“Next Saturday. Why? Are you going to give me a lift?”
“Can’t. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“Aw, man.” He sticks his lower lip out in a childish pout. “I’m gonna miss out on that pretty toy of yours.”
“Maybe next time.”
“Are you looking for something?”
“Someone. Elizabeth Pryce-Reed. Have you seen her?”
“I don’t know, maybe. Is she pretty?”
I’m surprised he doesn’t know who she is. Even if they don’t hang in the same social circles, she’s one of his father’s more important donors. Or maybe Dorothy keeps him away from the political arena to make sure he doesn’t commit any faux pas. “Yeah, she is. Blonde.” I raise my hand. “About yay tall.”
And stunning, and smart, and complicated. But potentially fatal.
“Man, I’m sorry.” Andy frowns. He hates letting people down. “Can’t help you.”
The skin at the base of my neck prickles, the fine hair standing up. I swivel my head.
There.
She’s watching us—I can feel the force of her stare through the sunglasses—her knuckles tight around an empty glass. She’s pressing her lips together so hard, I can barely see them.
What’s wrong? She seemed fine earlier.
I start toward her, Andy following. She inhales sharply, puts the glass to her lips, then glares at it with disgust as though it’s the glass’s fault it’s empty.
“Elizabeth, are you all right?” I ask.
“Yes,” she answers, her voice tight. It isn’t a real yes.
Her gaze shifts to my cousin, and Andy moves to the side as though he wants to see her better. Although I want to probe, we don’t need an audience.
I can’t think of a graceful way to get rid of Andy without a short introduction first.
“Elizabeth, this is my cousin Andy. Andy, this is—”
“We’ve met,” she says curtly, not bothering to look at my cousin. Then she spins around and walks away, leaving me gaping at her abrupt and uncharacteristic rudeness.
* * *
Elizabeth
My knees shaky, I go to the bar for more vodka. The alcohol is the only thing giving me a semblance of calm.
My breath hitches, and I stop for a moment to gather myself.
When I saw Dominic walking toward me, I wanted to run to him. I wanted to forget the ill will between us and seek security in his arms. But he didn’t come to me to offer comfort or his protection. He brought Andy with him, tried to introduce us.
Is this a prelude to his revenge? A chisel digging into me—to strip me bare?
But surely he wouldn’t side with someone like Andy if he knew the truth. If I tell him what happened, tell him everything…
No.
He won’t believe me. He didn’t listen back then, so why would he listen now? Why would he believe anything I say?