Grace guides me over to a quiet corner of the room, sending furtive glances in either direction.
“I heard that you and your lovely girlfriend are living separately at the moment,” Grace says.
I tense at the mention of Alexis.
“Perhaps you might be looking to indulge your appetite a little in the meantime?” she continues. “Which of these nubile society delights has caught your eye?”
I shake my head and take a sip of champagne. “None of them.”
“Is that so?” Grace cocks an eyebrow, then glances down at her glass almost shyly. “If it’s not the spring chickens you desire, perhaps you would be inclined to sample the fine old hen?”
I suppress the urge to snap at Grace. She doesn’t realize how much of a nerve she has hit with her comments, and I doubt she meant any offense.
“Grace,” I say, placing a hand on her arm. “I won’t be taking home any of these lovely ladies this evening, but you know, of course, that if I were going to, you would be my first choice.”
She giggles and fans at her cheeks as they flush. “A shame, really.”
“Indeed.” I smile. “Please would you excuse me? I need to make the rounds.”
More like I need to make my way back around to the bar.
“Of course.”
I take my leave and wander back to the bar, grabbing a glass of whiskey this time and then taking a slow lap of the room. I chat with the people I know and recognize from other events, making small talk about the weather and stocks and the dreaded current state of things. We only speak of the latter point in veiled terms. Nobody uses the word gangs or mentions purple heroin, they are all too polite for that, but even for people used to ignoring the city’s common afflictions, there is definitely a level of uneasiness.
Grace is not the last woman I end up rejecting, but she is the most polite. The gossip has circulated, and everyone here knows that Alexis and I are living separately, and what’s more, they don’t seem to believe that we are still in love like I told the interviewer. In their eyes, I am a newly single man. Ripe for the picking. Extricating myself from the amorous intentions of several of the night’s denizens is tedious and exhausting, and I find myself missing Alexis more and more as the night goes on.
If Alexis was here, I wouldn’t be bored. I might even be having fun. She would have something amusing to say about every character we met.
Silvano enters the party after the speeches, his gray eyes slicing through the crowd to land on me at a table in the back corner of the room. At first, my drink-addled eyes mistake him for his dead brother, and my heart picks up, but he comes more into focus as he cuts across the room.
He arrives at my table and shoves his hands into the pockets of his gray slacks, eyeing the empty glass in front of me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Silvano tips forward on his heels. “I thought you might need a rescue.”
I swipe my tongue over my lips, tasting the last remnants of my drink, honeyed and bitter. Silvano smiles pleasantly and glances around, taking in the drunken frivolity around him. Laughter echoes through the room.
“Why did you think that?” I ask.
“Vito said you hate these things,” he replies. “From the dark cloud hanging over this table, I can see he was right.”
I glance up, as though I might actually see the cloud. I would thank it if I could. That must be why people have been leaving me more or less alone for the past hour or so.
“What’s on your mind?” Silvano asks.
I trace a finger around the rim of the empty glass, staring at it as though I might be able to fill it with my mind. “Nothing that should be.”
Silvano slides into the seat next to me and unbuttons his suit jacket. “And what does that mean?”
“I can’t stop thinking about Alexis,” I say with a defeated sigh. “I have so many other things to worry about, and yet I can’t get the damn woman out of my head.”
“Of course you can’t,” Silvano says simply. “You love her.”
My eyes snap to his. “I never said I loved her.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Mind what you say to me, Silvano,” I growl.
His eyes light humorously. “Methinks he doth protest too much.” Before I can snarl anything else at him, Silvano leans forward and claps a hand on my back. “Come on. Let’s get you home.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “We will go when I say we can go.” I slide my glass toward him. “Go get me another whiskey.”
Silvano heads off in the direction of the bar, and I let out a sigh. What he said troubles me. Did Vito tell him that as well? About me loving Alexis? Or is it that obvious? Does everyone know? Does Alexis know?
I scrub a hand over my face and try to push it from my mind. Silvano returns with my whiskey, and I grab it from him and start to walk toward the door.
“Come on,” I say. “Time to go.”
I think of the empty mansion waiting for me, and the prospect of going home seems only slightly better than staying here with all these snakes. If Alexis were waiting for me, that would be a different story. Fuck, I miss her. I just want to hear her voice. I want to yell at her. I want to kiss her.
David is waiting out front with the town car when we arrive. Silvano opens the door for me, and as I slide in, I meet his gaze. “Take a cab.”
His expression flickers, but he gives a short nod.
I want to be alone. Or as alone as I can be. David has been my driver for a long time and can sense when I don’t want to speak, so he greets me and then locks his eyes on the road and starts to drive.
I pull my phone from my pocket and turn it over in my hand. I know what I want to do. I also know it is not what I should do. But the whiskey is running like fire through my veins, and it urges me on.
I unlock my phone, and with gritted teeth, I call Alexis.
12
Alexis
I am lying in bed, waiting to feel even the slightest bit sleepy when my phone starts to ring on the bedside table. It’s not terribly late, though I would still consider it an unusual time for a social call.
I bolt up, immediately fearing the worst. Something has happened. Clara is hurt. Debbie is dead.
I snatch the phone off the table and check the screen. My heart leaps into my throat as I read Gabriel’s name.
Why would Gabriel call me now, after all the times I have begged to speak with him and he has refused? What could he want from me at this hour? It can’t be good, I decide. I answer the call, hand shaking.
“Hello?” I ask uncertainly.
“Hi.”
It’s Gabriel, all right. That one syllable is more powerful than any syllable ought to be. My belly flutters, and I jump out of bed, still a little jumpy from the bolt of adrenaline soaking through my system.
“Can I help you?” I ask, gluing the phone to my shoulder while tugging on a pair of jeans from the floor. Some loose change spills out of the back pocket and onto the carpet.
“I dunno,” Gabriel replies. “Can you?”
Gabriel is not a man who uses the word “dunno.” His voice is thick, his tone a little petulant. He’s drunk, I realize.
Jeans on, I head for the nursery.