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“I can’t remember which girl I pointed to when he asked who to put backstage,” Dubois said. “You think that bald guy a’yours knows who I’m married to?”
Anteros looked at him straight in the eye. “Probably not.” Rhys knew who Dubois was married to. He knew everything about Dubois—they both did—but Dubois had moved past stepping on his nerves; he was practically tap dancing on them.
Dubois eyes grew wide. A waiter walked by with drinks, and Dubois grabbed one then dashed off, presumably to go deal with the fire he’d started.
“You should follow him,” Anteros said. “You both need to be in as many pictures as possible. Don’t make Rhys pay for unnecessary photoshopping and bribing.”
Emilio nodded. As he was leaving, he stopped and asked, “You’ll be there, right?”
“I will meet with you before the announcement.”
“But you’ll be on stage, though, right?” Emilio asked, eyes beseeching. Anteros nearly said no, but then paused. He had planned to stay in the shadows, but now he could come out. That was the point.
“Yes.”
Emilio exhaled. “Okay. Good.” After Emilio left, Anteros cut through the crowd, going to the spot where he had last seen Frankie. There was no sign of her. He looked out over the crowd of majestically dressed people. A sea of black, gold, white, red, and green met him, but none of them was Frankie.
He clenched his fist, jaw tightening.
Where the hell was she?
Nineteen
Pressed against a wall and shoved into a kitchen pantry—a goddamn pantry. I’d been minding my own goddamn business, being a nice little slave and watching a sea of elegantly dressed people have fun—or at least appear to have fun—when a man grabbed me and shoved me into a pantry faster than I could think.
Long, silky black hair framed a jaw sharper than cut glass. Slim, probing eyes were blacker than the night outside. He was definitely frightening, but also beautiful. He reminded me of the Beast in a way; there was something dark about him. Maybe if it were a month ago, I would have been scared. Instead, I regarded him with curiosity.
What brand of pain would he bring me?
“We don’t have much time,” he whispered. “Your grandmother sent me.”
“I don’t have a grandmother,” I replied instantly, dumbly, before the cogs in my brain began to work on their own. Did this man think I was a princess? Was this one of the fanatics Gabby and Nikolai had spoken of? To them I had an entire royal family. Suddenly it felt like I was walking on loose stone, unsure of which step I wanted to take.
He laughed harshly. “Well she disagrees on that point. I don’t give a fuck either way, but I owe her a debt.” He stepped back, edging off from the wall and giving me space to breathe. I took said space greedily, sliding out from under him and stepping into the middle of the room. It was obvious how he watched me, like a spider does a fly, but he didn’t move to grab me.
After a few moments, when it was clear I wasn’t going to be pinned again, I asked, “What debt?”
“Unimportant,” he said quickly. Looking at his watch he said, “We have two minutes before that guy—Beast—notices you’re gone.” This man offered no tells. He didn’t run hands through his hair, didn’t pace, just stood there.
The Terracotta Army was one of the many pictures I’d taped to my walls. They fascinated me. There were so many stone soldiers for one burial. I never thought I’d get to see the
m though, not beyond that picture.
Now I stared at this man, wondering if he was my very own Terracotta soldier. Did he represent my freedom, or was he going to stand watch for my burial?
“Why are you here?”
He smiled, a bright dazzling smile accentuated with dimples. “I’m here to rescue a princess.” Then just like that he was gone. Poof. Back to where he’d come from.
Just kidding.
He left the pantry and, on his command, I waited a few moments to stagger our exits. When I got back outside, I searched for him, wondering what the fuck to do. He appeared to be press. He walked straight up to the man I’d seen at the party, the one with brown hair and crystal blue eyes, and they started to chat; he even had the man smiling. He appeared to write what the man said down on a pad of paper.
Feeling even more confused, I walked toward the drinks, figuring if I couldn’t decide my future, I could at least get a little drunk. The bartender looked at me, waiting for me to give him an order. I wasn’t sure what to order because I wasn’t even sure what kind of drink I liked. I’d only read about drinks, never experienced them. How could I say What kills the most brain cells and leaves my mind in a heap of incomprehensible rubble? without sounding like…well, you know.
“Champagne.” I smiled, the stretch of my lips feeling wrong against my skin. The bartender handed me the flute and I turned so I didn’t have to smile again. Walking toward the middle of the crowd, I wondered if Beast had noticed my absence. I couldn’t see him anywhere. I was supposed to just sit against the wall, so I was sure he was going to punish me.
A little shiver ran up my spine. Earlier I’d tried out my own form of punishment against him. First being cold to him in the library, then probing about Papa. I wanted to see if he would still lie to me, needed to know. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything about Papa. I didn’t even like Christmas. I was just so viciously torn and angry at him for lying to me. Of course I shouldn’t have expected honesty from him, but I thought we’d come to an agreement on the roof. I thought there was an understanding.
