Page 62 of Savage Enemy

I used to think it was an exaggeration until I’d had the misfortune of stepping into the ladies’ room while she rested inside. It had taken me thirty minutes to find an acceptable break in the conversation, so I could make my escape.

She waved off my question, her diamond rings twinkling in the light from the chandeliers overhead.

“My dear, no one cares how I am. I’m fine. I’ve always been fine. The real question is, where have you been for so long?

“We all thought you died in that horrible accident. Imagine my surprise when I opened the paper one day to read about the dead Moscatelli girl’s miraculous return. And she’s not even a zombie or Jesus Christ, or anything of the sort.”

Then she lifted her chin and raised her penciled-on brows.

“So where exactly have you been, dear?”

I fixed her with a tight smile.

I had to think fast about what to say.

“Well, the car accident was unfortunately very real. And afterward, as I’m sure you can understand, I was in no fit state to be married. My face was practically purple with bruises. It took countless hours and several exclusive, expensive surgeons in France to put me back together again.”

She clicked her tongue.

“Oh, how horrible. It must have been a nightmare, but my God, they did a fabulous job. You must tell me who did it.”

The champagne and my lack of fucks to give helped me out.

“In Paris, it was Dr. House,” I lied. “Horrible disposition—grumpiest man you’ve ever met, but his talent makes up for it.”

She nodded like a bobblehead doll.

“Oh, yes, Dr. House in Paris. I’ve heard of him. I had no idea he did such fabulous work. I’ll have to look him up.”

“A simple Google search will do.”

I grinned, enjoying my own made up story.

“I’m sure if you contacted your granddaughter, she would be more than happy to help you, Mrs. Gallagher.”

“Yes, what a lovely idea.”

Then she frowned, scrutinizing my face.

“But really, dear, it’s taken them all these years to put you back together? That seems like a rather long time.”

“Well, you know… the swelling and the infections, one after the other. After that, of course, rehabilitation for the painkiller addiction. Can’t make it through the kind of work I’ve had without them. But finally, here I am…”

I gestured at myself. Well, mostly at my breasts.

“All dressed up for the party and ready for Sau—I mean my father to figure out what the rest of my life will look like.”

She blinked at me and nervously licked her lips. The smile she’d so quickly offered me flickered out.

“Yes, right, well, I’m just going to go check on Mrs. Vander. You understand.”

“Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”

“Fucking hilarious,” Santo whispered as she walked away.

The woman shot me another quick look over her shoulder, clearly unsure what to make of our encounter.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her end a conversation in under an hour. That’s a new record,” my brother added.

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