Still, before I’ve even completely thought it through, I’m dialing her number and holding the phone to my ear. Lately it feels like she’s the only person I can really talk to.
She doesn’t pick up, though, and I hang up before I can hear her silken voice on the message again.
I lean back against the wall and drop the phone to my side. Probably for the best. I look around the darkened offices and a chill goes up my spine. I can’t leave well enough alone. I need to have some sort of contact with her. She’s my touchstone right now, though it might freak her out to know that.
But if Adam and her father have anything to do with it, she and I will never have the future I dream about together. If Dr. Laurel fires me and I don’t get a chance to say goodbye to her, if Adam tries to poison them against me with his lies—
My fingers are on the phone, tapping out a text on the glowing screen in the otherwise darkened hallway. If anything ever happens, please know you’re my best friend. Give me a chance to explain. Meet me at Thornhill, beside your mom’s grave. Don’t mean to freak you out. Just in case anything ever happens.
It’s an ominous message and part of me feels regret at ever hitting send. But then again, it’s been six months since her mother died. I’ll give her all the time she needs and maybe she’s not ready for everything I’m into, but…
I can’t deny it anymore. My thoughts are full of her, night and day. Whenever she’s ready, I want to try. I can go slow. As slow as she needs.
And in spite of everything, the terrible day, finding out what a snake in the grass Adam is and Dr. Laurel turning out to be such a disappointment—I smile.
Because for the first time, I let myself dream of a future with her.
I fall asleep happy and I wake up happy.
In fact, I’m still smiling when I head into work and pull on my lab goggles the next morning.
I’m smiling until my skin starts burning.
Until I’m screaming and clawing at my face and begging for them to tear it off me. And what I mean by it is my own skin.
Twenty-Five
Present Day
Daphne
My courage lasts for exactly six strides into the lushly appointed ballroom. There’s so many people. All of New Olympus’s high society, all in one room. Maybe if I just back out quietly, no one would even notice that I’ve—
But some wanker with a mic catches sight of me before I can make up my mind about retreating and announces, “Here she is! Adam Archer’s fiancée and belle of the ball, Daphne Laurel!”
“Doctor Daphne Laurel,” Rachel growls under her breath. “Just because a woman gets engaged doesn’t mean she’s stripped of all her titles.”
I squeeze her hand, partly in gratitude, partly for support, and partly so she doesn’t head off to strangle the stupid MC. The band strikes up a jazzed up version of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus” that devolves after several bars into some sort of disco riff.
Hordes of glittering guests turn to greet me. Like a tennis match, all heads swing in my direction. There must be over a hundred people in the ballroom. I’ve never felt so exposed. I swallow my grimace at the music choices. At my side Rachel mutters, “Oh gods, disco? Why?” and pretends to gag.
“Rachel,” I murmur through a gritted smile. “Will you be a dear and find my godsdamned fiancé?”
“Gladly, Doctor Laurel,” she murmurs back and glides away. Once she’s gone, I relax. I thought I’d want to put off meeting with Adam, but the sooner I drag him to a private meeting, the sooner I can end this farce. And then Rachel and I can take turns whipping him across the face with our opera gloves.
I fantasize about this for about three seconds before the first guest steps into my personal space. Fortunately, it’s one of my favorite people. Cora Ubeli.
“Dr. Laurel,” she hugs me like I’m a long lost friend from summer camp. When she steps back, huge diamonds at her ears and around her neck blind me. Her beauty is more striking than any bling she could wear, though.
She’s the epitome of beauty, strength, and power. Dangerous power at that, if all the stories about her are to be believed, even though she’s been nothing but kindness itself to me. But, for some reason I notice the wedding band on her ring finger has a dark red rock. The color of passion and blood, and anything but traditional, just like Cora and her intimidating husband themselves.
“Congratulations on everything,” Cora gushes. She’s stunning in a silvery blue sheath that complements her eyes. Her beauty is goddess-like, bright and stunning.
“Congratulations,” her husband, Marcus Ubeli, echoes. He’s the yin to Cora’s yang, dark and handsome. A touch of grey at his temples only adds to his aura of prestige and power. Most of the people hovering around us probably want to talk to him instead of me.
“And where’s your charming fiancé?” Cora asks, pretending to look behind me as if Adam is hiding there.
I wince. By not facing up to Adam sooner, I’m lying to these people. I hide my dismay but the way Cora’s blue eyes rove over my face, I’m fooling no one. “Uh, we arrived separately. I’ve been holed up for a while, working on...a project.” Because that’s what I’m calling sex games with Logan. A project.
“Of course,” Cora’s gaze softens. She’s going to let me off the hook. “You look so young, I forget you’re a brilliant researcher.” She catches my hand and squeezes it. I want to curl up in the warmth of her smile and purr like a cat. “The world needs you. But I hope you’ll take some time off for yourself.”
“Yes,” Marcus hands his wife a flute of champagne. “Time off is important.” He and Cora share a private look. “This building, for example. Did you know there’s a floor dedicated to an art gallery?”
“Um, no. Adam chose it. I didn’t get to explore it that much,” I say.
“You should.” His dark eyes twinkle. “There’s a staircase and a fountain that’s...quite fascinating.”
Cora chokes on her champagne. Marcus puts a hand on her back and excuses them both. There’s a lull while guests wait for the power couple to leave before rushing to greet me.
I staple a smile to my face and murmur thanks over and over. The guests fall into a few categories. There are older men with thinning hair and bespoke suits cut to hide their paunch who represent ninety-nine percent of New Olympus’ net worth. A bevy of plastic looking celebrities whose smiles don’t crease their Botoxed foreheads. Reporters in off-the-rack dress clothes who circle me slowly. I keep my comments vague about where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing. Any dropped hint would be blood in the water.
My throat is dry from fake-laughing and my face is sore from fake-smiling. Why did I ever dream about fitting in with these people? But I did. I saw this script for my life and I wanted to play the part written for me. Not that of the socialite. I was never going to be that.
But a respected CEO and researcher who hobnobs with the rich and influential? It was what my dad did and I assumed it was my path too. A respectable husband along the way was a given, just part of the picture that needed filling out so that my life was screen-ready.