Page 63 of Thief of Night
“Nothing good?” Charlie said with a smile he didn’t seem to be able to resist returning. “Sounds like my kind of plan.”
Fiona opened her door when Charlie came up the stairs and then ushered her inside the bedroom.
A sweater the color of fresh cream and a pair of cuffed black jeans had been spread out on the bedspread. They looked large enough to fit, which made Charlie wonder if they’d been borrowed from the staff or if Fiona liked things oversized. “I appreciate you finding something for me to wear.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Fiona said. “I’m glad you’re giving me the chance to spend some time with my grandson.”
“You’ve really just been here, waiting for him to get over himself and see you?” Charlie asked.
Fiona frowned at that characterization. “I came as soon as I heard what had really happened to Remy. You can’t imagine how terrible it was the year before last. My daughter died, and within a week, Remy was dead too and I couldn’t even mourn him properly, because everyone was saying he was a monster.”
Right. Because he’d been found in the burned remains of a car beside the casino, with the burned remains of a woman.
“Poor girl,” Fiona said.
Rose Allaband. Charlie thought of the shadow coming through the window. “Yeah, poor girl.”
“What size are your shoes?” Fiona asked crisply, bringing Charlie back to the present.
“A nine,” she said.
“I’m a seven and a half,” Fiona said, holding up a pair of short, lace-up Prada boots. “But I took these from Adeline’s closet. She wears a nine and a half. You can double up on socks.”
A better person would have refused anything of Adeline’s, but Charlie just took them into the bathroom and laced them on.
Outside, Charlie climbed into the passenger side of the Porsche while Fiona headed to a zippy-looking white BMW.
“Follow me,” the old lady called to Red.
He pulled out of the driveway, mouth set in a grim line. Charlie let herself study him: broad shoulders, hair catching the golden light of the afternoon sun, eyes like burning brands. Now that she’d spent a little more time with Fiona, she thought she could see the resemblance in the slant of his eyebrows and the bow of his mouth.
“I won’t ask if you don’t want me to,” Charlie said.
“What did I tell you about Adeline… before?” Red returned.
“Notthat,” Charlie blurted out.
“She thinks I’m a toy version of Remy. One she can play with. One she can manipulate with Salt’s fortune.”
“Is that how she always saw you? As a toy version of Remy?” Charlie asked.
“As a toy, certainly,” he said, a growl in his voice.
She recalled the photo of Remy Carver she’d found online, the one where it seemed as though he’d been caught banging Adeline on the deck of a yacht. Charlie hadn’t known what to think. Photos got manipulated, people got misidentified, rich kids were perverts. She’d figured maybe they had a thing, but not much of a thing.
But it hadn’t been Remy. It had been Red. And he hadn’t had a choice. A shudder went through her but she kept her focus on the window.
You’re going to hate her,Charlie had said, when she found out he was going to be bound to Adeline.
I already do,he’d answered.
Charlie hadn’t understood even half of what he’d meant. But maybe she should have. Maybe it had all been there and she’d just refused to see it.
“And Remy?” Charlie asked.
Red shrugged. “He didn’t like to think about it.”
“Even at the start?” Charlie asked, incredulous. How could he not? Even if he somehow hadn’t understood that Adeline was doing somethingawful,surely he thought it wasweird.
