Page 106 of Hellbound

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Marian dumbfounded and her cheeks on fire.

What the fuck was that?

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The mood in the back of the town car ferrying Marian and Tori to the Getty was so tense, anyone would have thought they were on their way to a funeral rather than a soiree. Only their clothes gave them away. Marian was so preoccupied with the task ahead that she never even got a look at their driver before they set off.

As dusk fell, the brutal geometry of the Getty Museum architecture cast sweeping shadows across the main courtyard. The click-clack of Tori’s heels and Marian’s own polished black Oxfords roared in her ears as they approached the entrance hall. Marian was so numb with fear, she didn’t notice that Tori had slipped her arm through hers and clutched her elbow like an awkward prom date until they’d joined the throng of guests waiting to check in.

Not that Marian had attended her prom, but it looked an awful lot like what she’d seen in movies. She hoped she looked like she belonged; she’d pulled her hair up into a tight ponytail. Back at the house, Vale had called her “stunning.” Marian told him to “stop fucking lying.”

“If you don’t stop fidgeting, I’m going to throw up,” Tori said under her breath, her mauve-painted lips pinned in a false smile. Her golden gown shimmered under the warm lights of the main exhibit hall.

Marian forced her foot to stop its rapid tapping on the smooth tile floor. She reached for her tie. Maybe if she loosened it, the sensation of being strangled would go away.

Tori caught her wrist and slowly pushed her hand back down. “That counts as fidgeting.”

Marian stared irritably at the traveler and wrenched her wrist free of Tori’s dainty grasp.

“I dare you to barf right now,” Marian said in heated whispers. “Just torpedo this entire shit plan because you can’t handle me fixing my fucking tie.”

“Your tie was fine until you started ‘fixing’ it,” Tori hissed back, thick lashes fluttering as she looked Marian over. “Who are you wearing anyway? Armani? Boss?”

Marian shoved a shaking hand into her trousers. “No clue.”

Tori’s attention shifted to a passing waiter. Marian followed her line of sight to the waiter’s tray of champagne flutes.

Oh, fuck yes. Marian leaned sideways and plucked two glasses from the tray before the waiter drifted out of reach. She offered one to Tori and downed her own in the same beat.

Tori looked at her in disgust. “No. Thank you.”

“Chill the fuck out. You’re not the one who has to murder evil Barbie tonight,” Marian growled as she downed the second flute.

Tori grimaced. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You’re on an all-saltine diet.”

Marian’s lips disappeared as she struggled to contain a sharp belch.

“That was actually the worst thing I’ve done all day.”

Worse than driving Vale to jerk her around by her tie? The bar is on the ground.

Except there wasn’t a single part of her that believed he’d wanted to do her harm. Every time she replayed that moment in her head—which she must have done a dozen times so far that evening—she’d seen desire tangled up in frustration and something else she couldn’t identify.

And she wasn’t sure how she felt about any of it. Not that she allowed herself much room to consider what she should feel. She once thought Mr. Vale could have harbored some bizarre affection for her. But Mr. Vale wasn’t real; this was Va’hael, god of … what?

God of lies, probably.

The champagne stoked a raging inferno in her belly that shot flames up her throat. Marian set the empty glasses on another passing waiter’s tray as regret consumed her.

“Paul said you used to go to stuff like this all the time. Is that true?” Tori said shakily.

Marian’s expression must have shuttered, since Tori quickly followed up with, “You don’t have to get into it. I was only curious. Small talk isn’t my strong suit.”

“You and me both,” Marian said as she looked around the room, then down at the face of the burner phone Paul had given her for the night. Nothing. Paul said he’d text when he had eyes on Verinne’s car.

She also wished she hadn’t drunkenly told Paul at the Annex that’d she’d once belonged to Orange County money.

“My mom and stepdad dragged me to stuff like this when I was a kid. Made me go to cotillions, too. I had to learn to waltz n’ shit. Galas at yacht clubs, expensive charity dinners, church fundraisers at the Ritz. Then I got fat and mouthy, so they stopped bringing me along.”