“I don’t enjoy interfacing with the police or shelling out thousands of dollars to my lawyers. I’m certainly not looking forward to all the bitching and moaning Adam is going to do during his recovery. And I hate hospitals with every fiber of my being. Need I go on?”
“But do you care that a man is dead because your boyfriend got mad and threw a goddamned hissy fit?”
“You know I never cared for Elliot.”
“Fucking A, Cassius.” She stands and twirls dramatically. “Who’s next? Is it me? Is it the pool boy? The gardener? Anyone who happens to look at him wrong or insult his gargantuan ego? There’s a reason why murderers go to prison.”
“No need for the dramatics, Lucia. Besides, I believe this is a one and done sort of deal.”
I fucking hope so.
She collapses into the chair beside me. I rub her back, though I wish she were rubbing mine. “I know you’re upset with me right now,” I say in my attempt to soothe her, “and I certainly understand why, but I hope you will consider the longevity of our friendship and remain by my side in my hour of need. Best friends are terribly hard to come by.”
She shakes her head and sighs in defeat. “I’ve always accepted you just as you are. I’ve tried, in my own way, to help you make the right choices, at least better ones than you might have made otherwise. And I hope you will listen to me now, Cassius, because it’s very important, critical to your survival. Read my lips. Dump. Him.”
I nod and pat her hand. “I appreciate your concern, Lucia, I really do, but as I’ve said before, I love him, and I’m going to stand by my man.” The thought of it sounds romantic, even to my tone-deaf ears.
“Then you’re a goddamned idiot.”
“Yes, well, you’ll get no argument there.”
Chapter27
Adam
The press are crowded outside the gate when Cassius brings me home the next day. We dropped Isaac off at the airport because he needed to get back to Tennessee for work. Still no word from my dad, which isn’t too surprising, though it is disappointing. Lucia came by the hospital yesterday while I was sleeping with a beautiful arrangement of flowers that I now have cradled in my lap. But their bright colors only serve to remind me of how very depressed I am.
Cassius pulls through the winding drive and tells me to wait there for a moment while he answers some questions on my behalf. He and Damien have been strategizing all day on how best to handle this situation. I’m too bummed to care.
“What did you say to them?” I ask as Cassius takes the vase from my arms and helps me out of the car. My legs work just fine but I do feel a little weak.
“I told them you were recovering from a horrific injury and would be scheduling interviews in a couple of weeks once you’re feeling stronger. The networks are going to be clamoring for an exclusive. We’ll see what offers come in. Regardless, I passed out a few of Damien’s business cards as my attention will be focused solely on you.”
“And you think they’ll buy it?” I ask.
Cassius gives me a sharp look. “Of course they’ll buy it, Adam, because it’s the truth.”
I nod. Message received. Inside the house, the furnishings have been transformed. All the appliances with glass surfaces—oven, microwave, stovetop—have cloths draped over them to obscure any reflection. The mirrors have been taken down too, including the bathroom vanities.
“Was all that necessary?” I ask.
“You’re going to be tempted to look and that won’t do at all. Trust me on this.”
“If I get desperate, I can catch my reflection in the pool or one of the windows.”
“I’d strongly advise against it. Now, are you hungry?”
“A little,” I admit. My stomach’s been growling at me all morning. Hospital food just doesn’t satisfy.
“I’ll make you an egg-white omelet. Why don’t you take a shower and slip into something more comfortable? Be mindful not to get your bandages wet.”
Passing by the French doors, I spy the pool house marked off with crime scene tape. The enormity of what happened finally hits me. I killed a man, a friend. I should be sweating it out in a jail cell right now. Instead, I’m being treated like a celebrity.
“It’ll be cleaned by a professional,” Cassius says at my side. “We don’t want any reminders of that horrid day.”
“What happened to the painting?”
“The police have taken it as evidence. But I can petition to get it back for you.”
