“Adept. Yes,” I murmured.
We spoke for another few minutes, and then Edwin got a tap on his shoulder and was told his table was ready in the VIP lounge. He turned toward me, took my hand in his, and kissed it gallantly, just a soft brush of lips over the top of my hand. “Isabelle, you take care of yourself. And hold your head high like the royalty you are, no matter the whispers of the peasants around you.”
I laughed, not having to feign the warm smile that rose to my lips.
I waited at the bar for Brant to return, but whatever the issue was, it must have been worse than he thought. Or he’d forgotten I was here. I imagined he was used to dates like Sondra Worthington, who fit in and didn’t drink water at the newest, hip bar in New York City while waiting for her man to come to her. Or maybe he’s simply busy, Belle. Don’t doubt Brant. But then there was Caspian Skye. Although Brant had told me so much about the brand, the history, the buildings where the bourbon was made, he’d neglected to tell me there were barrels of bourbon at Graystone Hill waiting to be bottled.
. . . we waged a battle and Brant won. In the end Harrison Talbot chose to give them to his son.
So Brant had wanted something from Graystone Hill after all.
He’d wanted that bourbon. He’d been battling over it as a matter of fact.
My father thinks it’s a good idea if we get married . . .
What’s in it for you?
I finished the first glass of water and then another after the bartender refilled it. I hadn’t minded sitting alone at this bar for a little while, but now my heart was thrumming with dread, with the swirling questions creating a whirlpool of doubt in my mind. I wanted to leave this bar, at least to sit somewhere quiet where I could think more clearly. After another indecisive minute, I gestured to the bartender who came over. “If Mr. Talbot gets here before I get back, will you let him know I’ve gone to the restroom?”
“Certainly.”
The crowd was still relatively small, people mingling or standing in groups here and there. But more people were spilling inside. Brant had told me the general public would be admitted at nine and then we’d head upstairs to the VIP lounge. Nine! Here in New York City that’s when the party started apparently. Back in Kentucky, I’d have been getting into my PJs.
I wished I were in my PJs now. Curled up in bed at Graystone Hill.
I pushed through the door of the restroom, my heels clicking on the gleaming black tile, the music from the club fading though it could still be heard. There was a girl standing at the row of sinks, her leg bouncing to the beat as she bent forward and slicked lip gloss on her lips, pursing them and then holding her phone up to the mirror. When she saw me watching her, she giggled. I gave her a small smile, opening the door of the nearest stall.
I took a moment to pull my dress up and out of the way before attempting to use the toilet, and as I was getting myself back in order, I heard the door to the ladies’ room open and the clicking of heels on the floor. I was about to leave the stall when I heard Brant’s name. Leaning forward slightly so I could hear over the music being piped into the bathroom, I listened to the conversation.
“I overheard Brant on the phone when I visited him at his office recently. He’s only using that girl to get his father’s bourbon. She’s very temporary.”
“The unpleasant things you have to do for business sometimes,” the other girl said, and they both laughed. “Don’t worry, Sondra, I’m sure he’ll be yours again soon.”
Sondra. She’d been with him recently? I dropped my hand, leaning against the wall of the stall, my heart thundering in my chest.
My stomach cramped. Could Harry really have told Brant that the only way he would own the rights to Caspian Skye was through marriage? With me? Was that why Brant had seemed so enthusiastic about getting married? And then courting me after I’d said no? I squeezed my eyes shut. Why would either of them do that? I didn’t get it, and yet my mind spun with doubts, my chest full of turmoil.
Once Sondra and her friend left, I opened the stall, washed my shaking hands, glancing at myself in the mirror as I did so. My eyes were wide and pained and for a moment, I hardly recognized myself. Except . . . I did. I looked the way I’d looked so often over the last three years. Empty. Heartbroken.
When I stepped into the nightclub, the music burst through my skull. It had been turned up now that the real party was starting.
Where was Brant? I just wanted to find Brant. I had questions and I needed to find him and ask him to soothe my fearful heart. I was so tired of being in the dark about everything.
I know you’re not with me because you love me, I wanted to say. But please tell me you’re with me because you want to be, and no other reason.
The bass of the music filled my head, thumping, vibrating, and the crowd shifted around me, filling every small space. I had to squeeze and weave through it. I turned the corner and stepped into a room that seemed to be one big dance floor. People rotated their hips and raised their arms, gyrating to the music. Women shot provocative looks to the men they were dancing with, seeming to know just how to lower their eyes and flip their hair, their scantily clad bodies shimmying to the beat seductively.
I felt like an alien in some strange land, watching a different species perform some ritual I didn’
t recognize. I felt so absurd suddenly that I almost laughed. Oh Isabelle, how did you end up here? How? But my heart was too filled with fear and uncertainty to muster even the smallest giggle.
I hadn’t heard my father’s voice for a long time, booming out Bible verses as he looked at me with disapproval, but I heard him now, louder than my own thoughts, louder than the music that vibrated around me.
. . . treacherous, reckless, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God . . .
I let out a breath as I made it to the apparent edge of the dance floor, thankful to leave the dark space with the blinking lights and move toward what I thought was the front of the club. The crowd thinned and I was able to breathe again. I turned left down a back corridor, hoping to come upon a member of staff who could tell me where to find Brant. The music grew quieter and relief washed over me. God, get a hold of yourself, Belle. This was all new and . . . different, but it wasn’t like I was in peril. I forced my steps to slow instead of running down the hall like a demon was after me.
I heard Brant’s voice, low and gravelly, and my heart jumped, responding even to that small part of him. I sped up, moving toward the half-open door on my left, coming up short when I saw who was inside the room with him. It was a woman I couldn’t mistake, a woman in a dress with a back so low it nearly showed her backside.