Page 17 of The Devil She Knows
Sam could scarcely imagine a worse fate than Hannahturning into some Stepford wife trapped in a relationship she didn’t actually want to be in. Happy not because she was genuinely satisfied but because Sam had wished it so.
No, Hannah deserved to be with someone who could go on those vacations with her to St. Moritz and Necker Island without maxing out their credit cards or stressing over PTO days. Someone who could afford to buy her an engagement ring that was better thanfine.
“Remember,” Daphne said, “it’sI wish…”
If money were no object, Sam could haul ass to Tiffany’s first thing in the morning and buy the biggest, prettiest, most statement-making diamond they had. A diamond that said she was going to stop putting in all those extra hours, bending over backward for Coco. A diamond that said everything was going to be different now.
Money might not buy happiness, but maybe it could buy Sam a second chance at happily ever after.
“Okay, I’ve got it.” She cleared her throat. “I wish that I had enough money to give Hannah the life she desires.”
Daphne let out a tiny huff of a laugh and shook her head. “An interesting choice.” Her eyes did that horrible, fascinating, awful thing again, flickering from blue to black and back. “Wish granted.”
A thunderclap of pain exploded behind Sam’s eyes like someone had set off a flash-bang grenade inside her skull. And then everything went dark.
Fuck.
Black spots danced in front of Sam’s eyes, and she grittedher teeth against the wave of nausea churning inside her stomach.
Whatever the hell had just happened? Zero out of ten. Sam didnotrecommend.
The last thing she remembered was pain. Feeling like her brain was being squeezed through a Play-Doh extruder. A flash of too-
bright light. Then what? Darkness and—
Daphne.
It all came rushing back to her. The failed proposal. Holding back tears on the train. The elevator. Signing her soul over to a demon.Kissingsaid demon. Making her wish.
She wasn’t in the elevator anymore. Instead, Sam was standing in the middle of a palatial atrium that was flanked on each side by big marble balustrades and load-bearing pilasters. Gilded cartouches glimmered beneath globe-shaped chandeliers as stone-faced waiters wearing white jackets and black bow ties milled about, offering champagne and hors d’oeuvres to partygoers dressed to the nines in glittering gowns and dapper suits.
“It’s impressive, non?”
Dread settled heavy in the pit of her stomach.
Glut’s chef de cuisine and the last person on the planet Sam wanted to see leaned in close and gave her an air kiss on each cheek.
“I told the builders I wanted the place to lookexactlylike le Palais Garnier.” Coco smelled like baby powder and overripe peaches. “C’est magnifique, non?”
“Magnifique,” Sam echoed faintly, panic welling up inside her chest.
What the hell was she doinghere?
Coco pulled back and looked Sam up and down critically. “You look—” She frowned. “Très chic. Did Hannah pick that out for you?”
Even if Hannah had, on several occasions, laid out an outfit for her—a dress, usually, or a pair of too-high heels Sam would feel like a baby giraffe walking in—Sam resented the implication that she needed her girlfriend to dress her.
“No, I’ve had this for—” She sucked in a short, sharp breath.
This wasn’t her coat. These weren’t even her clothes. Gone was her pantsuit, the one she’d bought on clearance that made her feel like a million bucks no matter how many times Hannah told her she was a “deep autumn” and would look better in warmer, more muted reds. Maybe that was Sam’s first mistake of many that night, wearing an outfit to propose, knowing Hannah didn’t love it, but she did. She loved the color and how slipping it on instantly made her feel confident and sexy and that she didn’t feel like she was playing dress-up in someone else’s closet when she wore it.
Thissuit was sleek and black, the blazer fastened not with buttons but held together by a single rhinestone-encrusted safety pin. Flashy wasn’t her style, but this was nice, not overly bedazzled, certainly not as ostentatious as Coco’s traffic-cone-orange sequined mermaid gown. It was something Sam would’ve picked out for herself had it miraculously been in her budget.
Coco stared at her expectantly, waiting for an answer.
Sam forced a laugh. “Honestly? I can’t remember.”
There was a lot she didn’t know. Where she was. Why Coco was here. What any of this had to do with her wish.
