Thirty-Four
Present Day
Logan
Dr. Laurel’s memorial service is held near Belladonna’s headquarters, in a garden dedicated to patients of Battleman’s.
“He fought tirelessly to save them from the ravages of a cruel disease. A disease that claimed his wife’s life,” intones the priestess.
I lurk on the furthest edge of the crowd at the back, watching Daphne’s dark, huddled figure. She stands alone beside a display of roses, her face lifted to the misting rain. She looks so cold.
The board members are all here, and so is Adam Archer. The question is, why am I here? Just to torment myself?
Did I think I’d feel some sense of victory, standing on the grave of one of the men who participated in my downfall?
I feel nothing for the old man. But my eyes are continually drawn back to Daphne, again and again. She lived her life for her father’s approval for so long. How is she doing now that he’s gone?
When the priestess is done with the last rites, my blood burns as Adam makes his way close to Daphne, leaning down to say something to her, but she stares past him to her father’s closed coffin. After a few minutes, Adam gives up and stalks away, and my tense muscles relax.
The ceremony continues. Both Adam and the board unerringly find the biggest philanthropists in the city to stand next to, probably so they can schmooze them after the service.
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 a
s 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.
But once he’s standing on his own, he keeps hold of me. “My gods,” he feels the muscle in my arms. “No skipping workouts for you. At least, not arm day.”
I open my mouth to snarl and he holds up the last thing I’d expect. A rose.
And that’s when I recognize him. He’s the man I saw Daphne talking to at the most recent Ubeli ball. Armand. I pulled him aside and told him I was her secret admirer. I asked him to give her the message to meet me in the labyrinth along with her mother’s favorite rose. It feels like a lifetime ago now even though it couldn’t have been more than a month.
But now he’s handing me that exact same species of rose. Then he leans in, kohl-lined eyes twinkling.
“I have a message for you.”
“A message,” I repeat, fighting the urge to step back. What the hell is this guy playing at? What’s his game? He keeps holding the rose in my face until I snatch it away. “Is this it?”
“That’s half of it.” He hands me a roll of paper tied with a red ribbon.
I’m itching to study both the rose and the note, but not with him watching. “Who are you?”
“Me? I’m just a messenger.” He nods at the items I’m holding. “She wanted me to give you these.”
She? “Who?”
“You know who.”
Fucking riddles. I jerk off the ribbon and unroll the paper just enough to read the first part of the fancy script. Avicennius Grant…
I jerk my head up. “Is this...?”
“Daphne’s Avicennius grant. And I believe that second piece of paper is her college diploma. One of them.”
Sure enough, the paper reads Awarded to: and follows with Daph’s full name. “I don’t understand.” What the hell is this? How did he get these? Is he trying to threaten—
“Come on, Wulfe. You can do better than that. Daphne is smart; she deserves someone to match.” He taps the papers. “She sent these clues.”
Her award and diploma? How are they clues? “Why would she send these?”
“Fine,” Armand sighs in disappointment at my failure to play his made-up game. “I’ll spell it out for you. This is all she has left. And she’s giving them to you. Get it?” He cocks his head to the side, studying me.
When I still don’t give him a satisfactory answer, he just shakes his head and waves his hand like he’s done with me. “She wants to see you. You better hurry. She shouldn’t be alone.”
“Where is she?”
“You know where.” He gives me a patient smile. “Where did those papers hang?”
I answer automatically, “In her bedroom at...”
The man touches two fingers to his forehead and flicks them at me before striding off.
I whirl on my heel, crushing the papers in my hand. Only to smooth them out carefully once we’re in his car.
“Sir? Where are we headed?”
“Thornhill.”
Thirty-Six
Present Day
Logan
I give directions and ease back in the seat, clutching my rose like a gold ticket. My invitation back into Daphne’s world. Back to where we began.
So much has happened, though. It’s not like we can just go backwards. Just because her father died, am I just supposed to forget the pictures…the betrayal?
But maybe, for one night, none of that matters.
She shouldn’t be alone. What did Armand mean by that? Is she… I shake my head. Daphne isn’t like my mom.
But when the driver pulls up to Thornhill, it’s dark. No light in the windows. Including the ones I broke.
Shards of glass line my throat when I think of Daphne seeing how I smashed her childhood home.
“Should I wait, sir?” the driver asks.
“No. Come back in the morning.” Even if Daphne isn’t here, I’ll stay. I’ll spend the night in the only place that ever felt like home…and then only for one night. Because I was with her.
The floorboards creak and puffs of dust rise like ghosts. I turn in a circle, remembering when this place was beautiful. I never should’ve bought it. I ruin everything I touch.
“Daphne,” I whisper. The stairs groan under my weight. But then I see it—a flicker of light in the far corner of the house.
In her old room. Of course.
“Hello? Daphne?”
“In here,” she calls.
I rush down the rest of the hall and stand dumbfounded in the door. Daphne stands in the light of a single candle. The weak flame casts more shadows than light, emphasizing the dirty smudges on her face and furrows of exhaustion under her eyes.
She looks so beautiful.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” she waves a hand around her dark and dank room. She’s taken the curtains I ripped down and made a bed in the corner. Next to it is a table with a broken leg, propped up with books, that holds the candle. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got, for now.”
She’s grinning.
“Daphne...are you okay?” She shouldn’t be alone, Armand had said. With everything that’s happened, has she suffered a mental break?
“Never better.”
I cross to her, reach out to touch her flushed cheek, but my finger hovers in the air. “You’re freezing.”
“I’m fine. I was cuddled up with some of these fine curtains before I heard you.”
I’m already removing my overcoat. “Let’s get you warm.”
“No more trials? No more labors of Hercules?” she murmurs as she lets me wrap her in the dark wool. It drapes around her like over-sized wizard robes.
“No. No more games.” This time, I do touch her face. Her skin is cold, but not as bad as I thought. “What are you doing here?”
“Here? Well…” she laughs, her head falling back, which makes her hair cascade in a lush black waterfall. She looks so carefree, it’s freaking me out. Especially when she continues, “Dad’s estate is in probate. My townhouse was actually a perk of working at Belladonna so now that I’m no longer there, I don’t have a—”
“Wait...you’re not at Belladonna?”
“Nope.” Her head tilts to the side as she stares at me. “Where have you been? Didn’t you see the news?”
I could hardly miss it. The business newspapers in particular reported her termination as CEO with glee. “I thought they’d just demote you.”
“Oh no, they were real thorough about throwing me out.” She doesn’t seem concerned. She squats and pulls up the over-sized sleeve so she can rustle around in a half empty knapsack lying beside her makeshift bed.
A few seconds later, she holds up a protein bar. “Hercules bar? They’re actually pretty good. They have ten times the daily dosage of every vitamin, which is overkill and might possibly make a person sick, but I can’t resist the ones dipped in chocolate.”
She studies the bodybuilder on the package. “You know, if the reclusive dom gig doesn’t work out for you, you could probably model for this company— ”
“Daphne! What happened? Why are you—” I look around at the shambles of her dark room.
“Living like a homeless person in my former home?” She doesn’t lose that light-hearted smile. “Well, when did we last speak? Oh yeah, the night you walked out on me because someone drugged me and took photos of me half-nekkid. The night before my dad died.”
Her matter-of-fact tone do
esn’t stop each statement from slamming into me like a bullet. Drugged her? What the—
“Our relationship is super fucked up, Logan,” she adds, and smacks her lips as she eats the chocolate bar. “But,” her voice softens. “I’m glad you’re not wearing the mask. I saw you at the funeral without it.”
“Enough.” I growl before she continues in this ridiculous vein and compliments my neck beard. “Daphne, nothing’s changed between us. Tell me why I should trust you.”
“Oh, so now you’re willing to listen?” she raises a brow.
I swallow. “I was wrong. I should’ve listened before.”
“Yes, you should’ve,” she says, settling cross-legged on the pile of curtains. “From the very start and every time afterwards, you should’ve listened to me before flying off the handle. I know I didn’t handle things well and you had reasons for your questions. Good reasons. But I didn’t deserve what you did to me.”
“You liked everything I did—
She waves a hand impatiently. “I’m not talking about all that. I did love that. I do. I love everything you’ve given me. The truth is, Logan, I love you.”
She loves me. Bright sunshine bursts inside my chest even as a voice in the back of my mind screams, can’t trust her, can’t trust her, can’t trust—
“But part of becoming the woman you’ve helped me discover, is that I refuse to be treated badly. I’ve done everything in my power to prove my devotion and loyalty. But it’s never enough. You’ll always believe outside voices over mine. I was drugged, my privacy violated, and you believed my accusers over me. Do you know what that feels like?”
Just like that, I feel like I’ve been kicked in the gut. I never even thought about that before and—
“Remember that night in the labyrinth?” she continues relentlessly. “Remember what happened to me?”
I crouch down to get closer to her level, and also because I don’t feel so steady on my feet as the pieces come together. “You fainted. You were drugged.”
Beauty and the Thorns Page 17
