“Well…” I checked the situation behind me, where my mother, Jazmin, and Riley all listened to my conversation with attentive ears. “Not quite. I kind of have a bone to pick with you.”
“Excellent choice of words,” Nick said with a smile. “Because I was hoping you might accompany me to dinner tonight at Porter’s as an apology.”
I had read through enough of White Oak’s brochures to know that Porter’s Restaurant was the most expensive place to eat in the entire resort and probably all of Crimson Basin. It was the type of place you couldn’t set foot in unless you were familiar with black tie affairs and limitless credit cards. I both envied and pitied the people who could afford to eat there. On one hand, I loved the idea of wearing a designer gown and drinking thirty dollar martinis at one of the candlelit tables. On the other, I knew I’d feel wildly out of place at Porter’s. Then again, if I went with Nick—who literally owned the restaurant—it was a whole different story.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” I said.
“I’ll have something brought up to you.” He smiled again, this time more confidently. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes. That’s a yes.”
With Jazmin’s help, I outmaneuvered my mother and Riley to get ready for dinner, but that meant answering Jazmin’s probing questions as she helped me do my hair and makeup. When the dress arrived in a gleaming white box, she carried it in and set it on the bed with a dazed look on her face.
“What?” I asked from the bathroom, in the middle of applying mascara.
She draped herself over the box. “It’s Dolce.”
I peeked around the corner to see for myself. “You’re kidding.”
She tilted the box up to show me the label. “I’m not.”
“I can’t wear that!”
“You can and you will.” She lifted the lid and gasped. “My God, I’m in love. Can you marry a dress?”
She extracted the dress from its home and held it up for me to see. My jaw dropped. It was a gorgeous floor-length piece, dark blue with black lace accents. Somehow, it was both Regular Lucia’s and Madame Lucia’s style at the same time. Jazmin brought it over, and I ran the flawless fabric through my fingers.
“What exactly does it mean when a man sends you a five-thousand dollar dress to wear on a date to his own restaurant?” Jazmin said.
“Stop. It’s not like that.”
She unzipped the dress and slipped it over my head, carefully placing it so that it wouldn’t disrupt the perfect curls in my hair. “Isn’t it though?”
“I’m not interested in Nick Porter,” I said. “First of all, he’s way older. Second, he’s Nick freaking Porter. You think I want all of this?”
Jazmin glanced around the enormous bathroom. “You don’t? Say you marry Nick—”
“Jaz!”
“Hear me out,” she insisted. “You would never have to be Madame Lucia again, and you would have a great guy to rely on. You’d always be taken care of.”
“I like taking care of myself,” I reminded her. “You know that.”
“Yeah, I do,” she said. “And usually I wouldn’t suggest that any woman, especially you, should rely on a man, but in this case, it might be nice for you to have someone who’s entirely capable of taking care of you. You deserve it.”
“Well, I don’t want it,” I said as she zipped the back of the dress up for me. “I have you, remember? Besides, we’re getting way too far ahead of ourselves. This isn’t even a date. It’s a pity offer.”
“Shut up,” said Jazmin. She fluffed my curls then spun me around so I could look at myself in the floor-length mirror. “Look at yourself. It’s a date.”
I didn’t look like me—all dressed up and ready for a night at Porter’s—but I looked like someone who could afford to visit White Oak on a regular basis.
Jazmin rested her chin on my shoulder and hugged me from behind. “Do me a favor. Just for tonight, pretend that you belong here. Don’t worry about Riley or your mother or King and Queens or any of that crap. Just focus on yourself and have a good time. Promise?”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I guess that’s all I can ask for.”
Nick met me in the lobby, right where the elevator doors opened up. When I arrived on the ground floor, he was surrounded by a small group of admirers, mostly women my age who fawned over his suit—the same color blue as my dress—as he smiled politely and answered all of their questions. When he saw me come out, he stepped away from his fan club.
“Excuse me, everyone,” he said. “I have a prior commitment.”
As he walked up to me, I received a number of dirty looks for garnering Nick’s attention, but one of the women winked and gave me a thumbs-up.
“The dress fits,” Nick said, looking me over. “Good. You look great.”
“This isn’t really my thing,” I said. “Fancy restaurants and designer gowns, you know? I’m more of a barbeque kind of girl.”
“Lucky for you, we have barbeque on the menu.”
“Regular barbeque?” I asked as he offered me his arm.
He laughed and led me across the lobby toward the restaurant. “What exactly is the definition of regular barbeque?”
“If you have to ask, you don’t know.”
“Well, I suggest you order a steak then,” Nick said. “Because I am completely confident in my declaration that Porter’s has the best steak in the States.”
“It better, considering your last name.”
Porter’s was nestled in one of the far corners of the resort, which was a bit of a walk from the lobby. We crossed through a glass bridge connecting one wing of the resort to the next. It was dark and snowy outside, but the sky was clear enough to see all of the stars. I gazed upward through the glass ceiling, trusting Nick to guide me along.
“It’s a beautiful night,” he commented. “Nicest one I’ve seen in a while, what with all the snowstorms.”
“Yeah, it’s kind of hard to believe we were stuck at King and Queens just a few days ago,” I said.
He fell quiet, his eyes and mouth turning down. I’d broken the unspoken rule. Don’t talk about King and Queens. A layer of guilt and sadness draped itself over our conversation. Luckily, it wasn’t much farther to Porter’s. The sounds of a busy restaurant floated toward us as we drew closer. The restaurant, like all the best spots at White Oak, had an unimpeded view of the mountain. Most of the people seated at the dark booths were well-dressed couples, quietly laughing and talking. The aroma of steak spices wafted out to meet us as we reached the host’s desk. When the host saw Nick, he squared his shoulders and saluted.
“Mr. Porter!” he said, gathering two menus. “Welcome back. Everyone’s so happy to see you home again.”
“Thank you, William,” Nick said to the young man. “I’m happy to be back.”
“Your usual table?”
“Yes, please.”
William led us through the busy restaurant to a large circular booth in the back, centered between the bar and the door to the kitchen. Nick gestured for me to slide in first before unbuttoning his suit jacket and sitting next to me. William handed us our menus.
“Our special tonight is Duck Confit,” William told me, “but Mr. Porter knows all of the best things that aren’t included on the menu. You should ask him for a suggestion.”
“I’ll do that,” I said, smiling up at the host.
William beamed. “Have a good evening. Let me know if you need anything.”
I opened the menu and glanced over the top of it at Nick as William sped away. “Are all of your employees so accommodating? They practically worship you.”
He unraveled his napkin, which had been folded in the shape of a swan, and placed it in his lap. “My goal at White Oak is to make my employees feel like part of the family. There are so many businesses that preach about having a good work community but don’t follow through. Here, I’d like to think my employees are happy and content to work for me.”
�
��I don’t think I’ve met anyone who seems unhappy to be here,” I agreed. “Including myself. I should thank you again for letting us stay here.”
“It’s the least I can do,” Nick said. “How are you holding up? What you said on the way here—you’re right. It’s hard to believe what happened to us just a few days ago. We all experienced trauma at King and Queens, but I’m not sure any of us are quite ready to deal with it emotionally yet. I know I’ve been avoiding it.”
I set aside my menu. It was all in French anyway, a language I never got the gist of. “Are you sure you want to talk about it?”
“No,” he declared. “But I did want to get your opinion on something.”
“What’s that?”
He leaned over the table, folding his hands together. “You already know that I was looking into buying King and Queens from Oliver Watson. That hasn’t changed, but originally I planned on renovating it to match White Oak’s brand.”
“And now?”
“Now that Oliver’s no longer with us and Riley is alone, I think I’d like to do something else with the place,” Nick said. “I’d like to restore it to its original structure in honor of the Watson family. It would be updated, of course, but the integrity of King and Queens would remain. What do you think?”
A server stopped by to pour us water and take our drink orders. Nick ordered a bottle of wine and immediately returned his attention to me. I sipped my water, savoring the ice cubes. Despite the temperature outside, the restaurant was quite warm.
“I think it’s a great idea,” I said. “King and Queens is a historical landmark, but as far as a tribute to the Watson family goes, who exactly are you trying to impress? Riley’s the only Watson left, and I’m not sure she even cares that King and Queens is gone.”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about actually,” Nick said. “Out of everyone I’ve seen Riley interact with, you seem to be the one she trusts the most. I was wondering what she might think of me if I decided to go through with this. She’s been through so much, what with becoming an orphan in a matter of weeks. I don’t want to move forward with this if you think it would upset her. Do you think you could ask her about it?”
I leaned my cheeks into my hand then realized both my elbows were on the table and folded my hands in my lap instead. “Honestly, Nick, Riley hasn’t been my biggest fan in the last couple of days. We’re in a bit of a tiff.”
“Did something happen?”
“Let’s just say we’re not as close as you think we are,” I said. “I’ve only known Riley for a couple of weeks. Is she important to me? Yes. But do I always know what she’s thinking? Absolutely not. I’m still learning about the kid.”
The wine arrived, but Nick dismissed the server and poured it himself. “You’ll work it out,” he said. “You and Riley have a special bond. I can tell. I’ve never seen a kid take to someone like that before. By the way, William was right. Don’t bother with the menu. I can get the chef to make you whatever you like.”
“I’ll have a hot dog.”
He looked up, startled.
“I’m joking,” I said. “Steak is fine.”
“Steak it is,” he said, placing the wine in a holder near the center of the table. “By the way, what did you want to talk to me about?”
For a hot minute, I’d forgotten that I was upset with Nick at all. Then I remembered the reason my mother showed up at White Oak in the first place.
“You called my mother,” I said.
“Ah, yes!” he said, beaming. “I meant to let you know. I had one of my assistants locate her number. I thought you might like some familial support here while we hash out the details of what’s going to happen next.”
“That was very nice of you,” I said. “But the problem is that my mother and I haven’t spoken to each other in about ten years. We’re not exactly the Gilmore Girls.”
Nick shifted in his seat. “Oh?”
“Yeah, so when she turned up here, it wasn’t exactly a nice surprise,” I said.
He bowed his head over his hands. “Crap. I’m sorry. I had no idea. Should I ask her to leave?”
“No,” I said, surprising myself. My conversation with Stella about confronting my past came back to me. It was now or never. “But I would appreciate it if you could find her a different room to stay in.”
“Done,” Nick said. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
“It’s okay.” I picked up the menu again, determined to make sense of it this time. “So tell me about this steak.”
24
King and Queens loomed at the bottom of the mountain. It was smaller than I remembered. The new wing was gone, and the old section of it looked much newer. The slopes and the resort brimmed with guests. More experienced skiers zoomed past me, kicking up waves of snow. I cut wide arcs through the powder, taking it slow. The crisp wind blew my dark curls into my face as I neared the bottom of the bunny hill. I spotted Noah there. He was not much taller than me, and his secondhand snow jacket swamped his skinny outline. He didn’t quite fit in with the rest of the guests at King and Queens, who all wore expensive ski gear. Noah had dark hair and gray-blue eyes I always admired. In the mirror, mine were a similar color, more like the depths of the ocean than a stormy sky. I performed a hockey stop as close to him as I could—something I’d just learned during my last private ski lesson—and showered his battered all-weather pants with snow.
“I thought you might do that,” he said. “So I came prepared.”
He launched a snowball at me. It hit me square in the nose like an exploding slushie. The ice dripped into the collar of my new ski vest, chilling me to the bone. I pushed Noah playfully into the snow.
“Not fair!” I called.
He burst out of the snow bank with a giggle. “You started it!”
I unbolted my skis and stepped out of them. Then I grabbed his hand and helped him up. “Truce? For now.”
“Truce,” he agreed. “Is that a new vest?”
I glanced down at the bright neon purple. “Yup. My mom got it for me. She said the other one was too last season, whatever that means.”
Noah grinned and plucked at a tear in the sleeve of his own jacket. “I’m always last season.”
“I wish I could get you a new one,” I said.
“I don’t think your dad would like that.”
“No, he wouldn’t,” I replied, frowning. “Hey, maybe I could give you my old one!”
“The sleeves would be too short,” he pointed out. “It’s okay. I don’t mind wearing this one. I’m used to it.”
He shivered, as if the layers of his coat weren’t thick enough to keep him safe from the frigid mountain air.
“Is your mom working today?”
“Yeah, she’s—”
A massive hand clapped down on Noah’s shoulder and grabbed a fistful of his jacket, tearing a bigger hole in it. The man it belonged to was long and lean, dressed in a designer suit and a long, fancy overcoat. His lips were turned up in a snarl.
“What did I tell you about talking to my daughter, you idiot boy?” my father demanded, shaking Noah by the collar.
“Dad, stop!” I cried, pushing my father’s waist to get him away from Noah. It was to no avail. My father was as tall as the surrounding trees.
Noah gagged as my father’s fist pressed against his throat. A few skiers slowed down, casting curious glances in our direction as if wondering if they should step in or not. But my father owned King and Queens, and the guests didn’t dare interfere with him out of worry of being banished from the grounds.
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” my father hissed into Noah’s ear, ignoring my protests. “When your mother has a shift, you stay in the library, quiet and out of sight. Do not talk to the guests. Do not talk to my daughter. Do you understand?”
Noah fought to free his vocal chords from stress and gasped, “Yes, sir.”
My father released Noah, launching him into the same snowbank I’d pu
shed him into just a few minutes ago. Now, I felt exponentially terrible about it, but I didn’t have time to worry about Noah as my father turned on me.
“As for you,” he said, advancing one terrifying step at a time. “Our family does not interact with trash like him. He’s not your friend. Don’t go looking for him. If I find the two of you together ever again, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to sit properly for a month.”
I nodded vigorously, but my father didn’t turn and storm off as he usually did after threatening a punishment. His eyes bore into mine, and the longer I stared at them, the more they lost their steely blue color. Then, all at once, they turned the color of hellfire. The world darkened around us as my father’s skin peeled away from his face and body, revealing a terrifying black creature underneath. His long fingers ended in sharp claws, claws that reached toward my face—
I woke to the sound of a piercing scream, but it took me a moment to realize it was coming from my own mouth. I clapped a hand over my mouth and pressed my face into the pillow. It was damp with sweat, as were the sheets. The door to the bedroom flew open as Jazmin and Riley thundered in.
“What happened?” Jazmin demanded, crawling onto my bed and turning me over to see my face. She took me by the shoulders. “Lucia, what’s wrong?”
I tightened the hand over my face, shaking my head back and forth. Riley lingered in the door, her eyes colored with worry. She squeezed herself in a tight hug.
Jazmin tried to take my hand from my mouth. “Lucia, why did you scream?”
My stomach heaved. I shot up from bed, accidentally bumping Jazmin in the process as my feet got caught up in the tangled sheets, and ran into the bathroom. I tossed the lid of the toilet out of the way and heaved into it. Bile—black and frothy—gushed into the water. It looked like sewer sludge, not my half-digested steak from last night’s dinner with Nick. Behind me, Jazmin rushed in and pulled my hair away from the bowl as I finished.
“Oh my God, what is that?” she gasped with absolute disgust.
“What’s wrong with her?” Riley asked from the bedroom.
The Haunting of Riley Watson Page 45