Page 46 of Damaged Beast
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” I whisper to Prime as he leads me through the people, pausing to greet several men who call out to him.
“You get used to it.”
“I’ll let you know when that happens.”
He seems amused by my naivety, which is fine, better than being annoyed. Prime seems subdued by his standards, and this might be the first room I’ve seen him enter without getting mobbed by a dozen different people demanding his attention.
It’s strange, seeing him as only a piece of the crowd, when he so clearly stands out. The men pale in comparison to him, not a single one of them remotely as big or handsome.
Prime plucks two glasses of champagne from a passing tray. I clutch mine, feeling out of place, but he was right. All the otherwomen are equally done up like we’re headed to the strangest awards ceremony possible. Diamonds glitter at throats full of Botox. More than a few faces are trapped in a vague expression of alarmed joy. Meanwhile, their husbands have slicked-back hair, Rolexes on their wrists, and laugh loud enough to make the floorboards tremble.
“There you are!” A man I vaguely recognize from the wedding approaches. He shakes Prime’s hand. “Glad you could make it.’
“I appreciate the invitation, Ricardo. You know my wife, Deanna.”
“Yes, yes I do, hello darling, you look beautiful.” He kisses my cheek. His lips are paper-dry. “Prime, I need to borrow you for a while. There’s a pool game happening and it’s damn good action.”
“I wouldn’t want to leave my poor wife to fend for herself in these shark infested waters.”
Ricardo guffaws, obviously amused. “No worries on that front, my home is perfectly safe. But hold on a moment. Donatella! Donatella! Come over here!”
An equally rotund woman extracts herself from a nearby group and meanders to Ricardo’s side. She’s in her sixties, round, dyed black hair, eyes done up with so much blue they look fake, her obviously designer dress unflattering and absurdly glittery.
“Ah, the famous Prime is finally here. Everyone’s been talking about you.” Donatella shakes his hand, beaming. “And the woman who manages to nail him down. How did you do it, darling? No, wait, don’t tell me here where your secret might lose its power.”
“Take care of poor Deanna for me, will you? I have to make use of Prime.” Ricardo leads him away through the crowd and I catch only a vague frown from him before I’m dragged to sit with the ladies.
Parties aren’t my thing. They never were, even when I was going to them back in the day. I’m not socially inept though and I can hold a conversation with anyone, but right now I feel like I’m surrounded by a bunch of bored dentists and they all want to rip my freaking molars out.
Ricardo’s wife goes on and on about the color of her drapes and how she hates them and how boring her cleaning ladies are and how she thinks the gardener is sexy but he’s also stealing from them and her children are little spoiled shits and she hates her cousin and on and on, a vile litany of bile and nastiness, all of which her court of dickhead hens gobbles up like they need pure hate to keep them alive.
I nod along, make the proper noises, act like I’m offended that her dry cleaner’s charge what sounds like a reasonable rate considering she must be the most annoying customer in existence.
I’m asked only cursory questions and it becomes clear that I’m the least important person in this circle.
Which is fantastic. I drink more champagne and try to study the room. I have no idea what this party is for and I’m thinking there might not be any specific event, which means this might be my future playing out before my eyes, a very scary thought. There’s more laughter, men smoke cigars on the back patio, a woman is so drunk she falls from a chair, and after an hour I can’t handle it anymore. The stink of perfume is overwhelming. I make anexcuse about needing the bathroom and slip away to a quieter part of the house.
The place really is gorgeous. I try to picture my parents living here and it totally eludes me. The amount of wealth on display could pay for my father’s care for ten lifetimes. If we had even a fraction of this net worth, I’d never have to worry about my mother ever again.
I’d say we should eat the rich, except that terrible lady back in the kitchen probably tastes like plastic injections and snake venom.
I make my way upstairs. There’s a family portrait hanging in the hall: Ricardo stands proudly beside his wife who is seated on a white horse while three young children are gathered around them, presumably their awful kids. I’m trying not to laugh at the idea of Donatella getting onto an actual, real-life horse, when there’s a bump in a room nearby.
I should go back down, but curiosity gets the better of me. I creep over, figuring I can claim ignorance if I get caught. Only one room has a light on, the door open a crack. I push it, peering through, and find a big library, a massive oak desk at the far end, with several tall filing cabinets beside it.
And there’s my husband, rifling through them.
It takes a second to process. Prime’s concentrating on the papers, flipping through quickly, closing one drawer only to use some tools to get into the next. He’s picking a lock, I realize with a jolt, and I shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t be seeing this, whatever Prime’s doing is wrong.
I turn to go but my elbow hits the frame. I grunt in pain as a spark of discomfort tingles into my fingertips. My freakingfunny bone. I bite my tongue, but a hand wraps around my face, pressing into my mouth, and I’m dragged into the office.
Prime turns, back softly bumping the door closed, his big arms holding me tightly. There’s real menace in him. Terror runs into my core.
“Deanna, what the fuck are you doing here?” He releases my mouth. “Whisper. Don’t talk loud.”
“I heard something.” I’m breathless with fear. What would he have done if I were anyone else? “I was looking for the bathroom?—“
“Don’t lie to me.”
