Page 107 of The Killer Card

“Get out,” I point to the stairs.

His laughter drifts down from the loft as he heads to bed and I bite back a smile of my own. Because Cristian is nowhere near being labelled as a best friend of mine, but perhaps now that he’s lost all the pretention of his youth I can bear to call him a friend. A good friend. The kind who is reliable and stable when nothing else in life seems to be. At the very least I know he’ll always be around to help Nelly even if I’m not, which allows me to go to bed a little lighter.

My phone is silent on the bedside table when I ask it to set an alarm for three hours from now. Tomorrow we hit the road for New York to watch Nelly and Elias’ love story come to its full conclusion.

Everything will work out, I tell myself. Everything will work out. For the first time in years, I fall asleep feeling something like hope blooming in my chest.

1 Year Ago

Chapter Thirty-Five

Naomi

The sweating is the worst part.

I can take pills for the nausea, for the headache, for the aches and pains. But the sweating, the shakes… Those were the things that made it difficult to get on with my day.

Stumbling into the bathroom, I pop four ibuprofen and an omeprazole, chasing them down with the merlot I keep under the sink. Then, without looking at my reflection, I hop into the shower for my exceedingly long hair routine. Luckily it’s the weekend, and I can afford to sleep in and take my time. Unfortunately, it’s well past noon, which means I’m already running short on time.

I opted out of a summer semester- despite my father’s protests- needing a break before going into my final year. Of course, a break to the Mychal family meant that I would be spending another three months interning at the capitol. With said internship came the usual perverse politicians, shaking hands with seedy donors, and practicing fake laughter for jokes about the poor and the criminal.

I hate that the most.

I can tolerate men in suits staring at my ass all day, but the condescension and total disregard for people they think are lesser than them…. It makes my stomach churn. At least in Lightning Cove there was a sense of propriety. The ridicule of the help wasn’t so boisterous, especially with them present. Even the Winchesters’ treatment of Elias had been behind closed doors. But at this level of power there is a clear line being drawn between us and them.

Stepping out of the shower, I wrap a towel around my middle, reaching for the wine before I reach for the curl cream. Finally, I let myself look in the mirror.

My eyes were bloodshot, though nothing a few eye drops won’t fix. My skin is sallow, but I did spend a lot of time inside this semester, away from the cold, my nose buried in books.

Maybe I’ll try to get back home for a week or two, go see Nelly and Clara, help with wedding planning. It’s still a year away, but Penelope wants to make sure the entire affair is the opposite of everything her mother and Vivian planned.

For starters, they won’t be getting married in Lightning Cove. A lot of Elias’ family still live in New York, and he has grandparents pushing one hundred and two years old. So, it was decided early on that the wedding would be held in his family church, a Catholic service to please his mother. Nelly has never been particularly religious, but when she saw the stained glass of the cathedral she was all in. Not that she ever would have told him no. They never deny each other anything.

I’m pretty sure they fucked in the church, but neither will admit to it. Nor will Rowan and Clara, who accompanied them as they almost always do. Rowan is still Elias’ security detail and Clara, as his wife, is always welcome. Plus, as Nelly’s Matron of Honor, it’s good for her to be there. One of us should be.

Turning away, I grab the eyedrops, blinking them into my eyes, and grab the products I need to make my curls bounce and shine. I haven’t decided if I’ll wear my hair up or down this evening, but I still have time to decide that. This is the process that takes the longest.

When I finish, I put the bottle of merlot back under the sink- after another long sip- throw on a robe and go downstairs to fetch a banana and some toast.

My brother looks up from his tablet with a raised brow. “Did you just wake up?”

“No,” I point to my hair. “This takes at least an hour.”

He checks the time on his watch. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

“On a Saturday,” I remind him, stealing the pickle off his plate. He swats my hand away from his sandwich and I smirk. “Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

“Jokes on you,” he takes a bite of his lunch. “I’m not wearing any.”

“Gross,” I wrinkle my nose, putting a slice of bread in the toaster. I start in on a banana, pouring myself a mimosa while I’m at it. I drink down half before turning back to him. He averts his gaze back to his tablet quickly, but I don’t miss the set of his brow. “Are you coming to the gala tonight?”

He takes another bite of his sandwich. “Of course, I am. Dad said all the Mychals need to attend.”

Snorting, I turn back to the counter, adding my Prosecco to my splash of orange juice before buttering my toast. I toss the banana skin in the garbage, taking my glass and breakfast with me when I turn to leave.

“Naomi?”

I pause, my butt cracking the door open as I look back. “Yeah?”