His fists opened and closed. I knew he was ready to punch something. “Coralie, I swear to Christ…,” he started but I wasn’t having it.
“What?” I shot back. Then I pushed him. “What?!” I pushed him again. And then I hit him. “You fucking jerk! I hate you! You’ve fucked it all up! Everything!”
He took every last blow until I reduced to tears. He placed his hands on either side of me on the rail and bent down to look me in the eye. “How’s Lucy?”
So he knew. Of course he knew. He was probably still having me followed, which was likely how he found me at Harvey’s hotel. “Living my dream,” I said. “The one that you wrecked.”
“I know,” he said. “But I’m trying to fix it.”
My eyes met his. I now knew how impossible our situation was. It was like Harvey said, there was no stopping Suzanne. There was only surviving. And Suzanne would never let us be together. She’d never let us be happy. “You can’t,” I finally said.
The elevator doors opened and I pushed away from him and stormed out.
I took the long way home, staring at every set of headlights in the rearview mirror, wondering which one was the one being paid to tail me all over creation. I blared music from my radio as the wind from my open moon roof swept the tears from my face. I had never felt so powerless and limited. How the fuck did I wind up in this situation? I was a good girl…
… except I wasn’t.
A good girl doesn’t pay some stranger to fuck her. She doesn’t fork over $25,000 to spend the week in the aptly named Sin City to cavort with a tattooed bad boy, just because she has some lascivious itch to scratch. She doesn’t then marry said stranger, upset her entire life, a puppet on someone else’s strings, just so she can keep hitting the same powerful drug over and over again. And she most certainly, indubitably and unquestioningly doesn’t sleep with two men just to prove a point, particularly when the point is most certainly, indubitably and unquestioningly invalid. Suzanne still held my strings, strings I had never given to her, but strings that bound me all the same.
That night, when I returned to Father’s estate, I went promptly to his room, where I was going to tell him the whole, ugly, sordid truth.
But he was fighting off another infection, which the doctor was fearful might turn into pneumonia, so he wasn’t allowed any guests. Instead I walked to Petit Paradis, to talk to my last friend in the world. Caz Bixby.
He was shirtless when he answered the door. “Hey, pussycat,” he greeted with a grin. “What brings you by? I thought you’d still be at the hospital.”
I followed him into the house. “They kicked me out when visiting hours were over.”
He glanced at his watch. “Pretty liberal visiting hours.”
“I went to see Harvey.” That shocked him silent. “He knows about Dev. He knows about all of you. And there’s nothing he can do. She’s got him by the short and curlies every bit as much as she has all of us. Best of all? He doesn’t even care. He’d probably welcome a scandal just to get rid of her. He doesn’t care about the election. He doesn’t care about whether he wins or loses. All cares about is how he can turn it all into profit.”
We flopped together on the sofa. “Bad news, babe. I’m sorry.”
I sighed. “Devlin showed up at the hotel.” Caz’s eyes widened. “They are in cahoots. One more of Dev’s many secrets, only let out of the bag when he has no fucking choice.”
He brushed my hair from my face. “Pussycat,” he murmured. And this time I didn’t even get mad about it.
“What do I do now?”
He pulled me into his arms. “You put one foot in front of the other. You take one breath and let it out again. You exist until you learn how to live. That’s how you survive anything.”
“What do I tell my dad? He’s so sick, but he wants to spend his remaining months campaigning for Harvey Everhart. He can’t go to his grave supporting those people.” Again I broke down in more damnable tears. I’d never cried as much my whole life as much as I had since I met Devlin Masters. It made me hate him even more.
“Maybe it’s time to move to France,” he suggested and I nodded.
“I’d love that, but Dad won’t go. This election is his holy grail. He won’t leave until November, and maybe not even then.”
He caressed my hair before planting a kiss on my head. “We’ll figure it out, sweetheart. You’re not alone. No matter what.”
I wrapped my arms around him and hugged him tight. I never would have imagined that Caz Bixby, one of the most infuriating and arrogant men I’d ever known, would be one of my best friends. But he was. He really was.
“How touching,” Dev drawled from behind us, making us both jump apart. Before I could yell at him for breaking and entering–again–he indicated towards the entryway. “Door was open. I thought I’d drop this by.” He put the jewelry box he had bought me on the coffee table, which was yet another reminder of all our broken dreams, particularly of the children we never had.
Caz stood. “I should probably go to the house.”
“No, no,” Dev said as he sprawled on one of the chairs. “We’ve gone way past those kinds of things, don’t you think? You can stay. You can watch.” His eyes drilled into mine. “You can even participate, provided that is what our queen wants.”
Caz didn’t even respond. He just knelt to give me another kiss on the top of my head. “Call me if you need me.”
“You’re not leaving, Casper,” Devlin announced, but Caz barely even stopped at the door.
“You know what, Dev? You’re an asshole. And a dumbass. You should get that checked out.” He slammed out of the house.
I stood as well. “Sit down, Coralie.”
“Fuck you, Devlin,” I snapped. “Caz is right. You’re a dumbass.” He rounded the coffee table in the time it took me to spin towards the door, spinning me back again.
“No. I’m your fucking husband. You know it as well as I do.”
I yanked from his embrace. “Is that what you want to hear, Devlin? That I belong to you? Fine! I belong to you. Forever! I’m scarred from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet, branded, just like some goddamned livestock. Are you happy now? Do you want to hear how I’ll never be happy with anyone else? That no one can do to me what you do to me? Fine! I’ll never be the same person I was a year ago, when I thought chaos was a busy schedule and a domineering family. I’m ruined, Devlin. You did that to me. Claim your fucking credit!”
He did that very thing, by pulling me into an angry embrace, his mouth clamping over mine in a punishing kiss just to shut me up. I didn’t even fight him. There was no point. He pulled away, even more frustrated by my lack of response. “I love you, Coralie. Do you hear me? I love you!”
My eyes met his. “I know you do. But that love is killing me. Can’t you see that? No, you’re too fucking blinded by your own mastery. You spend all your time worrying so much about how much you love someone that you never seem to notice what your love does to them. Me. Darcy. Your mom.” He stumbled backward a step, so I kept going. “Your love is lethal, Devlin. A terminal cancer, no cure. Yeah, I love you. I love you more than I love me, like an addict loves heroin. I can’t see beyond my next fix, even when my whole fucking life is falling apart. And you keep popping up like some demented Jack in the Box, thinking you’re doing me some goddamned favor by loving me. Grant me a wish, magical genie! A week in Vegas, poof. A surprise engagement, poof. A house, a job, a husband, a song–poof, poof, poof, POOF!” Another damnable tear rolled down my face. “You know what I really wish? I wish you hated me. It’d be easier.”
His jaw clenched as he stared down at me, his nostrils flaring, those green eyes on fire. He reached for the music box, which he held for a moment, his hand brushing across the polished design of stained glass hand-painted on the lid. He hurled it against the fireplace, shattering it into kindling, and sending my wedding rings that the box contained right into the ashes left over from our last fire.
“Wis
h granted,” he said in a strangled voice before he stormed out of my house with an explosive bang.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When Caz found me, I was on my knees, gathering broken pieces of the music box, which tore my fingers to shreds. But that wasn’t why I was sobbing. He ran to my side. “CC, what are you doing?”
I couldn’t even answer. I shook my head as I cried.
“Come on,” Caz said as he hooked his arm around my shoulders. I let him lift me up into his arms like a doll, before I turned back to the fireplace.
“My rings!”
“I’ll get them,” he promised. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He carried me to my bathroom, where he shoved my hand under warm water to rinse away any blood from the tiny cuts left behind by shredded wood. “What happened?”
I shook my head again. “I said horrible things, Caz.”
He scowled. “He probably deserved them.”
I kept shaking my head. The way Dev looked at me when I invoked his sister’s name, and his mother’s, would likely haunt me till the day I died. It was the lowest of low blows, and it had done way more than wound him. It had broken him. “Not this. He’ll never come back now.”
Caz sighed as he turned to me. “Maybe that’s best.” He turned my face towards the mirror. “She’s too pretty to be so fucking sad.”
It only made me cry even more. He rested his head against mine as he held me.
That night I didn’t make it past the bedroom at Petit Paradis. Caz tucked me into bed before he returned to the living room, where he cleaned up the mess, retrieved the rings and made bunk on the sofa.
I didn’t bother heading back to the house until about three o’clock that Friday afternoon, where Margot told me that Father wanted to see me. “I thought he was too ill for visitors,” I said and she just shrugged.
“He’s willing to take the risk, I guess. It’s about the party tonight.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course it is.”
“Oliver sent over your dress for the event. It’s upstairs in your room. Everyone is wearing YC.”
“That’s the point, right?” I said in parting as I headed for Father’s room.
The last thing I wanted to do was go to that party, and it was as if he knew it. He waved me in before brushing off his nurse. “They told me that you weren’t here to try on the new dress when it arrived.”
“No one knows my measurements better than Darcy,” I told him.
“Even so. This is a very high-profile event.”
“They’re all high-profile events, Dad.”
“No, CC. Not all.” He took my hand in his for a very rare display of affection. “You’ve made me very proud in the last year, Coralie. Even that little dalliance with Devlin proved very fortuitous for us in the long run. I’m extraordinarily confident that you carry the mantel of the Cabot family into the future, long after I’m gone.” I glowered at him, angered he’d leverage guilt against me, though not entirely surprised. He continued to ice the cake. “At this fundraiser, you are the head of the family. You represent us all. Our ideas. Our values. Our virtue.”
I had to choke down laughter that threatened to bubble up in my throat. “I do want to make you proud, Dad,” I started, and, true to form, he cut me off.
“Then you will make sure to send my regrets personally to Harvey and Suzanne.”
I stared at him for a long moment. Despite his age, despite his disability, despite his illness, he was as regal and stately a man as I have ever known. There was no argument to be had. “Of course.”
He smiled as he squeezed my hand. “That’s my girl,” he praised warmly–another first.
I walked to my bedroom after I left Father’s suite. There was another eye-catching dress hanging on the back of my bathroom door. The formal dress was a trumpet design, with an intricate sequin design in eye-popping navy, with a sheer white skirt flaring out to a matching sequin design in the hem and train of the dress. The back of the dress was most dramatic, almost completely bare thanks to the cut-out design.
It was a dress fit for a queen, I thought with a sneer.
Since I needed all the emotional support I could get, I invited Caz to go with me as my date. He showed up just before the limo arrived, wearing a tailored tuxedo that clung almost lovingly to his athletic form. He met me in the kitchen, where I chewed on crackers to calm my stomach. He wore a smile as he approached, holding out a coral rose. I instantly made a face. “No roses, please.”
He looked down at the rose, looked around the island where I sat, where a bunch of fresh mint grew in one of Gretchen’s many pots of herbs. He set aside the rose and grabbed a bunch of herbs instead, which he handed to me with a big smile. It made me laugh despite myself. He offered his arm and I took it, following him out to the limo where both Margot and Aubrey had already gathered.
Aubrey was dressed in a dress very similar to mine, except the bodice was made of lace. It was a bright canary yellow, which complemented her copper red hair, and featured lace across the bodice and at the hem, with a sheer flared skirt. Margot wore a blue sheath dress with delicate beading around the plunging neckline. They looked spectacular. “No dates?” I asked.
Margot nodded towards Caz. “I figured we could share. Since we already did.”
We shared a knowing look before I turned to Caz, who just smiled even bigger. “Sounds good to me.” Aubrey rolled her eyes, but he ignored any discontent as he opened up the limo door. “Ladies first.”
I got in second to last, just in front of Caz. I sent him a warning glare. “Be good.”
“I’m better than good, baby,” he grinned. “I’m the best.”
Our car fell in line behind dozens of other cars that pulled into the circular drive to the posh Beverly Hills hotel, with many other donors to the cause. I knew one of those guests included Devlin Masters, which made me tremble in spite of myself. Caz sent me a concerned glance before he took my hand in his for a reassuring squeeze.
We exited the car to a flurry of activity. Several press outlets were ready to snap our photos, to broadcast to the world who might pay $25,000 a table to hear Harvey Everhart speak, or celebrate his current rankings in the polls. The cost of the table only soured my mood even more; though this time I wasn’t the one paying for us all to get fucked, that’s exactly what it meant.
Our table was right in front of the stage, where a long table had been set up for Harvey and those most closely associated with the campaign, complete with name placards for easy identification. That Devlin’s sat right next to Suzanne’s, almost directly in front of our table, couldn’t have been an accident. Suzanne was ready to rub my nose in the fact that I may have had my little moment in Vegas, but it was merely a battle in her overall war. When the waiter brought around the flutes of champagne, I didn’t even hesitate. I probably would have taken up cocaine or heroin or meth or moonshine had he offered it. I needed to be more than numb to this night. I needed to black the fuck out so I could bypass it entirely.
“I’m surprised he wasn’t hanging off her arm to greet us as we walked in the door,” I muttered just loud enough for Caz to hear.
“First rule of seduction, babe. Make ‘em wait for what they want most.”
I rolled my eyes before I took another gulp of effervescent mind-numbing bubbles. I was on my second glass by the time our master of ceremonies took the stage to announce everyone. The Everharts were last, of course. And Devlin was second to last.
Now that he was a media darling, thanks to his new hit single, this only made sense. But every second I had to wait to see him amped my nerves up even more. I shivered like I sat naked in the middle of the frozen tundra by the time he walked onto the stage, almost criminally handsome in the tux that he wore. No one could wear a tuxedo like Devlin Masters. No one could wear normal clothes like Devlin Masters. No one could wear nothing at all like Devlin Masters.
It pained my heart just to see him standing there, but pained me even more that h
e refused to look my direction at all.
Though we sat right in front of him, he ignored our table through speech after boring, monotonous, entitled speech. Instead he rested his arm along the back of Suzanne’s chair, leaning towards her to watch whoever might be standing at the podium just to her left. Every now and then she’d smile at him, and his eyes possessively scanned her face, often landing on her mouth. It was suggestive from every angle, something I knew for certain by the way Margot and Aubrey shared puzzled glances before sending me looks to see how I was taking it.
By then, I was on glass number four.
Caz kept his arm along the back of my chair, leaning towards me as moral support. “You might want to take it easy, pussycat,” he murmured when I ordered glass number five.
“Fuck you,” I murmured. I finally got to the level of inebriated I needed to be, and I planned to stay there.
He said nothing before he returned to his own glass.
Suzanne was the last to speak, after Harvey had fired everyone up with more of his “blunt” talk that included flinging zingers at everyone who wasn’t represented in that room: the poor, minorities, the LGBT community, feminists, socialists, communists–any ‘ists’ he could fit in his speech. By then, I wasn’t the only drunk person in the room, so inhibitions had gone right out the window. People who were tired of playing nice didn’t. His speech whipped them all up in a tizzy, and Suzanne declared that meant it was time to party, with that deceptively sweet-sounding southern accent.
“I just wanted to take a minute to thank y’all so much for your support, for both Harvey and myself, as we head on towards our win in November. We’re going to take this country back, and that’s all because of you.” The ballroom erupted into thunderous applause. “I’d like to thank a few people in particular, including Sylvia Lyon and Margot Dupriest, who planned this gorgeous affair.” The audience showed their appreciation with more applause, which Suzanne indulged before she continued. “I’d also like to thank the Cabot family, represented tonight by the lovely face of Youniquely Cabot, Coralie Cabot, whose family dressed all the beautiful women you see here tonight.” She indicated her own dress, a sheath design made of red silk and a black lace overlay, the slit on the side showing off her toned, tanned legs and sexy stilettos.
Masters Forever (Masters #3) Page 20