Page 7 of The Beast

Chapter Three

After quite a bit of mental urging, I draw in a shaky breath, then force myself to step back from Caged. I can’t stay here all night, no matter how much I want to. There’s a party upstairs full of people expecting to see the radiant bride-to-be. There’s a father with a large stick up his ass who will notice my absence and make me pay for it. There’s a semi-fake fiancé/best friend who deserves better than a woman who keeps sneaking away to commune with a dead man’s paintings.

Time to put the mask back on.

I slip out of the gallery and make my way to the elevator, the click of my heels echoing in the silence. Then I gather myself as the car rises, and by the time the doors glide open and the hum of the party washes over me, my society armor is back in place.

The buzz of voices. The clink of glasses. It’s the sound of celebration, and most of the guests are truly happy for me and David, with no clue that they’re raising their glasses in honor of a marriage that will be nothing but a business transaction dressed up in white lace.

I’ve known that forever, of course, but it truly hits me now. I should run. But I can’t leave the gallery—can’t walk away from Gabe’s memory. And my father would find me anyway.

I draw in a breath and step back through the doors of the ballroom like a mouse skittering into a maze.

Across the crowd, I can see my father holding court near the ice sculpture. He’s laughing at something one of the investors said, his hand resting possessively on Mina’s shoulder, the picture of charm and success—the benevolent patriarch celebrating his daughter’s happiness—with his younger-than-me girlfriend on his arm.

I shudder.

Nope, this was a mistake. I can’t do this. Not tonight. Not after standing in front of Caged, soaking in those brush strokes and colors, and feeling Gabe’s absence like a physical wound.

I make one circle, being seen but avoiding conversation, then I slip back out the way I came in. I take a deep breath of freedom, then hurry to my penthouse suite. Just one little perk of being a Hart heiress. One of the few I truly enjoy.

It’s quiet when I slip inside—blissfully, mercifully empty.

David is staying with me, of course. Just another hat tip to how very, very in love we are. And no, as we’ve told everyone, of course, we don’t have separate rooms. That would be far too hard on our hearts.

Yeah, right.

I kick off my heels and leave them where they fall, then pad across the plush carpet to the balcony door. The Atlantic City skyline glitters below me. Somewhere out there, people are winning fortunes and losing everything. But in the end, of course, the house always wins. I press my forehead against the cool glass and close my eyes. That’s when I hear the click of the door.

I whirl around, then immediately relax. David.

“Hey,” he says as he tosses his jacket over the back of the sofa. “You okay?”

I should tell him I’m fine, that I just need some sleep, that I’ll be back to performing tomorrow.

Instead, I say, “Not really.”

He tilts his head, studying me. “You went down to the gallery.”

I nod, and he comes to me, then pulls me into a hug. This is why I love David. He knows me. He gets me. We just don’t love each other that way. Which is good. If I did, that would mean I’d let Gabriel go.

And I’m not ready for that goodbye.

“All this bullshit with our wedding,” he says quietly. “I get it. It should have been him. A real wedding instead of this corporate merger our parents concocted.”

“We agreed,” I say with a shrug.

He grimaces. “We didn’t really have a choice.”

He holds me tighter, then releases me, stepping back and casting an assessing look over me. “You could use some wine.”

I almost laugh. “Yeah. I really could.”

David nods, flashing a grin that’s almost devious. Then he moves to the kitchen and returns far too quickly with a tray holding two glasses of red wine and a bag of chocolate chip cookies.

“What on earth?” I look up at him, not sure if the pressure in my chest is delight or a knot of tears.

“So here are your options,” he says. “You can cry, and I’ll hold you and make sympathetic noises and pretend I know what to say. Or we can put on something funny and pretend the world doesn’t suck for a couple hours.”