In the lobby, I gesture at the couple. “After you.”
“Good luck,” the man says awkwardly, and they exit. I follow them out, cutting a straight path through the busy, marbled lobby to the revolving door. People stare, but don’t dare approach. The I’m-going-to-shove-your-deposition-up-your-ass mask works wonders to keep people away. The exception is the women Harvey occasionally sends to butter me up. Nothing short of a gun in their face makes them back off. Not even then in some cases. Harvey’s people are nothing if not loyal.
Out on the sidewalk, I chooseleftand start off. I carry Lareina over my shoulder for some time before finding a chapel to set her down in front of. “Here. You should be okay now.”
She pushes her hair up. Her cheeks and neck are flushed. Not even the oncoming dusk can hide the brilliant twinkle in her eyes. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have been able to escape so easily without your help.”
“It was nothing.” I start to turn away.
She waves with a big smile. Her disheveled appearance bothers me, though. No purse on her either. I should just go, but I don’t want her to be totally helpless.I’m just paying itforward, making the world a slightly better place, just like Queen did.
I pull out several hundreds from my wallet. “Here.”
“Oh no. I couldn’t possibly. I have some cash.” She points to her rather modestly sized chest. Just how much can she hide in there? “I’m all set.”
“You sure you’re going to be all right?” I should really go now, but feel uneasy, like I’m leaving a helpless child by a pool.Damn it. Stop getting involved more than necessary.
“Of course. Thank you.” She goes on her toes and places a quick kiss on my cheek, then pulls back just as swiftly, waving and walking toward the pedestrians.
I press fingers against the spot where her lips touched, which prickles.
She’s already disappeared into the sea of tourists. A sudden sense of loss presses down on my heart, and I shake my head. Uncharacteristic of me to be this sentimental. It’s the unsettling feeling I get around the anniversary of Mom’s kidnapping each year. It has nothing to do with Lareina.
My phone buzzes with a text from the latest PI I hired to track down Queen.
–Greg: Couldn’t find anything. Interviewed people who used to live in the area twenty-two years ago, but they don’t recall any girl matching the description.
“Come on, Queen. It’s been over twenty years. Don’t you think it’s time to show yourself? Perhaps give a little hint as to how you’re doing?” I just want to know if she’s okay. And that Mom and her people didn’t do anything to her. Although Harvey promised me to keep Mom in check, I don’t trust him. Not really, anyway. He’d sell me out in a heartbeat if it would earn him a buck.
I let out a long breath. Lareina’s completely gone from view. Putting away my phone, I start back to the hotel. It’s time to get ready for the bachelor party.
Chapter Five
Ares
Music throbs, the loud beats pounding through my body. Barry, an associate at the firm, is getting married, and he rented an entire club for his bachelor party. As I walk along the dark corridor, the specially mirrored walls show my reflection. The way my eyes glow makes me falter for a second, and I avert my gaze, staring at the wooden floor. Everyone says I have my mother’s eyes. Every time I look at my reflection, I feel like I’m looking into her face, eerie in its love and madness, and the scar on my arm throbs. When I brought up the pain with my doctor a few years ago, he said it was a phantom pain, just psychological.
Thanks, doc, for making me feel so sane.
Wonder if he shared his opinion with Grandmother or Father. That could explain their concern that I might be insane—no,obsessed…although in my family, the words can be used interchangeably.
Once I’d calmed down after the ridiculous dinner where they insisted that I give up on finding Queen and get married to get promoted, I grudgingly accepted that their concern is partially driven by guilt. They were supposed to protect me back then, and I should’ve never been left to survive on my own in the fire. But that doesn’t mean they get to brush Queen off as a figment of my imagination and do their best to convince me of that.
Barry has apparently snagged himself a nice woman. My own hunt for a wife isn’t going as smoothly as I’d like. Most associatesat the firm are reluctant to refer suitable candidates, assuming they’re aware of what’s going on with me and The Fogeys. They probably don’t want to get involved in the family drama. The women I get matched with through various online dating sites and apps so far have been the equivalent to what’s left after a two-week clearance sale—ill-fitting and unsuitable, even at seventy-five percent off. The Fogeys would never accept one as “good and respectable.” And neither would I.
If I get really lucky, I might run into a suitable woman tonight. A cursory glance says there are more women than men here. But upon closer inspection, they’re all strippers, given how little clothes they have on. Should’ve known. This is classic Barry. I don’t know how he plans to stay faithful to just one woman when he’s an equal-opportunity lover.
It’s okay,I tell myself. I have a few more dates set up for the next three days. The Fogeys never said anything about a ceremony. I just need to produce a lawfully wedded wife.
The phone buzzes, and I glance at the screen.
–Unknown: I love you, my little prince.
This is the third time I’ve gotten a strange text like this. I block the number. It could be my persistent ex, although the “little prince” part doesn’t really fit. On the other hand, who can tell what the hell goes on in her head? In her world, she’s a princess who can do no wrong, and anybody who disagrees with her is a problem.
It’s too bad none of my exes fit Grandmother’s conditions: good and respectable. I boasted I could find a bride in a month, but one that will work? That’s proving to be much harder.
On the other hand, I’m not looking for the love of my life or a soul mate. Just a presentable wife for The Fogeys to accept until I get my promotion. If we happen to fall in love, fine. We can continue. Otherwise, we’ll quietly get divorced. By then, I’ll be ajunior partner and the Fogeys won’t be able to force a demotion on me over a divorce. If they do, I’ll sue the damn firm and Dad as well.
