Page 17 of The Devil's Deceit
My grin widens. “You are enchanting, do you know that?”
“Wait until I make a fool of myself, then see if you still feel the same.”
“Oh, I doubt there’s much you could do that would change my mind about you, Grace.”
Before she can answer, Destiny and Loris emerge from the other room. She greets Grace with the enthusiasm of a long-lost relative, enveloping her in a warm hug.
“It’s so lovely to meet you. Did you enjoy the show?”
Mute, Grace nods.
“Grace is learning to play piano,” I offer. “And she writes her own music.”
Her eyes flare wide, and she gapes at me. “How do you know that?”
I tap my nose. “Not much gets past me, Grace.”
“I-I’m… I mean, it’s just a hobby. I’m not even on the same plane as you are.”
“It’s practice, that’s all,” Destiny says.
The two women get embroiled in conversation about scales and notes and chords while Loris and I chat, but as the clock edges toward nine-thirty, I interrupt.
“We’ll miss our supper reservations if we don’t leave soon.”
“Supper?” Grace frowns. “I didn’t know you were taking me to supper.”
“I’m taking you to supper,” I deadpan.
Loris snickers. “If my advice is worth anything, Grace, it’s this: go with the flow. Fighting against the tide is a waste of energy. Just make sure you order the most expensive thing on the menu.”
“She can order whatever she likes.”
We say our goodbyes, and Grace almost faints when Destiny invites us to Montford Hall, the giant estate owned by the Winslow family for generations. I usher her into the car while Marshall climbs into the passenger seat next to my driver. “Lumiére,.”
Grace stiffens, drawing a frown from me. “Don’t you like French food?”
“Oh, no, I love it, but…” She glances down at herself. “I’ve heard about that place. I’m not sure I’m dressed okay.”
“You’re fucking perfect.” I thread ourfingers together. “If Lumiére has a problem with you, then they have a problem with me.” I grin. “And trust me when I say they don’t want to have a problem with me.”
Chapter Seven
GRACE
When I turned thirteen, I started having these recurring nightmares, where I was sure I was losing my mind. I’d wake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, and it would take me forever to drop back off to sleep. It was only after I fell asleep in class and the teacher called my mum in that I admitted what I’d been going through. Mum took me to the doctor, and I distinctly remember him saying it was stress related.
As Christian’s car makes its way through the streets of London, I feel as though I’m having the same nightmare, except this time I’m awake.
Back at the theater, swathes of time passed where I forgot the man sitting beside me was the enemy. The way he spoke to me, touched me, introduced me to a hero of mine, showed a side of him I hadn’t expected to see.
During our conversation before the concert began, when he’d joked about whether I expected him to have horns, I had to admit that on some level, Idid.Notactualhorns, butmetaphorical ones. I expected him to live up to his name, the devil in disguise.
It’s worrying me. I can’t let his obvious charm suck me into his web of deceit. If he can make me forget what I’m here to do, then it’s all over. I’ll have failed before I’ve begun.
And now, I have the added complication of Lumiére to cope with. I can’t believe he’s taking me to the same restaurant where I watched him have dinner with that older man a few weeks ago. A man I now know is the Secretary of State in charge of the Health and Safety Executive. The same department who, three days ago, produced a report built on lies and subterfuge. Now I know what that conversation was about. The two of them were cooking up how to protect the guilty and make the innocent suffer.
Knowing my luck, the waiter who cleaned up the glass I broke will be working tonight and he’ll remember me. Although Christian looked right at me that night, it was only for a few seconds, and that’s why, I believe, he hasn’t recognized me. But that waiter, he came over asking to take my order on at least four occasions, and each time we conversed because I had to explain why I wasn’t ready to order. The truth was, I couldn’t afford a side salad at Lumiére, but I couldn’t tell him that.
