Page 18 of Saint of the Shadows

Every one of the board members stifled a laugh. All but Skeleton. Annie’s head drooped. Afraid that Annie felt insulted, Marisol touched her back. “What is it?” Annie asked.

Marisol whispered in Annie’s ear, “I thought you wanted to keep your whole cure-all on the down-low.”

“I said it was possible. Under promise, over deliver. Or do you need a lesson on how to suck up to these blue bloods?” Annie whispered back.

Marisol forced a closed-mouth smile in the board’s direction and guided Annie to another part of the floor. “Those people creep me out. Especially Skeleton.”

“Skeleton?”

“That one with the slicked back hair, thin lips, and exaggerated zygomatic bones? He looked like a walking skeleton and touched you for way too long.” Marisol pointed in the direction of the member who she had named “Skeleton.”

“Zygomatic? Look who’s still proud of her higher gross anatomy grade. You can say cheekbone like the rest of us. And that’s Mr. Ruthven.”

“The C.O.O.?”

“He’s actually the second most powerful man in the room. If he wants to touch me with his clammy, white hands, I’d let him if it means I keep my funding.” Annie stopped a waiter with champagne and helped herself to another glass. “I think if I talk to him long enough, I’ll get the courage to ask Varian for his tissue. Even if that courage is liquid.” Annie moved her way through the crowd, disappearing from Marisol’s sight.

Marisol picked at her freshly painted red nails. When she looked up, she saw Vincent Varian, who was stuck in a tuned-out stare at the margins of the party, ignored by his blue-haired date. Marisol’s gaze must’ve snapped him into the present. She watched him blink away his blank stare, and he returned a smile in her direction.

Heat rose from her chest to her cheeks, an embarrassing, visceral reaction. It frustrated her that handsome looks in a tuxedo overrode her repulsed feelings. To cover up her reaction, she gazed down again.

She searched for comfort and found it in the background music. Marisol bobbed her head to the beat and grew irritated at the partygoers who were far too occupied chatting and seeming important to appreciate the music. If this was a block party, there would be people dancing. Here, it seemed people didn’t want to give away that they could be joyful.

Marisol caught herself moving a bit too rhythmically. Uh-oh, guess who else noticed? Vincent. He looked at her and seemed to chuckle. After adjusting his bowtie and buttoning his jacket, he headed in her direction. Marisol bolted to Annie and jerked her away from her conversation. She dragged Annie to a large vanity room, safe from Vincent Varian.

7

Ready For Battle

The door to the vanity room closed with a click. Annie broke from Marisol’s grasp. “Are you going to be like this all night?”

“Everyone here gives me the creeps,” Marisol said.

“They’re harmless. I invited you because I thought you’d have a good time.”

Marisol crossed her arms. “I didn’t think I’d spend the night watching you yukking it up with every Ph.D. and M.D. in the room.” She looked down at her feet, sinking from her loose-button shame that melted into the root cause: the shame of quitting. “I’m sorry I’m not good enough for your little club.”

“You are good enough, Marisol, damn it! Just because you don’t have a doctorate, doesn’t mean you’re not twice as smart as those people out there.” Annie put a hand on each of Marisol’s shoulders. “But you can’t turn your nose up at them and expect them to include you.”

Marisol pursed her lips together. She didn’t come with a crank for a reason. She shouldn’t have to wind herself up and perform to matter.

“If it bothers you so much, you should go back to med school,” Annie said.

“I can’t.” Marisol could taste the quickly forming tears. She sat on a padded bench in front of a vanity mirror.

Annie sat next to Marisol and nudged her. “Why? You’re Miss Shark, always swimming forward, never looking back?” Annie’s laughing face met Marisol’s somber face in the mirror. Her expression changed to match Marisol’s, and she sighed.

“Who is going to waste another chance on someone who already had one?” The jagged edges of Marisol worry lodged inside her throat.

“You left for good reasons,” Annie mumbled.

“I’m not going back to med school.”

“Then relax. Grab a glass of champagne. You seem like you could use one.” Annie patted Marisol’s back as she stood.

Marisol, stuck in a powder room licking her pride wounds, ensured she would not relax. “I won’t,” she warned in a bratty singsong.

Annie threw her head back. “Ugh.” She opened the door to go back to the ballroom. “Stay in here the entire night for all I care, Novotny.”

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