Page 62 of Liar & Champion
“Because I’m betting that it’s Nix Death-Hammer.”
I stared at him while my heart did weird things. “And if it is?”
“How did you meet him?”
I shook my head at him. “Why are you sober? How do you know my husband? Oh. Your dad’s a judge and his dad’s a senator. But how would you know that he’s the one I married?”
“Who else would Beastie set you up with?”
“Beastie doesn’t know Nix.”
“Weird, because I’m pretty sure they’re first cousins.”
“They’re not…” They had the same eyes. Nix said he went to find a nice girl from his mother’s alma mater. Was that a lie? “I don’t understand,” I whispered, and suddenly the pool and garden weren’t nearly so enchanting.
“Why did you marry Nix?” This time the tone was just as hard as the question. He wasn’t pretending to be the fun easy-going drug addict anymore.
“He’s like, super hot. If this is some political thing between your fathers, it has nothing to do with me.”
“Sunny, Nix has a deep-rooted fear of marriage and women exactly like you. How did you get him to marry you? What does Beastie want with the Prince of Beasts, or is someone else behind this play?”
I stared at him while every encounter in our past took on a new light, tinged of shadow. “You’re friends with Beastie to spy on him?” I shook my head, stood up and walked away. Of all the despicable things… Maybe Beastie was a psychopath, but at least he was honest about it.
Trevor didn’t follow me, but his words did. They echoed on and on. Maybe he was just having a psychotic break, seeing conspiracies in everything, even marriage.
I pulled out my phone and texted Beastie.
Saw Trevor this morning. He said you’re fighting tonight.
I stared at his picture for a long time, but he didn’t respond.
“Miss, are you lost?” a waiter or porter asked and I realized I was just standing in the hall in my swimming suit, staring at my phone and feeling lost.
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” I hurried back to our room, colder than I’d been in a long time.
I didn’t need to get tickets, because Nix’s team would be backstage, so Tom could walk me right up to Beastie, and I could drag him somewhere by his ear and lecture him about throwing away his potential. And then ask if he really was cousins with Nix, and why was Trevor spying on him, and what was really going on! If he didn’t answer me, I’d kiss him. That was the ultimate threat. At least Nix didn’t seem to mind kissing me.
When I got to Nix’s place, I had to stop and stare, because where there had been a treadmill and three punching bags was now a cute little yellow fridge, farmhouse sink, the whole thing out of a fifties dream. He’d gotten rid of some of his exercise equipment for a kitchen? My heart ached for a minute and I almost forgot about Beastie.
I walked to the kitchen, taking a second to smell the literal yellow roses in a happy smiley face printed vase, and then checked in the fridge. It was full of everything I’d need to make a peach pie. Seriously? Where did he come up with this? Did he have the money to spend since he was going along with his mother’s ultimatum? I took a pitcher of pink lemonade out and poured myself a glass. The attention to detail was amazing down to the cut glass tumblers.
I carried my glass to my room to see if I had anything I could wear to a fancy fight. I stared at the room that had been just a black bed a few hours ago. Now it was an art studio like you see in magazines, with every art supply imaginable, all organizedwith an eye for charm and functionality. My draped painting was still in the corner of the room, only moved a little bit to make way for the wall of shelves and drawers not to mention the enormous table that took up most of the room. It was all white and yellow, with a little sofa on the side that would be barely big enough for me to curl up on, but had a charming yellow smiley-print and tulip fabric. He’d definitely been serious about us sharing a bed for as long as we were together. I stared at that couch for a long time thinking about Nix, until my fingers were cold from the pink lemonade.
With shaky fingers, I got out my phone and texted him.
Everything and a kitchen sink? Thank you. Everything is perfect.Too perfect. Tulips, smiley faces, and still classy? That was money. So much money. My clothes weren’t in the closet, no, it was filled with canvases. Insane.
In the big bathroom off the only remaining bedroom, I couldn’t help but notice all the new supplies, fancy lotions, perfume, a huge assortment of makeup that was all incredibly top of the line. Women who were trying to keep their good looks used that high quality stuff. I was young, dying, and didn’t care about what my skin would look like in thirty years. Still, it’s not like I preferred cheap makeup. Everything was so surreal.
As I showered, I kind of got my head back. Trevor was a drug addict. He’d tried some of my aunt’s high quality drugs and been very impressed. He wasn’t going to be a reliable source of information. Ever. What I needed was to go to the fight, see that Beastie wasn’t there, kiss Nix to thank him for this whole elaborate present, and then go home.
In Nix’s closet, I found my clothes as well as an entirely new wardrobe for me, because no way he was going to fit into that tiny yellow dress. Hm. Would that work for a fight? Girls wore lots of skin, unless they were really into the bashing and smashing. Most of the clothes were cute, but that dress could beconsidered hot, particularly if I put it with my magic bra. The bra had secret compartments in the bottom so I could take my drugs around without worrying about getting caught, and it gave me an enormous amount of cleavage. I could take some meds with me to give to Beastie if he was actually there. Was there a purse or something I could stick an ice pack inside? Why yes, there was.
With the new toiletries, it wasn’t hard to put on a face that made me look like I was definitely not a virgin. Did I need to put on fake eyelashes? I hated that. It took so much coordination that I saved for boarding. Still, I needed the right look, so false lashes had to be on. It took me five tries to get them right, but then I looked as Las Vegas as you could in a dress without glitter, sequins or feathers.
I wrinkled my nose at the shoes. I really didn’t want to wear those high heels, but if Beastie was actually in Las Vegas, fighting publicly, like he was going to make that his career, I’d make the sacrifice. Not that I believed Trevor. No, he was just having a bad trip or a bad downer. Poor guy. He really needed to get it together.
At six forty-five, I headed in the hall to find Tom sitting there, reading an Agatha Christie novel and eating Greek, kebabs and everything.
