Page 174 of The Black Trilogy

“You mean that food that you’ve barely taken two mouthfuls of?”

Guilty. “Okay, perhaps not.”

“You’re not running out on me.”

Sometimes, I hated Nick and his psychic abilities. Besides my husband, he probably understood me better than anyone, and he was one of the few people able to read my moods. When we worked together, in situations where teamwork was crucial and the slightest miscalculation could result in manger des pissenlits par la racine, as the French would say, the whole mind-reading thing gave us a definite advantage. But right now, I wanted to shield my thoughts in lead and bury them in concrete.

“Me, run out? I’d never dream of it.”

“This is your party. You’re going to stay beside me until I say it’s time to go, and you’re going to enjoy yourself.”

The git said that with a smile. Just another pleasant chat between Nick and Emmy.

“I’m not sure I can.”

“Which one? Stay beside me or enjoy yourself? The second one’s optional, but the first is mandatory.”

Demanding much? It was almost like having my husband back beside me again. And that somehow made me want to stay.

“Fine. You win. But what about Luke? Seeing me here’s got to be like rubbing salt into the wound for him.”

“Well, there are three possibilities, aren’t there? Either you go and speak to him, or he comes to speak to you, or you ignore each other. You’re not going to pick option one, and option three won’t cause you a problem. That leaves option two, and if he approaches you, then we’ll face him together.”

Nick made everything sound so straightforward. Three months ago, it would have been, but that was before my brain turned to mush. I carried on picking at my dinner, and what had been a beautifully presented salt-crusted sea bass with sautéed vegetable julienne soon became something even the most downmarket restaurant chain would turn its nose up at.

Even the Sachertorte that appeared for dessert made me feel sick, and I was the girl who’d once driven from Budapest to Vienna just to eat the original version. Eventually, Nick resorted to forking it into my mouth.

“Eat. I’m not carrying you when we hit the dance floor.”

“You won’t have to.” Because I wasn’t going anywhere near it.

After coffee, I got up on stage again to introduce the auction. Could anyone other than Nick tell I was falling apart inside? As the bids stacked up, my mood improved a little, enough for me to join the compère in a half-hearted foxtrot as he drummed up support for a course of ballroom dancing lessons.

Just don’t look in Luke’s direction, Emmy. You can do this.

Four grand for a crate of wine from Nate’s California vineyard, sixteen thousand for Ishmael’s wacky dress, and a round twenty for a week in the Florida beach house I rarely used. When the hammer came down on the final lot, the compère let out a whoop.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the total raised tonight comes to just under six hundred thousand pounds, meaning over a million will go to the Blackwood Foundation thanks to Emerson’s generous donation.”

Not bad for an evening’s fundraising, but I had bigger things on my mind. Did I dare try talking to Luke?

As the applause died down, the band struck up. I’d left Bradley in charge of the music, and true to form, half an orchestra had arrived. He’d gone for classical with a rock edge—not what you’d normally hear at this type of function, but the guests seemed to like it.

“Come and dance.” Nick held out a hand to me.

“I don’t feel like it.”

“Liar. You always want to dance.”

“Not today.”

“So you’re going to abandon me to the cougars?”

Didn’t he ever let up? “One song, that’s it.”

Only once I was on the dance floor, I couldn’t get away. After a waltz, Nick pimped me out to the highest bidders from the auction, and I only escaped when a tipsy banker with a coordination problem crippled me. Would Alex still make me exercise with a broken toe? I grabbed a drink and settled back to watch Nick getting his backside groped by Ivy Kendrick-Holmes, a seventy-year-old in an electric blue cocktail dress. When I grew up, I wanted to be just like her.

Finally, as the opening bars of “Por Una Cabeza” played, Nick managed to extricate himself.

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