Page 100 of Love Her

“Painkillers, mostly. And gin.”

“Dad!”

“I’m serious—I dosed up awhile ago. Timed everything perfectly. And after this, I’ll get to sit down for the rest of the night.” He pulled me close—and I could see where someone skillful had put make-up on him, covering the circles beneath his eyes, and making his cheeks look less sunken.

“Am I…really free?” I asked him, because I couldn’t help myself. And because I wouldn’t believe it until I heard him say it personally.

“From that marriage? One hundred percent.”

The way he said it though… “That makes it sound like there might be others.”

“Enzo called. He said he found me a new oncologist. Guy talked my ear off all morning—tonight’s going to be the last time I get drunk, because I’m going on new meds tomorrow.”

“What?” I gasped, as he spun me. “Really?”

“Really. No guarantee they’ll work, but—I have to keep living now, don’t I? Till I find someone else for you.”

It took all of the poise I’d ever had not to immediately trip and break an ankle. “What?” I said again. “No?—”

“Yes,” he demanded, giving me a knowing head shake. “I shouldn’t have aimed so high. Why match you with a senator, when I could get you with a mayor?”

“I’m not just some mare you can hand around!” I hissed.

“Of course not,” he said. “But—do you know what kind of power you’d have, being the wife of the mayor of this city?”

“But—”

“I can’t give you Corvo, Lia,” he said, as the song wound down, taking my head in both his hands. “And we both know why,” he went on—and I did, oh I did, as I saw the burn scar on his neck that shone in the spotlight. “But I can give you this,” he said, settling another kiss upon my brow. “Let me give you this,” he said, resting his forehead against mine, and gently smiling.

I compressed internally like the center of a dying sun. I wanted to scream at him and run away—but I couldn’t—not tonight of all nights, and not here, and not when he thought he’d live long enough for me to be angry at him later.

“Okay,” I whispered, barely more than a squeak, before kissing his cheek and bolting away.

61

RHAIM

Isaw Lia teeter off the dance floor on her heels—and I clocked that something wasn’t right—but then she threw herself into mingling with other guests—and Nick found me again.

“The Macallan will be at your office by Wednesday,” he told me.

“Fuck, I like doing business with you,” I said, keeping a covert eye on Lia—who looked over to give me a nervous glance.

“Everything all right on the home front?” Nick pressed.

I put my empty glass on a passing server’s tray. “It’d fucking better be,” I told him, and peeled away, to get to Lia’s side.

“You okay?” I asked.

“No,” she said quietly. “My father apologized for the whole St. Clair fiasco—and now he’s decided not to aim so high.” She gave a bitter laugh. “He’s gonna find an up and coming mayor for me.”

I hoped she was joking—but it was clear from her disposition she was not.

“Fuck. That,” I whispered. “Not that I wouldn’t murder a whole army for you but?—”

“Eventually someone would figure it out.” She picked up a champagne glass as a server walked by and drank half of it at once. “So what’s the plan?” she asked, looking up to me hopefully.

The Bonnie to my Clyde.

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