Page 25 of The Getaway

“I’m not sure rational is possible right now, hon,” Grant said pointedly. His face was a bit red, but it was impossible to tell whether it was from anger, drink, exertion, or the sun. “We need to talk to Lincoln.”

Gemma took a deep breath. “So you all go back inside, and I’ll go find him, okay?”

Dear God. Her level-headed maturity in this situation was going to make Suzy blow a gasket.

Sean blew out a sigh, hands on his hips. “Fine. We’ll wait here.”

“Good.”

Gemma turned to go. Suzy noticed she was shaking just the slightest bit. She grabbed Gemma’s wrist.

“I’m going with you.”

She wasn’t sure why, but suddenly she didn’t want to let Gemma Sutherland out of her sight.

11

Marley

Marley needed to get inside. Everything under the tent was too much. Too loud, too hot, too sweaty, too swirly. Someone kept trying to grind up against her back, and she’d taken a stiletto to the pinky toe. It was possible she was bleeding, but if she tried to look at her feet, she felt dizzy, and she risked an elbow or knee to the eye. She looked around for her friends, but she couldn’t seem to make any one face come into focus. There was a lot of stubble. Many, many piercings. An abundance of tattoos. A woman turned to the side and blew pot smoke that went directly up Marley’s nose. Her stomach gave an ominous lurch. Magdelena’s toast had apparently not done the trick. Something was very wrong with her insides.

A scream made Marley turn, but she couldn’t discern where it had come from or whether it was happy or anguished. Two figures emerged from under the tent. Lincoln and . . . Was that Juliet? Yes, she could see the fringe on her champagne-colored, 1920s-style dress shaking as she laced into Lincoln. At least, that was what it looked like. Juliet shouting. Lincoln placating her with palms raised.

What was with Lincoln? She couldn’t fathom what would make him talk Marshall out of adopting. Did he want to ensure that Thomas was the only Foster heir? She wouldn’t put it past him. Or maybe he simply didn’t want to see Marley happy and fulfilled. As grateful as he’d been to Marley for introducing him to the love of his life, it was possible he now resented her for the messy divorce, the emotional upheaval, and wanted to punish her for it. She wouldn’t put that past him either. Lincoln had a complex inner life, and she could easily imagine him smiling in her face while stabbing her in the back. In fact, wasn’t that what he’d been doing all day?

She should go help Juliet. Find out what was happening. Were they arguing about the notes? But then . . . she really couldn’t even fathom backtracking. Her body revolted at the very idea. Quiet. Bed. Water. Sleep. She’d have to talk to Juliet later.

Somehow she found herself on the pathway to the house, where she knew she’d be able to find a bathroom and some blessed silence. The wind had picked up, blowing her hair sideways across her face and making it yet harder to see. The trees in the forest that surrounded the grounds creaked and groaned ominously. She just needed to be inside. Except when she got there, the party had somehow moved into the great room. There were people making out on the couch, dancing on the coffee table. The music in here was different, more EDM and less hip-hop, the cloying electronic beat radiating through the surround sound speakers and inside her skull.

People were actually playing beer pong at the fourteen-person dining table Lily had had custom made and shipped over from Scotland. It had taken six months to build and another three weeks on a boat to get it here. Such cavalier disrespect.

Hazel flounced in from the direction of the kitchen, a bottle of champagne in one hand and a pitcher of margaritas in the other. Her dress was two strips of white cloth under a black see-through nylon tube, and she wore a black top hat with a red band.

“Who has the glasses, bitches?!” she called out.

Marley wanted to shove her and was simultaneously shocked at herself for wanting to shove her. But didn’t Hazel know the house was off limits during parties? Lily was going to kill them.

Then she remembered that Hazel could do whatever she wanted in this house that now belonged to her, and that Lily would probably never set foot in this place again. Now she was definitely going to puke. She pushed her way past a group of Hollywood types vaping in the corner and got to the powder room just in time to crash to the floor and upchuck first the toast and then the lobster rolls. Her stomach clenched painfully over and over again as she heaved. Was there anything worse than puking up something you hadn’t even enjoyed on its way down?

Marley flushed, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and stood on shaky legs. Her reflection in the mirror was gruesome. Sweat matted her hairline, and her eyeliner had smudged across her temple. Her face was pale, and her lipstick bled. Good God, was that a zit on her chin? She rinsed out her mouth, ripped a tissue out of the box, and cleaned around her lips.

It didn’t help.

Bed. She needed a bed. She slipped out and started toward the stairs at the front of the house, head down, one hand trailing along the wall for balance. She paused when she heard raised voices coming from down the hall. Behind the stairs was a collection of rooms Marley had hardly ever entered in her many years of visiting this house. Lincoln’s office, a billiard room, and a small boxing gym at the far end. She could just see into Lincoln’s office from this angle and was shocked to find that it was Sean who was shouting. Sean, who never raised his voice unless he was screaming at the Knicks. Even in her compromised state, she was dying to know who he was arguing with. She adjusted her angle slightly so she could see . . . Grant?

What the hell were those two fighting about? They didn’t even know each other. Was anyone having fun at this party, or were they all at each other’s throats?

Her stomach clenched. She had to get upstairs. But when she turned, Lincoln had joined the party in the great room, his arms wrapped around Hazel from behind as he nuzzled her neck. A cigar burned between two of his fingers. A cigar! In the house! Near the furniture! Was nothing sacred? And where the hell was Juliet now?

Marley closed her eyes and took a breath. If he saw her, he’d never let her leave. You didn’t exit one of Lincoln Foster’s parties until Lincoln Foster declared the party was over. She was just wondering if she could make it across to the west side of the house and the stairs there, when suddenly, all hell broke loose.

“You’re screwing my wife?”

Josh, eyes wild, stark-white shirt unbuttoned, hair sticking out wildly, stormed in out of nowhere and launched himself at Lincoln. Before Marley could even scream, the two of them and Hazel were tangled on the floor, glass shattering, drinks flying. The top hat was crushed under Lincoln’s back. Dozens of phones whipped out and started filming, and somehow all Marley could see was Hazel on the floor, not moving.

Holding her breath, Marley stumbled forward as fast as she could with everything tilting around her. As she tried to move around the men, someone’s foot came out and caught her ankle, and she crashed to her knees.

Ow. That’s gonna leave a mark.