Daphne stays where she is, beside her father’s empty coffin. I know it’s empty, because earlier today he was cremated. His estate lawyer sent me notice, along with a formal request to be interred beside his wife at Thornhill.
A request I denied. Maybe it’s petty of me, but I hated that old bastard and I swore he’d never enter my property dead or alive. He did nothing for his wife or daughter in life.
I feel a few pangs of guilt as Daphne sprinkles rose petals at the base of the statue dedicated to Dr. Laurel. She looks thinner and paler than I last saw her. Reporters dog her steps and I want to growl, scare them all off. Wrap her in my great coat and carry her back to my castle. Make sure she got a good meal in her.
And then what? She chose Adam. I trusted her with my heart and she reduced it to rubble. Why the fuck am I here again?
A funeral goer glances up at me, startled. I’m growling like a feral dog. I glare at him until he flashes the whites of his eyes and scuttles away.
Calm. Control. Daphne’s pale face, red lips moving as she thanks the priestess. Her frozen expression as black-garbed people mill past to pay their respects.
I feel nothing for her. I squeeze my hands into fists and tell myself that over and over again. I can believe anything if I say it enough times. Any emotion I ever had for Daphne Laurel needs to die.
Daphne
Logan leaves. A hulking mountain of a man. I saw him as soon as he showed up. It’s ridiculous that he even tries to hide.
Adam Archer leaves too, after posing with the statue for a few photos. He glances my way, willing me to look at him, but the board gathers around him, ushering him away. Belladonna’s board members won’t even look in my direction.
Not that I want them to. The news came out this morning: Belladonna’s CEO fired. The papers took the opportunity to rerun my half-naked photos on the front page. Next to the news of my dad’s memorial service.
I lost everything in one fell swoop.
Half the people came to pay their respects, the other half to gawk. Or take photos of me, the disgraced daughter. Not that I need more photographic evidence to document my complete and utter failure.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” a well meaning socialite murmurs.
Which one? I want to reply.
“I’d say I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m more worried about you catching cold,” a cultured voice makes my chin jerk up.
Armand. Seeing a friendly face in this tank of sharks is so welcoming, I have to fight back tears as Armand grasps both my hands in his gloved ones.
“Girl, you need more layers.” He starts stripping off his gloves.
“What are you doing?” I ask, but I let him take my hand and tug the glove on.
He doesn’t answer until he’s put both of his gloves on my hands. I haven’t cried since my dad died, but Armand’s kindness makes me want to weep. “I heard about what happened. With Belladonna, with everything. I know it’s trite, but I believe things will turn out all right.” He touches my face and now his hands are cold. “How’re you doing?”
I tell him the honest truth. “I’m at rock bottom.” There’s no one left, nowhere to go. I’m all but homeless, friendless, have no more family, no job, no—
“Come here.” Armand hugs me in front of everyone. Not that there are many people left and I don’t care who’s watching anyway. It’s not like I have much reputation left to lose.
“You know the great thing about rock bottom?” Armand’s whisper tickles my ear. “There’s nowhere to go but up.”
I choke out a laugh and pull away from Armand. “Thank you,” I sniffle.
“And look on the bright side. You look wicked lovely in black.” His kohl-lined eyes glitter with laughter, and I reward him with a small smile. “Next time—a hat. A hat would complete this look. Funeral chic.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.” I bite back my own smile. And gods, he’s right. I’m not the one who died today. If I’m lucky, I’ll have a long, full life. I can’t just give up because of a rough patch. Even if it’s a really rough patch.
The last of the crowd flocks away, leaving me beside the statue honoring my dad. A pigeon has already crapped on the bronze head. But that’s life, isn’t it?
“Bye, Dad.”
My bones creak as I head to the curb. I feel old, like I’ve aged ninety years in a week. But my heart is light. Maybe Armand is right. Rock bottom is a great place to be.
At my feet, a little yellow blossom pokes up between two slabs of concrete. A dandelion growing through the cracks. Most people would call it a weed, but my mother knew ten different ways to use the blossom, leaves, and root.
I can do this.
I luck out and catch up to Armand before he gets in the car.
“Daphne? You need a ride?”
“No,” I blurt, then amend. “Well, actually yes. That’d be great. But really I need a favor. Something delivered.”
A smile spreads across his face. “Well, then, I’m your messenger.”
Thirty-Five
Present Day
Logan
I pace the sidewalk outside Daphne’s apartment. I made it all of about six hours after leaving her at the funeral before hopping in the truck and driving like a bat out of hell back over here.
I might’ve hated her father but she loved him.
And I remember how broken she was when she lost her mother. How lost she was and how she clung to me like I was the only thing that made sense in her shattered world.
Things were so simple back then. I punched the buzzer again but she doesn’t respond. Is she not home or just not responding to me?
The sun is dropping below the horizon and with it, the temperature, but the cold doesn’t touch me. I’m already numb from days replaying our last fight in my head.
“Nobody hurts me the way you do.”
Why do I even think she’s here? She’s probably run back to Adam. The thought is acrimonious and bitter going down.
But even as I tell myself that, I don’t believe it.“Trust me when I say I didn’t betray you. That I would never betray you. Trust me. We could have everything, if you would just trust me.”
I shake my head, growling, and a couple of pedestrians startle and scuttle away.
That’s right. Run from the madman.
I tried to go back to the castle. Tried to get on with my life. But I just have to make sure she’s okay.
The street lights switch on. I turn up the collar of my great coat. When I close my eyes, I see Daphne’s small form at the memorial service. I reach out as if I could touch her, as if my thoughts could conjure her. But when I open my eyes, she’s not here.
I pace a few more times, kicking pieces of trash into the gutter before I face her door, and the truth.
She’s not coming. Tonight I’ll be alone.
Better get used to it.
And just like that, the isolation that is my life hits me with full force. Endless days and nights of me rattling around that huge castle, alone and empty. Soon I really will be a mad old monster.
I turn and almost knock over a slender man in a great coat. He clings to me to keep from falling and I set him upright without cussing him out. My good deed for the day.