by L. J. Woods
She turns to walk away but there’s no way I’m letting her. I’m not the jealous type but today, the idea of her anywhere near Damien makes me want to claw her eyes out. When I grab her arm she turns around to look at me like a disposed tissue.
I fire back, “Calm him down? With what? A blowie?” I narrow my eyes to match hers, the foyer growing silent with most of the guests now inside. “I said I got it.”
She doesn’t let me move around her. “Of course, that’s the first thing you think of and not my mom’s Valium you trashy whor—”
BANG!
“Damien?”
The loud voice of a woman makes both Lea and I turn towards the door. We’re met with a tall, slender lady in a poofy dress, ivory tulle sticking out under her hem. It matches the white rose in her dark hair, the mesh attached to it covering half of her face.
“Where is Damien?” She has a French accent, her lips painted red, eyes as grey as the day’s sky. Tugging a thick black shawl around her shoulders, her piercing eyes land on us.
“I’ll get him,” I say, my head whipping to Lea when I hear her voice in unison.
“Back off, Medusa,” Lea responds, her voice full-diva.
The woman strides towards us, the foyer nearly empty. The few people who’ve stayed behind have confused looks on their faces. Lea and I glance at each other as the woman’s heels click in slow tempo across the floor. Looks like we’re wondering the same thing. Who the fuck is this?
I don’t recognize her from the locals. Not that I know everyone, but something about her makes her seem out of place. It’s not her outfit. Lea’s eyeing it like she’s studying it, and the way her shoulders fall back gives her the confidence of most people in this ritzy town.
When she stands in front of us, her smokey eyes move between our outfits before they land on my boots. Her brows barely furrow before she speaks again, “You.” She turns her head to Lea. “Take me to my Damien. He will be happy to see his aunt from Paris.”
Woah. “His aunt?” I ask, uncertain I heard that right.
Lea straightens up. “Right away Miss…”
“Marion. Marion Roy.” She pauses, looking around. “Or is it King here?”
“I’ll help you find him,” I pipe up, trying again. I need to see him, face-to-face, no matter how fucked up he is.
Marion looks at me with a flat expression, “Non. No, you will not.” That gets a snarky smile from Lea before she leads Marion to the doors without another word. My teeth grind together.
Does she know?
When the doors close, I take a look around the foyer, attempting to catch the breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Only a few people stand around the space but it still feels like these walls are closing in. My chest with it.
I can’t set foot in there. Not after that. Not on my own.
My eyes land on the front doors.
I can run. It’s not like anyone here will miss me. I should get the fuck out of here and forgo the need to deal with any of this. Looking to my right, I settle for the bathrooms. My legs wobble all the way there, hanging onto the wall as I make my way inside. Once I’m in one of two stalls, I lock the door and flip the toilet lid down, taking a seat.
“You can get through this,” I whisper to myself, eyes closed as I suck in a long, deep inhale. When I let it out, I open my eyes, my focus on the metal of the lock. “You can do this,” I repeat again. When I get to the sink I splash some water on my face, not caring that the mascara runs. Or that my body is looking bonier by the day. If getting through this means a chance to talk with Damien, I’ll take it. And he better fucking thank me later.
“Miss Rowland.”
“Fuck!” I jump. Branson’s face is straight ahead of me the minute I open the door. He’s leaning against the wall with his partner by his side like they were waiting for me.
“Can we ask you a few questions?”
“About?” I ask, my voice shaky as the officer with the stache flips open his notepad.
“We have some questions about the death of Sebastien King.”
“I thought Mommy said no.” Crossing my arms, I’m hoping that hides the fear in my tired eyes.
“Get the fuck away from her!”
Like I thought the devil into existence, Damien’s voice fills the air. Turning to my left, he staggers towards us, a crumpled joint in his hand, pointing it right at the cops. He repeats himself and when he gets close, I’m filled with that familiar scent again. Plus what smells like a lot of alcohol. “Get the fuck away from her or get the fuck out!”
Branson takes a step back. “Now, we mean no harm.”
Damien scoffs, eyeing him up. He’s usually calm when he’s making his threats, but this time he seems more frantic. Desperate. He snarls, “If you mean no harm, you’ll go back to your seat, detective.”
The officer reads my mind when he asks, “Is there a reason you’re protecting this young lady?”
“Do I need to call security?” Damien fires back, his glossy eyes narrow further. “Or your boss?”
Hanson shakes his head, a small smirk on his face, “No need, kid. We’ll talk later.”
“Get a warrant!” Damien calls after him and when he turns to look at me, my breath stops in my throat.
Those eyes. Those damn god-like eyes. This hallway feels like the first time we met. The first time I got a real good look at Damien King in that crowded train station. There’s a reason he’s adored in the halls of our school. Damien King is beautiful. Even when he’s a mess. His soft, bottom lip disappears under his teeth and the longer we keep our gazes locked on each other, the more I want my lips pressed against his.
I’ve got balls as big as King Kong but now, with him in front of me, a moment I’ve been waiting on for the past few days, all I can say is, “H-hey …”
“Hey,” is his only response, his back collapsing against the wall across from me. He eyes me up like I’m a fresh slice of cake and I see his tongue run along his soft lip. That fire roars again, and I’m tempted to jump on him right then and there.
“You okay?” My cheeks fill with heat, my eyes dropping to his exposed chest, glistening with sweat. Hell, I’m surprised he’s still standing. Who knows what the fuck he’s on.
His eyes land on my wrist before that diamond face tenses, his whole body stiffening. “Leave.”
“What?” Glancing at my dad’s watch, I meet his eyes again, brows furrowing. Is he serious?
He takes a step closer and I can’t move even if I wanted to. I’m in his orbit, locked on those eyes. His palms come to each side of my head and I’m seeing his eyes in HD. His smooth, pale skin. The circles under his eyes are as bad as mine. He’s as sleep-deprived as I am. “Leave,” he says again.
“No.” Like a habit, I fire back, but I’m confused as hell. “Damien, I—”
“You heard me.” His hard bare chest presses against mine and in an instant, goosebumps form on my skin as my nipples pucker against my dress. I’m pressed against the wall and his cock is a contradiction, twitching to a hardon with his weight against mine. “Don’t make me repeat myself.” This feels all too familiar. How did we get back here?
“Damien?” Marion’s voice comes from the foyer but Damien doesn’t stop staring into my eyes and with the way I’m clenching my thighs, my body is just as confused as my mind. “Damien! You are here. Come. Please. We must go.” She glares at me as she pulls his arm away, Damien stumbling behind her and I’m left there to try to catch my breath.
But I can’t.
The room starts to spin, a tightness in my stomach following. Leaning against the wall across from me, I’m clutching my chest. I can still feel the warmth from his body on the wall but I’m so fucking cold. My legs shake as I’m trying my hardest to steady myself. It’s no use so I try to use what breath I have to call his name. I open my mouth, my head pressed against the wall before, the entire room goes black and shit … I’m about to hit the ground.
“Jo?” Firm hands catch my fall and
while I know someone has me, they sound distant. Like a dream. “Jo?” The voice calls again, a smooth deep voice. One without a slur. I hardly register who it is before a warmth engulfs me along with the scent of expensive cologne.
“Do you guys have water?” The voice asks, his face a blur when I open my eyes.
“Here.” A girl’s voice is next. “You okay, Jo? See? I told you idiots not to stop at Waldorfs.”
A bottle comes to my mouth and I grasp at it, both hands wrapping around the plastic. Tilting my head to the stone ceiling, cold water flows over my tongue, down my parched throat. It’s soothing. Relieving. The fogginess starts to dissipate and when I bring the bottle down, Christian’s head comes into view.
The light from the ceiling casts a halo around his brown hair. It’s usually shaggy but today it’s held in place, emerald eyes looking at me under furrowed brows. I’m in his arms. They’re warm. Steady. A smile spreads across than tanned face when I blink. “Thank god! Are you okay? What happened?” His eyes search mine and the room tilts as he puts me back on my feet, his hand on my shoulder. He cleans up like Leo at the Oscars and while I look a mess, Christian Perez is my angel. A contrast to the interaction I had with Damien.
“There she is!” Nate Quinfrey appears next to Christian, lowering his aviators on his nutmeg nose. “Pale, but alive.”
“Barely,” I mutter, relief settling in. Was that a panic attack?
Allie comes closer, fanning me with a white pamphlet. She glances back at Nate. “If you took another second she’d end up like Seb—”
“You didn’t expect me to come here without new Versace shades did you?” Nate asks in a very serious tone. “There’s press. Allie Perez, you know me better than that.”
“What’s going on, Jo?” Christian searches my eyes, moving a curl out of my face. Allie moves to grill Nate behind him. His words a blanket of comfort in this cold, bare room. He slips off his black coat. It reveals a black and grey suit fitted to his frame as he wraps it over my shoulders.
“This is all just … a lot.” I take another swig of water.
“Well, you look like you could use some fresh air,” Nate says, reaching into his black blazer. He pulls out a chunky joint. Only he would offer me a joint after I pass out. Legend.
“And some food?” Christian reaches into the pocket of his coat, his hand pressing against my thigh. He pulls out something in a shiny wrapper, “Bro Bar” in jaggedy letters. “It’s not much but Coach gives us these and they usually do the trick.” He gives me one of his charming winks, the one where his emerald eyes catch the light.
Looking at the joint, my mouth waters. So does my mind.
When I nod, the smile on Christian’s face grows. “Alright,” he says, glancing around. “Let’s head out back while we’ve got time.” His hand presses against my back as the three of them lead me down a narrow hall.
“Well, it can’t be that bad if you’re still down for a smoke, right?” Nate asks, his voice coming from behind me. But he has no idea.
* * *
Thank fuck for these guys.
After sneaking a session, I’m starting to feel better. More relaxed. I even devoured that “Bro Bar.” I’m hoping this high lasts through the service, my head a little lighter.
The main room is quiet when we enter, save for some whispers and sobs. Wooden pews contain what looks like everyone in Eden Gardens. Willow sits next to Bella in a row near the back, a brunette with golden highlights to her right. Three stocky boys sit next to them, whispering and nudging each other.
Christian leads us to an empty pew way at the back of the room, Allie and Nate behind him. I spot the officers a few rows up.
“I got you another water bottle in case,” Christian whispers, leaning towards me. “This day’s rough but you got this.”
“And you got us,” Allie chimes in, settling into the spot next to me. Her blazer matches her fitted slacks, the purple strands in her wavy hair fitting the gothic theme of the day.
Letting my eyes wander the room, I wiggle my toes in my boots. This place is beautiful. A long way from the churches in The Grove. The stained glass around us looks like pieces of art. Gold fixtures make up most of our ornate surroundings. Candles light up the room along with the few dazzling chandeliers above us. It’s hard not to scoff at this much lavishness in a church, but it’s fitting the occasion.
A giant display of red and black roses sits in front of a large portrait of the man we’re all here for. The man who’d delight in the turnout. But I can’t even look at it. Shuffling in my seat, I reach for the water, my stomach twisting again.
“Who is that?” Nate leans in, looking at the three of us but glancing towards the front row.
Taking a sip, my eyes land on Damien. He’s leaning back against the pew. Well, more like slumping. At least he looks calmer. Dazed.
Lea’s on the other side of him, but he doesn’t seem to care as she tries to keep his head straight, tipping his chin up. Marion sits at the end of the row, Isaac beside her, his girl between him and Damien. If the guests in this cathedral aren’t looking at the altar, they’re looking at him.
“No clue,” Christian says.
So I fill them in, “His aunt.”
“His aunt?” Allie repeats, her upturned eyes widening.
“She’s dressed to kill,” Nate leans to his right, getting a better look. “Those heels. Stunning.” I don’t know what “dressed to kill” means but those shoes do look like they could do some damage.
“Didn’t think the Kings had much in the way of family.” Christian eyes his friends, leaning back in his seat with a shake of his head.
While I’m happy he’s here, I can’t help but wonder, “How come you’re sitting here with us and not with them?”
Christian’s brows furrow as the priest takes his place at the podium. He shrugs, lowering his voice. The priest speaks over him but what he says next brings warmth to my chilly shoulders, “I want to make sure you’re okay.”
“That’s our job,” Allie pipes in with a whisper, hair falling over her jacket. “You sure you don’t want to party with the Kings, bro?” She makes a hang-loose sign with her hand, tongue hanging out of her mouth.
An older woman in front of us hushes our row before Christian nudges Allie through me, my boxy body bouncing between them. Allie mumbles something before returning the woman’s hush with a sarcastic smile. Nate stifles a snort next to her.
Christian leans back against his seat, taking a glance around before his eyes land on the priest. He shakes his head, muttering, “This is so fucked up.”
I couldn’t agree more.
The priest leads everyone into a prayer, guests bowing their heads. All except Damien. Keeping my eyes open, my gaze on him, the room disappears around us. The priest’s voice sounds like it’s forever away, Damien’s words in my head again.
You don’t belong here, Rowland.
He could be right.
* * *
The service is only an hour but it feels like the longest hour of my life. It’s hard to take my eyes off Damien and as my high wears off, the more anxious I feel.
When the service ends, I’m one of the first to dash to the doors. A cold wind brushes against my face, lifting my curls as I stand on the steps. Looking ahead at the driveway, I repeat my words of courage, “I can get through this.”
Marion comes through the door and a tightness hits my chest. I’m expecting Damien to be walking out with her but instead, she has two men on her side. They’re both in black suits and were inside during the service, but the laugh Marion gives tells me a lot. It’s the same titter Nancy gives when she’s dealing with Eric’s business pals and she doesn’t look the tiniest bit fazed about the death of her brother.
Watching as she leads them towards the line of shiny black cars in the driveway, a hand comes to the small of my back. My body stiffens, fists clenching.
“You okay?” Christian’s voice isn’t the one I expect but it makes my shoulders
fall. “Hungry? Down for Emilio’s?”
Before I can answer, Nancy, Eric and Willow come out from the wooden doors. Willow stops when she sees me but Eric and Nancy keep going, Nancy turning around to lower her shades a smidge. “There’s a reception at the King mansion and I’ll see you there. Don’t dawdle. Eric wants to introduce you to a new partner.” She doesn’t wait for a response, lifting the shades on her narrow, porcelain nose as she walks with Eric towards their Rolls Royce.
“Hard to believe we don’t get paid for this,” Willow groans, leaning her round head on my shoulder.
“Coming to Emilio’s, Willow?” Christian asks.
“Did I hear pizza?” Allie and Nate are next through the doors.
They stand in front of us, Nate rubbing his stomach. “I could go for a slice. Munchies are kickin’ in … not that funerals get my appetite going.”
“Yeah, this is super heavy,” Allie reaches out, a hand on my shoulder.
The sound of a light slap comes from behind us. “Damien, look alive dammit,” Lea’s voice is a snip as she drags Damien’s long noodly legs towards the first limo in the line. “Only a few more hours and you can go back to whatever it is you and Isaac were doing.” Damien looks half-asleep, his eyes almost closed as Lea guides him down the steps.
“Damien?” His name slips out of my lips.
His head tilts and it seems like he’s about to look my way before he slips, Lea’s eyes widening as she tries to steady him. “Some help?” she calls.
“I thought you could handle it,” I say, moving over. “What the fuck did you give him?”
How could Marion leave him like this? When I glance towards the parking lot, she’s leaning against a Porsche, laughing with the two men.
“Not from you!” Lea snips. “And it’s nothing he hasn’t abused before. You’ve done enough damage, don’t you think? Christian, get over here.”
He sighs, rubbing my back before he rushes over to Lea. “I’ll help you get him to the car,” he says, grabbing Damien’s other arm. “But we’re gonna take off.” Watching Damien as limp as a stale fry only breaks my heart further. He usually stands tall like the royalty he claims. But today, he seems like he’s drowning in more than just booze.