Page 212 of Powerhouse: Boxed Set
“I know it messed you up to see Lucian Morelli. Caroline is still flipping out, though of course she looks so calm and collected, no one outside the family can tell. But you handled it great.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I whispered. “No one else does.”
Harriet didn’t even bother attempting to argue with me; she knew I was right.
I’m dead serious. And anything that has to do with my fiancée has to do with me.
I drank more champagne, but didn’t feel the thrill or the release, just piled into the car with my chauffeur when it was acceptably late enough to bail on the shitshow. I opted for my apartment in the city, barely looking out the car window as it took me home, but there was something weird about the journey. An odd shiver down my spine.
It felt like I was being watched. That strange intuition when you know there are eyes on you.
I scoffed at myself. More withdrawal. I guess paranoia was a sensible addition to the list.
Or maybe I should be adding the Power brothers.
The chauffeur opened the door for me when I got to my building, and I glanced around before I headed up to my apartment. I was still feeling it. Still feeling those eyes on me.
I dropped my clutch on the table when I got inside, not bothering to restock the lining with more cocaine. I really was done with it this time.
I was done with Lucian Morelli, too. For good.
He was absolutely insane. Marriage? No.
I got in bed and slept until late, waking up with a muggy head and a pounding heart to go along with it. I trembled and craved more drugs, but I ignored it, eating ice cream for breakfast, even though it made me retch. I watched some of my favorite movies from my childhood, knowing the words by heart. I remembered being a little girl who still believed in the world. I thought about the dreams I’d believed in when I still thought they could be real.
And I thought about Lucian Morelli. Even though I’d sworn to my heart I was over him, I still thought about Lucian Morelli.
I ignored my phone. I ignored everything. I ignored my heart, and my hurt, and the scalpel blade screaming to me from my bedside table.
But I couldn’t ignore my thoughts about Lucian damn Morelli.
I had a Roosevelt dinner scheduled that night, on the lawn at my Uncle Geoffrey’s mansion with Harriet, Silas, and Newton. Mom would be there, and so would Winston, Vivian, and Tinsley too.
I didn’t want to go.
I had to.
I got dressed up, fresh under a new round of makeup. I styled my hair so it looked decent and put on some jeans and pumps. Casual. At least it could be casual.
I shouldn’t have done it, but I did, as a safety net. I slipped more coke into the lining of my clutch where I always kept it safe, even though I cursed myself for doing it.
The chauffeur picked me up at seven outside the apartment block, and there it was again—the paranoia as soon as I stepped outdoors. That feeling of eyes on me was burning bright, making me shudder with every step. I was twitchy, looking out of the windows, trying to convince myself I was safe, but it only made it worse. A car was following us to Geoffrey’s place, and I was convinced the eyes were from that. Paranoia fresh over paranoia. The Power brothers would never follow me onto my family’s home turf. They weren’t dumbass enough to risk the backlash. So, who was it? Who would be stalking me across New York and out into the suburbs?
As it turned out, the car wasn’t following me. It kept on going down the street as we pulled into Geoffrey’s driveway, carrying on quite innocently through Bishop’s Landing.
Damn my muddled mind. Damn it.
The event stretched through the night. Laughter was a thin guise over the dirty business conversations Mom was having with Geoffrey and Newton, and it didn’t distract me from any of them. I knew what they were talking about. I knew they were talking about causing harm to anyone they wanted to destroy for the sake of their profits.
Once again, I bailed as soon as it wasn’t going to cause any shit from the others. They were trying to keep a sheen over Mom’s blatant disowning of me, but it was a poor show. She barely looked at me that evening, and when she did, it was like I was a piece of crap on her shoe.
Harriet tried to keep me talking. She failed.
Silas tried to talk with me about what happened with Lucian Morelli at Tinsley’s ball. He failed.
I was in the car and heading back to the city with barely a wave of goodbye to them all, letting out a sigh of relief as I slumped into the back seat.
But there it was again.
