Glitter (Glitter Duology #1)(97)

“And…” I lower my lashes. “And Saber?”

“Don’t you worry about him, either. I’m not going to let him languish in prison.”

“I wish you’d recon—”

“Don’t even start, Highness. You’ve paid your fee; don’t push me.” He sits a little straighter. “Speaking of your fee, there are a few specifics we haven’t discussed yet.”

“In my defense, you didn’t believe I could do it.”

“No, no, I didn’t.” He grins. “But as it’s going to make me a hefty profit, I was rooting for you.”

“I’m delighted,” I say dryly.

“However. You promised me five million euros, and I promised to spirit you away where no one can find you.” He glances down at his fingernails. “But I didn’t say when.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Pardonnez?”

He looks up, and I can see a smile of amusement blooming across his face. “I didn’t say when,” he repeats slowly. He leans back now, spreading both arms over the seat backs beside him. “I mean, look at you. Dolled up like a freaking princess. Every little girl dreams of her wedding day—we wouldn’t want you to miss yours.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I demand.

“I’ve spent eight years developing Glitter. Thought I was doing pretty good, too. But in you waltz with this crazy idea of using it as makeup. I have to tell you, I didn’t let on at the time, but that was a revelation. Needed some tests, though, which you were so kind as to carry out for me.” He leans forward, his eyes never leaving my face. “Now, you and me, we’ve got a good thing going here. I want your cosmetics to go global. I want to be able to let loose whispers into the world that the Queen of Sonoman-Versailles herself indulges now and again.”

“But I don’t!” I shoot back in a panic.

“Who said rumors have to be true to be effective? Point is, five million is nothing. All you’ve shown me is that there are billions to be made with your little idea.” He grins now, and the cruelty shines through and turns my stomach. “And I need you right there in the middle of it.”

“No, we had a deal,” I shout. “We had a deal!”

“We still have a deal. The fact that you neglected to double-check the small print isn’t my problem. I’ll get you out,” he says, his voice suddenly very serious. “When I’m done with you.”

Something catches my eye out the window, and in a wave of horror, I realize it’s the golden gates of Versailles Palace—the gates I rejoiced in leaving such a short time ago. At the sight, all my self-control drains away. “No,” I plead. “You can’t do this! The whole point was to escape this marriage. He could kill me, Reginald. Then what good am I to you?”

“I have faith in your coping abilities,” Reginald says, his eyes fixed on something outside the window. “And his.”

“You don’t understand. I oversold; I have no product. I can’t even make it anymore. You’re throwing me to the lions!”

He pats my hand, gripping painfully when I try to pull away. “Now, now, Your Grace, how cruel do you think I am? I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

I should have expected this, my mind screams. This is a man who deals in forged documents, illegal drugs, black-market slavery, and who knows what other despicable trades. Why was I so egocentric as to believe he’d deal fairly with me? Everything I’ve done, everyone who’s suffered—dear God, Molli—all for nothing. What I feel goes beyond remorse, dismay, horror, to a kind of numbness. I am nothing now.

He’s not even sneaking me back in—the car rolls slowly through the milling crowds in front of the palace. The instant it stops, Reginald’s liveried guards slip from the backseat. My door opens, and rough hands grab my arms and drag me out. I’m set hard on my feet in the midst of a very surprised—very pleased—audience of tourists, and somehow my knees hold me. The guards have positioned themselves right in front of and behind me again.

I’m in exactly the same position I was half an hour ago. Exactly. Except that now I’m in the Orangerie just below the Hall of Mirrors, surrounded by camera flashes as the loitering press begins to realize just who has emerged from the SUV.

Reginald slips between the two guards on my right. “Be a good girl today, Dani. Smile for the press, say all the right words, and maybe—just maybe—you’ll get your secretary back in one piece.”

I hiss in a breath. Saber.

“Oh, one more thing,” Reginald says, rather jovially. He ducks into the backseat and emerges with a large, elaborately wrapped white box. “For you.” He gives it a shake, and I hear a very familiar rattle. “Since you’ve lost your workshop.” He leans close and says conspiratorially, “I wouldn’t open it in front of anyone else, though.”

He hands the large box to one of the guards, gives me a wink as though he hasn’t just utterly betrayed me, and slides back into the car, which rolls slowly away through the assembled throng.

My lungs ache. I can’t remember how to breathe.

“This way, Your Grace,” one of the guards says, beckoning me toward the grand double doors, already thrown wide as though in anticipation of my rearrival. And despite everything—despite the money and the deceptions and the deaths—here I am. In the last place in the world I ever wanted to be.