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“Whatever happened to your friends?” he inquired idly. “Not Opal and the others, but your friends from Hollywood. You used to talk about them like they were your enemies—Sandra the Bitch and Mayra the Tyrant—but you all used to go out together. Where are they now?”
Jesus. “Why don’t you mind the road instead of my business, Rafael?”
“Mm. Full name. That means I’ve gotten to you.” She saw a narrow slice of grin. “Let me guess. My father said your bitchy little friends were a bad influence on you. And then he went on some long spiel about how you were stressing out his marriage. That you had a son to raise and a family to nuture, and you felt guilty enough to let everything just kind of unravel.”
Donni felt a cold patch form on her chest as if it were frosting over.
“How would you know anything about that?”
“Because I heard him do it to my mother. Hisfirstsociety wife. Only, she played the role better than you. She unraveled better than you, too. Comparing you two is like comparing gossamer thread to steel wool. Or didn’t you notice that he liked you best when you were a has-been?”
Donni wasn’t sure she liked that comparison. Her hands clenched, nails biting sharply into her palms. “Your father wasn’t some sort of psychologicalBluebeard, Rafe.”
“Maybe not. But he’s far from innocent. I think what we discovered last night is proof of that.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you talk with the lawyer I gave you yet?”
“No.”
“You should. Especially if the police call you in again.”
“You have a lot of experience with the police?”
“Only from research. There’s a lot you can find out by looking up.” His mouth twitched. “Do you want to get dinner? There’s a drive-thru. I know how you feel about being seen.”
Part of her wanted to demand that he take her to the ritziest bar in town. She’d grab him by the collar and kiss him in front of all of those retired tech elites and their lilywhite wives that she could never really impress. If she were going to be ruined anyway, it might be better to go out in a blaze of scandal. That was all she seemed to be attracting these days, anyway. It’d be a change to have control over her own story for once. Other people had been writing it for her for a while.
Fuck it, she thought. “Let’s go.”
Rafe ordered for them both—burgers, fries and a Coke. If she still cared about her figure, she would have been anxiously tallying up the calories, trying to figure out how many hours she’d have to spend on the Stairmaster to burn it all off. That had been her life once, because every time she’d worn a tight dress, Marco had used to pinch her ass and say, “I like you with a few extra pounds, baby. Don’t go crazy, though.”
Comments like that, she thought, were exactly why womendidgo crazy. Eventually they decided enough was enough.
They ate in the car, just like before. The hot grease made her giddy, as did the mess. It was strange, but she didn’t feel any self-consciousness when she was around him. Not about that. There was never any judgement in his eyes when he looked at her: only desire, and a sort of restless covetousness, like he didn’t fully trust her to stay put long enough to possess.
For years, she had missed LA. Even though it was toxic. Even though it had been the source of so many of her nightmares. All of her friends were there, the ties to her career. Nobody had warned her how difficult it was, starting a new support system from the ground up.
She had gone to the book clubs and the weddings and the work parties of her husband’s acquaintances, but she had never moved in their circles as one of them. After Rafe’s harsh remark about has-beens, perhaps her failure had been Marco’s intention from the start. Regardless, after her husband had gone ahead and poisoned them all, he had left her more alone and ostracized than ever.
So whyhadshe stayed? Even when there was nothing left?
Maybe, she thought,I was chasing the ghost of the happiness I thought I’d find here.
Rafe had already finished eating, inhaling his food with an appetite that should have been daunting but wasn’t. There was no need for smoke and mirrors with a man who enjoyed her at her worst. She sucked ketchup off her fingers and saw the shadows in his eyes flare.
“What happened to the Love bracelet I got you?”
She choked on the fry she was eating. It was a good thing she didn’t have any wine this time; she would have slid right out of her seat. “What Love bracelet?”
“The one I got you when I was seventeen. You were wearing the one my father gave you when you had dinner with me, but not mine. What happened to mine?”
She dropped the remnants of her fries into the bag, uneaten. “I sold it and put the money back into your trust.”
“Because my father made you?”
“I would have done it even if he hadn’t. It was too much money. Sixteen thousand dollars—most people can’t even dream of having that much money in their accounts. And you spent it on something completely inappropriate. You’re lucky your father didn’t kill you.”
“Always looking out for me.”
“That wasn’t the reason.”
