“A pleasure.”
She extends a hand, and we shake. She has an excellent grip, her palm dry and soft.
But confidence isn’t all she’s exuding. She’s giving off a vibe that says she can be my best friend if I’ll just let it happen. And I’m too dazed to process it at the moment.
“Where’s your security?” Tolyan says.
“Antoine’s busy,” Elizabeth says.
His face twists. “Doing what? Licking Kristen’s feet?”
“I’m sure that’s on his list of favorite things to do,” Elizabeth says with a mischievous grin, which makes Tolyan look like he wants to throw up. “But more likely he’s probably massaging them right now.” She turns to me. “His wife’s pregnant, and she’s pretty swollen.”
“That shouldn’t be a reason for leaving you unprotected.” Tolyan sounds like he wants to beat up somebody. Probably this Antoine guy.
“Well, you’re welcome to come shopping with us if you’re so worried.” Elizabeth sounds entirely too pleased with herself. I’d bet every penny I have that Antoine didn’t show because of her.
Tolyan purses his lips, a man trying to hold his irritation in check. He nods once.
“Let’s go.” Elizabeth loops her arm around mine. “We’re taking my Lamborghini.” She walks us toward an incredibly expensive-looking green car.
“I’ll follow,” Tolyan says.
Elizabeth looks at me and gestures to the two cars questioningly. Apparently, I have a choice to make. I glance at Tolyan, whose face is set in its usual stoic impassivity. Elizabeth, however, looks positively radiant, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
The Lamborghini it is. I climb inside, shifting a bit until I’m comfortable in the luxurious leather seat. I run my hand over it carefully; it feels unbeli
evably soft and smooth. Holy cow, when people say things like some cars smell like money, I always assumed they were being silly. How can a car smell like money when everyone knows cars drop in value the second you take them off the dealer’s lot?
But this car? It does smell like money. Lots and lots of it. There’s simply no other word.
Elizabeth launches us down the estate’s long driveway and onto the road. The woman doesn’t hold back, and the roar of the engine is like a physical thing, the power vibrating through me. My heart beats a little faster with exhilaration.
“So. Tell me how you met Tolyan. You’re living with him, right?” she asks, her eyes on the road.
He sort of kidnapped me yesterday. I don’t think that counts as living with him, but I can’t quite tell her the truth. “Well, sort of…”
“My God, that’s amazing.” She shoots me a look of admiration. I feel like a newly discovered jungle flower or something. “I’ve never even seen him with a woman before.”
“Really?”
“Mmm-hmm. And I’ve known him since I was a teenager.”
Tolyan is either really good at hiding things or he hasn’t been with anyone—seriously, anyway—for a long time. My heart flutters with something that feels like happy relief, but I suppress it. He’s rich, good looking, and powerful. There’s no way he hasn’t had anybody special for so long. “He’s probably had a lot of girlfriends. You just don’t know that he’s had them.”
Elizabeth laughs. “I would have known. Trust me. For example, I know that Gwen Alt has been after him for three years.” Her expression cools. “Not that it did her any good.”
“Who is Gwen Alt?” I ask, already not liking the mysterious woman. Just hearing her name makes my stomach burn uncomfortably.
“Ms. I Wanted Chardonnay, Not Riesling,” Elizabeth says in a singsong voice.
“Oh my God! Does she do that with everyone?”
“I saw her talking to you, by the way, although I didn’t know exactly what she said at that time. Otherwise, I might’ve intervened.” Elizabeth shakes her head ruefully. “As for your question, no. She has a different tantrum for every event, which is saying something, since her weekends are filled with parties. I make it my business to know everything that happens at the functions we host. And I’m sorry you had such an unpleasant experience.”
“It’s okay,” I say reflexively, surprised at the apology. It wasn’t like Elizabeth had anything to do with Gwen’s behavior.
“Anyway, it won’t happen again.” Her tone is too cool, too absolute, and I can’t argue. “Such a hypocrite. It isn’t as if she can tell different vintages apart by just looking and smelling them.”