplative noise that made me feel like she was finally catching on. “I don’t think you’ll have to go that far. Having exclusive access might be enough to keep them quiet.”
“Maybe, but I’m not taking any chances. There’s already more than enough risk involved.”
The car pulled around, and we thanked the valet. I opened Stella’s door before heading toward the driver’s side. One night down. Countless more to go.
“When’s the next party?” I asked when we were a few miles down the road.
“That depends,” Stella said. “The summer season is in full swing, so there’s a lot to choose from. Would you prefer a banquet, a ball, a soiree, or a reception?”
“Whatever works best for your schedule,” I said, distracted. There weren’t any streetlights this far out of the city and the road was windy as fuck.
“Soiree it is then. Clear your plans for Wednesday.”
18
Stella
More than two weeks hadpassed since Cordelia’s death day celebration, and I was rushing to get ready for my Saturday plans with Theo. He was swinging by at six, and I didn’t want to hear whatever bitchy remark he would make if I kept him waiting.
So far, we’d gone to three more events together: a soiree, an afternoon cocktail party, and a reception (where Feddy and Julia cornered him demanding an invitation). At each one, Theo acquired new targets, choosing his victims from the list of names I’d supplied. We’d fallen into a routine, he and I, smiling and pretending to flirt, but under our breath, it was nonstop bickering and insults, which, every so often, turned disturbingly sexual.
“Truce,” one of us would say right before things went too far, and it had become our own little version of waving the white flag of surrender. I’d been forced to say it three nights ago as he was dropping me off after the reception. He’d made some gross innuendo, I’d told him he made me drier than the Sahara, he’d fired back, “That explains all the goddamn sand in my car,” and then I’d done the worst thing yet: I’d laughed. Hard.
It wasn’t eventhat funny, but between working long hours, spending so much time around people I hated, and not sleeping because my ongoing flare was keeping me up until 3 a.m. every morning, I’d turned slap-happy. Theo had frowned, looking slightly concerned, and I’d blurted, “Truce!” and fled into the shop.
“Treat? Treat, treat?”Amos called from the living room, snapping me back to reality.
“You’ve already had three today,” I told him.
A thud, followed by the saddest little “Oh, no,”I’d ever heard.
I walked into the living room to see him perched on the back of a kitchen stool, staring down at his favorite chewed-up piece of balsa wood.
