Page 96 of Cruel Fate

“Come up here, baby.”

Zarah navigates the stairs to the dais being careful not to step on the hem of her dress. She looks regal and elegant in dark red, her hair straight down her back the way our mother wore hers. Ash gently pulls her into his arms and kisses her, holding her like she’s made of glass. I don’t know how Stella can look at them and not see how much he loves her.

“The night you said yes, you made me the happiest man on earth.” He’s speaking to her, but the microphone attached to the podium catches his words and floats them over the ballroom.

There’s not a dry eye in the entire room.

“You better treat her right, you scoundrel,” I call, and everyone hoots.

Ash sweeps Zarah off her feet and carries her to our table. She buries her face into the curve of his neck.

A sense of elation and anticipation surrounds the tables after Ash’s announcement, the guests high on the good news and free booze. The waitstaff serves the main course, and the bartenders on both sides of the room are busier than ever. Everyone is in the mood to party.

During the meal, Helena and Stella chat, and she discreetly gives Zarah the eye across the table. My sister doesn’t react, only keeps her gaze on her plate and quietly eats her entrée. Clayton’s and Ash’s speeches have lifted my spirits and I dig in, enjoying the prime rib and twice baked potatoes. Stella’s right—there isn’t enough food.

Nigel and Clayton talk sports, and Ash occasionally throws in his two cents. I don’t care much about baseball, football, or soccer. Squash is something I play to keep in shape, and in the summer, golf will be a networking tool I can’t avoid. I used to play with my dad and his friends and business associates. Maybe I won’t have to do so much of it now that Dad’s gone, but knowing my luck, I’ll have to play even more.

Coffee and dessert are served, and I ask Nigel to trade seats with me. I want to talk to Clayton without having to raise my voice. Nigel narrows his eyes, but I shake my head. This doesn’t have anything to do with company business.

“Not here,” Clayton says, though he can’t know what I want to talk to him about. He leads me outside to the garden, and we’re alone except for someone standing in the shadows smoking, the orange tip of his cigarette glowing in the darkness. We wait until he snuffs out his smoke and returns to the hotel’s ballroom.

“What’s wrong? What can I do?” he asks immediately, leaning against the concrete balustrade.

I shove my hands into my pockets. My tux feels too tight, but I can’t take my jacket off, not yet. “The investigation isn’t going anywhere,” I say and stare over the garden. Light pollution hides the stars—there’s a pink hue hanging over the city.

Clayton nods. “I know.” His voice is cautious. Measured.

“I think it’s time to do a bit of my own digging.”

“I agree,” he says, “and I know someone who can handle it. I keep him on retainer, and he’s not on a job at the moment.”

“Thank you. I can’t wait until the trail is too cold. Every day that passes is a day evidence can be hidden or destroyed.”

“You’re right to think that.” Clayton lets out a breath and slumps. The public persona Clayton Black shows the world is gone and in his place is a man grieving his best friend’s death. “We may have already waited too long. I was hoping the FBI would be more competent, but that seems not to be the case. I’ll have my man on the first flight to Paris. The key is the airport. I’m sure of it.”

From what little I know, I agree, and relief hits me. Finally, we’ll have some answers. “Thank you.”

Clayton slaps me on the back the way I envied when he and Ash hugged on the dais. “I meant it up there. No matter what youneed.” He pauses and then asks, “Nigel Wagner’s here. At your request?” He watches me.

“He’s a family friend.” That’s all I’m willing to say. Stella’s suspicious nature may not make me happy, but I won’t forget Denton and Clayton met behind my back. Tipping Clayton off Nigel will be helping me wrestle control of my own company away from my father’s business partners does not feel like it’s in my best interest.

“Of course he is.” Clayton smiles, and the tension is gone.

We go back inside, and Cardello has once again zeroed in on Stella.

“Better keep her close,” Clayton murmurs, slapping my back a little too hard and drifting into the crowd.

The servers cleared the tables and are refreshing tablecloths and flowers. The first half of the evening is over, and the second half, the ballroom opening to everyone who wasn’t invited to dinner, will begin soon. I have to give Zarah props for a job well done. Things have gone off without a hitch, and everyone seems to be enjoying themselves. We’ll get a lot of positive press out of tonight, and we’re going to need it.

At the bar, I wait for a bartender to free up and ask for a bottle of water. It’s hot in here, and resting the cold plastic against my forehead, I try to relax.

Stella and Cardello are still talking, but she disentangles herself and tries to cross the ballroom. Everyone wants to talk to her, and it takes her more than ten minutes to reach me.

“Let’s get some air,” I say. I’m feeling claustrophobic and need more than a bottle of water.

“Please,” she agrees, sighing.

I place my hand against her lower back, and we walk through the French doors. We stop on the concrete patio where Clayton and I stood only moments ago. There’s a light breeze, and it ruffles her hair around her shoulders.

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