Glitter (Glitter Duology #1)(81)
I can’t give up. If I give up, I’m accepting, and I cannot accept this. “But—there has to be some way—”
He shakes his head. “No. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not telling you out of some misguided belief that you might be able to help. I didn’t want to tell you at all. I’m stuck, Danica, and I’m not getting unstuck.” He shrugs. “So I do what I’m told. Who knows? Maybe someday Reginald’ll free me. It’s been known to happen.”
I feel empty inside. Like knowing the truth about Saber has ripped my soul out and there’s nothing to replace it. “You must hate me. The things I make you do. I’m as bad as him.”
“I don’t hate you. I tried to hate you, don’t get me wrong. But I couldn’t.” He places his hands on both sides of my face and leans in to kiss me so very lightly on the mouth. “But make no mistake,” he says, his breath warm against my lips, “I hate what you do.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, and the tears I’ve been holding back spill over the edge, trailing down both cheeks. “I wish…I wish I could stop. For you. But I—”
“I know, you can’t.” He scrubs one tear away with his thumb. “You are the best thing that’s happened to me since I was sold to Reginald, and I only get to have you for fifteen more days. So you can bet your ass I’m going to make the most of it.”
I try to smile through my tears, but it’s too difficult. I can’t accept this the way he so obviously has. I hate that he has. Because I know his spirit, and I can only imagine what it must have taken to break it. “I don’t know if I can leave without you, Saber. You—you make me feel like I don’t have to pull my laces so tight. And I know that doesn’t mean anything to you, but you”—I clamp my teeth down on my trembling lip—“you make me wish I were a better person than I am.”
“Neither of us is really in a position to be good people right now. Maybe that’s just the way it’s supposed to be.” He kisses me once more—long and lingering this time—then grabs his livery jacket. “Come on, help me into this damned thing.”
“We’re going back?”
“To the party? Yes. I promised a hell of a lot of batting eyelashes that I’d return with more product. Plus, if we don’t move this stock tonight, we’ll be too backlogged to catch up.”
I give the jacket a good yank and settle the starched collar into place. He turns and offers me his arm, but before I take it, I look into his eyes and whisper, “I’m so, so sorry.”
He raises my satin-gloved fingertips to his lips and kisses them with all the gallantry of a Sonoman gentleman. “I’m not.”
DESPITE OUR MUTUAL melancholy, we move our inventory quickly. Heart in my throat, I palm a container of rouge and walk over to Molli.
“The real stuff?” she whispers when I show it to her.
“Of course,” I say, and I hate the bright, beaming smile she graces me with at my words. I worked so hard to keep both Lord Aaron and Molli out of it and failed miserably.
“Be careful,” I warn, because I must say something, but Saber’s warning is bitter in my mouth as I repeat it to Molli. “A little goes a long way.”
I hold out my hand, but my fingers are trembling. Can I truly give it to her? To Molli, who feels like the only innocent thing left in my life? Lord Aaron is already using; Saber’s very existence is a sad testament to mankind’s selfishness; but Molli is so true and loyal and pure. I open my mouth—to say what, I don’t even know—but my hands shake so badly I lose my grip on the container and it clatters to the floor.
We both freeze when it lands—facedown, if that’s lucky—next to a shimmering, jeweled shoe. I somehow already know whose face I’m going to find when I raise my eyelids.
His Highness stoops and picks up the canister without so much as glancing at its label or contents, and proffers it to Molli. “Yours?” he asks, barely waiting for her silent nod before dropping it into her gloved palm. “Come dance with me,” he orders, yanking me alongside him toward the dance floor before I can say a word.
I’m not sure how I manage the steps of the dance as horror fills me. Was I going to give it to her? Would I have changed my mind? I don’t honestly know the answer. But I suspect in the end I’d have let her have it, and that kills me inside.
At the end of the party, Saber sees me to my chamber, and I wait while he slips out the back door to my father’s office—there to mix a double batch of new cosmetics. I don’t offer to help. If he wonders why, he doesn’t say.
After checking the back door to my suites and counting to one hundred, I slip out and make my way through the snail-spiral of rooms that belong to the King. Unable to locate him via Lens—and unsure of the wisdom of arranging a meeting by com—I continue trawling his rooms until I find his private office door locked.
I raise my hand and knock, and butterflies take flight in my belly. I’ve not changed from my ball finery, and I try to remember how elegant I look. How Queen-like. I must use every weapon in my arsenal to make this happen.
Several seconds pass—did I wake him? Or fail to wake him? Is he consulting with M.A.R.I.E. as to the identity of his visitor, or dithering over whether to admit me or send me away? I suppose he could simply be ignoring me. Finally, weasel-faced Mateus pokes his head out and glares before stepping back to let me through.