“Name?” I repeated, in mock confusion, trying to get him to look up at me.
“Yes, your name,” the man said with exaggerated patience, finally glancing up at me. “I’m afraid the party is guest list only.”
“Sir Stefan Pine. And my wife, Lady Violet,” I added as Violet giggled delightedly beside me. Even though his job was to guard the door, the vague slurring of his words made it obvious he’d been taking in drinks as the audience members had been taking in the performance. I didn’t so much have to compel him as confuse him.
“Yes, sir,” he said, barely glancing back down at his list as he ushered us inside.
Violet widened her eyes, but I merely placed a finger on my lips and followed the crush of people into the cavernous backstage.
We turned into a brightly lit room that was almost as big as a ballroom, already filled with actors in various states of costume as well as audience members, whom I recognized as the well-heeled fellow members of our box. We were definitely in the right place. Now, all we had to do was find Charlotte. It was almost too easy.
And then I felt a tap on my shoulder.
I whirled around.
There, with a wide smile, thick dark hair, and an inscrutable expression in his bright blue eyes, was Damon.
“Hello, brother,” Damon said, flashing a wide grin.
I grinned back. I’d play nice. For now.
Chapter 8
This is your brother?” Violet asked curiously, her lilting voice rising. “The one who . . .”
“No!” I waved my arm in front of me, as though batting away an absurd question. “An old friend,” I lied. My heart thudded against my rib cage. Even though I’d been actively seeking him out all afternoon, it was a shock to be face-to-face again after all these years.
“Oh yes, Stefan and I go way back.” Damon leered. “In fact, sometimes I think I’d die for him.”
I shifted uneasily, appraising my brother, all too aware of Violet standing next to me. I studied him, taking in each aspect of his appearance.
He hadn’t aged. It was a ludicrous observation, but it was the first one that struck me. Of course, I hadn’t either, but I was so used to seeing my face in the glass every morning that it wasn’t remarkable, just a fact of my existence. But seeing Damon as fresh-faced and wrinkle-free as he’d been the night we’d both died was jarring.
But, on closer inspection, there was a difference. His eyes had changed. They seemed darker, somehow, full of secrets and horrors and deaths. Who knew what he’d done these past twenty years? If it was anything like what he’d been doing in London, then he’d been keeping himself and local law enforcement agencies quite busy.
“You’re looking good,” Damon remarked, as if we were neighbors who’d merely bumped into each other in a town square, not brothers who’d last seen each other across the ocean decades ago.
“As are you,” I allowed. His dark hair was slicked back and he was wearing an expensive suit with a silk tie knotted around his neck.
“And who’s this lovely lady?” Damon asked, extending his hand to Violet.
“She’s none of your concern—”
“I’m Violet Burns,” Violet said, curtseying and blushing as Damon took her hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss.
“Charmed. Damon DeSangue,” Damon said. I grimaced at the familiar way the false name dripped off his tongue. I did note, however, that he’d lost the affected Italian accent he’d insisted on using back in New York.
“And what are we doing here?” he asked.
“We’re just leaving—”
“No!” Violet interjected. “Pleas
e, let us stay. Our hotel is ever so close, we’re right at the Cumberland,” she said to Damon, batting her eyes as if to charm him. “And we’re looking for my sister,” she added, her voice drowned out by Damon’s showy display of shock at our choice of hotel.
“The Cumberland!” Damon said as my stomach sank. The last thing I wanted was for him to know the name of our hotel. “Aren’t you moving up in the world, Stefan!”
No more games, I said under my breath. We’re too old for that.