Page 91 of Cruel Fate

I murmur, “I love you,” against his lips and leave the room.

Zarah’s waiting in the kitchen, munching on eggs and bacon. Lucille made breakfast, and I sit at the island next to Zarah needing more coffee.

Lucille sets a plate full of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of me. I kiss her cheek and she swats at my shoulder, blushing, but I never take thoughtfulness for granted. Never push it aside when someone does something nice for me. Lucille served me because I’m Zarah’s friend, but in the system, the rare days we had a hot breakfast before school was a gift. A foster mother who would get up and fix eggs and toast, her eyes clear and a smile on her lips.

Biting into a crispy piece of bacon, I wiggle on the barstool and rest my feet on one of the rungs to get comfortable. Lucille putters around the kitchen, and an air of contentment settles over us.

A morning program is playing on the small TV sitting on the counter, and all the hosts can talk about is how Zane will do taking over Maddox Industries. There’s speculation he’s not ready, speculation he is, talk that he won’t last more than a year. That’s business.

The gossipier segments shove me into the mix, guessing when we’ll get married. They dug up dirt on me, and a timeline of my life growing up in foster care ends with a shot of Maryanne’s house and the high school graduation picture of me standing next to her. I hope this doesn’t cause her any trouble. I should have reached out and told her what was happening, but now it’s too late.

Two women discuss if my background will help or hurt Zane and the company, and I purse my lips. One woman says my empathy for the underdog will keep Zane human. The other says my lack of maturity and experience will get him killed.

“That’s a bit extreme,” Zarah says, slamming her coffee mug onto the counter.

“There’s still the possibility your parents were murdered,” I say, knowing full well what the show’s hostess was implying, but when stakes are that high, what I know or don’t know won’t make much of a difference. Lark was killed alongside her husband—that she was experienced in this way of life meant nothing in the end.

If someone wanted me out of the picture, it wouldn’t be difficult.

Zarah looks away and swallows, and using a little black remote control laying on the counter, turns the TV off. Lucille starts cleaning in a different room, leaving us alone to eat insilence and finish our coffee. The program left me unsettled, but Zarah’s next words lift my spirits.

“I’m so glad Zane found you,” she says on our way to the elevator. “He used to have horrible nightmares, but when I walked into his room this morning, I’ve never seen him so peaceful.”

Come to think of it, Zane’s only had a nightmare once sleeping with me, and that was the first night I stayed over. The other times we’ve shared a bed, he’s been quiet. At least I could give him something. Usually, I feel so helpless and worthless.

“Technically,youdid,” I say, and she laughs, knowing her company tour changed our lives.

Douglas drops us off in front of the Lyndhurst and waits to drive us to the spa. The banquet manager is doing quite nicely without us, and in an enormous freezer, she shows us a huge ice sculpture of the Maddoxes’ skyscraper. It looks magnificent, towering close to twenty feet high. The sculpture is hollowed out, she explains, and will be lit up with blue lights from the inside. The only hitch in our planning is that a shipment of champagne was delayed, and Zarah chooses a different label just in case the other doesn’t come in time. I’m glad she’s with me—I wouldn’t know what kind is acceptable and what kind isn’t.

She doesn’t care anyway, flicking her finger at a name in French I can’t say.

Hector, of course, skulks behind us, watching Zarah’s every move. She isn’t as moody as she was when we went clothes shopping, and her spirits are brighter than the day she told me Ash proposed. I relax a little in that regard. Everyone keeps telling me Ash will treat Zarah well, and so far, I’m the only one who doesn’t believe it.

I’m happy to see evidence to the contrary.

The feeling doesn’t last long. We’re changing into our robes at the spa and I catch a glimpse of another bruise. The deeppurple covers one of her breasts, like someone grabbed her and wouldn’t let go. I know how painful that can be—Zane can get aggressive in bed, especially if he’s stressed out, which is most of the time—but he’s never left a mark on me.

Her big brown eyes are sad and liquid. “Please don’t.”

Against my better judgment, I keep my mouth shut and focus on enjoying the morning. I’ve never been to a spa before, and I try to relax in the calm atmosphere. Lavender and other spices scent the air, plants are everywhere, and sunlight sparkles through the skylights in the ceiling.

I want to have a pleasant experience, and I wish I hadn’t seen Zarah’s bruise. She doesn’t want me to interfere, and I’ve exhausted the people I can tell. Namely, Zane. If he won’t believe me, how am I supposed to convince him?

A massage loosens my muscles tight with tension and soaking in a mud bath finishes the job. Someone keeps shoving mimosas into my hand, and after two, I’m buzzing on sugar and alcohol.

It comes time to have my hair styled, and on a whim, I ask for something new. A slim Asian woman wearing super high heels holding a bright pink comb and a pair of gleaming scissors grins. After she’s done, my hair is five inches shorter, cut into shaggy layers, and silver highlights brighten my blonde color. It immediately adds a few years to my features, and I love it.

Zarah gasps and squeals when she sees me. “You look amazing! Zane’s going to flip!”

A makeup artist expertly applies my makeup, and three hours later, stepping out of the spa and onto the city sidewalk, I look like a woman worthy of Zane and his position and wealth.

“Thank you,” I say, hugging her cautiously. I don’t want to hurt her.

She rubs my back. “You’re welcome. You look fabulous.”

I wanted to be primped and painted to the max, but Zarah had minimal work done. Her hair falls down her back like a black sheet shining in the afternoon sun. Her complexion glistens, and black eyeliner emphasizes her large eyes and the shadows in them. Her lips are stained a blood red.

“Thank you for not saying anything,” she murmurs.

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