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“Are you sure? Because I can skip it,” I said. “Jane and everybody can do the show without me.”
“This is everything you’ve dreamt of, Cole,” Ambri said. “Your art, your vision…sharing your incredible talent with the world so they see you for who you are.Thatis what is important.”
I shook my head. “I used to think so too. And I love it, don’t get me wrong. I’m so grateful for every moment, but Ambri, don’t you see? Without you—”
He shook his head almost violently and started for the door. “The show is at eight. We must have dinner reservations. I will go speak with the concierge and have him find a place that’s suitable.”
“Ambri, wait.”
But he was already gone, leaving me to stare after him in an empty suite.
twenty-six
I can’t do this. I can’t bloody fucking do this.
I take the elevator down, tugging the shirt collar that is choking me. In the lobby, instead of finding the concierge, I head outside for some air because I’m suffocating on my own carelessness.
The courtyard is sunlit, filled with wrought-iron furniture, greenery, and a bubbling fountain. I sink onto a bench and rest my elbows on my knees, hold my head in my hands.
Footsteps approach.
Cole doesn’t know—doesn’t suspect—because he’s surrounded by strangers every day, but I can smell my own kind. They surround me, and I raise my head, rage burning through me that these creatures are here to ruin the man I love…and me for loving him.
All three are smiling triumphantly at me. Rohan is the tallest. Jeanne and Armand stand arm-in-arm.
“Bonjour, Ambri.” Armand cocks his head. “What, no kiss?”
Jeanne laughs and presses her face into his arm.
Rohan sits in a cushioned chair and lights a cigar. “Ambrosius, my boy. We had no idea you were one of us. Whatever became of you?”
“I died, obviously.” I stand and roughly push past Armand. “I died young and beautiful and managed to keep both my eyes.”
Jeanne’s face twists in outrage. “It could’ve happened to anyone!”
I laugh, pretending as if this is all perfectly okay. As if I’m in complete control, when on the inside a black hole has opened in me, and it’s sucking the light out of the world. I’m helpless and on the precipice of being hauled back to hell at any moment. My only hope—and it is a flicker of flame in a gale-force wind—is to somehow drive them away.
“I know why you’re here,” I say. “And frankly, it upsets me greatly.”
“You did seem quite taken aback in the suite,” Rohan says. “Terrified, even.”
“Yes, terrified. Terrified that you three bumblers will ruin all of my hard work.”
“Bumblers?” Jeanne screeches with none of the calculating calmness she used to possess. She’s no longer the mastermind behind the Affair but a nervous mess—a result, I suppose, of having lived the rest of her short life in disgrace and desperation.
Which gives me an idea. A last, desperate idea to be rid of them.
“You’re fools, all of you, and I don’t need—or want—your help.”
Armand’s face grows red. “Watch your tongue, Ambri.”
“Am I wrong?” I say, leisurely pacing the courtyard, hands clasped behind my back. “I’ve read your histories. Jeanne, you escaped from prison by disguising yourself as a boy, only to die in the most undignified manner. What was it? Lose your eye jumping out of a hotel window to escape debt collectors?”
She spits and curses, but I ignore her and turn to Rohan.
“And you. We duped you out of nearly two million livres and had you arrested.”
He waves a hand. “Water under the bridge.”
