Because It Is My Blood (Birthright #2)(94)

“Heard there was a party,” he said. “Hurts my feelings when I don’t get an invite after all the time you and your friends spent in my joint over the years.”

“I didn’t think you’d be interested,” I said lamely.

Fats craned his neck up the stairs. “This where the—what did you call it?—health cacao place is gonna be?”

“I came to you. You didn’t like the idea.”

“Maybe so. Guess I didn’t think you’d go and do it anyway,” Fats said. He pulled me in to whisper in my ear. His breath was moist and hot against my skin. “You sure about this, Annie? You sure you want all this brought down on you? There’s still time for you to change your mind. You got your brother to think about. Your little sister, too. And I know you already have plenty of enemies. Yuji Ono. Sophia Bitter. Mickey Balanchine. You really want me to be one more?”

I pushed him away. He was bluffing, I was certain. And even if he wasn’t, there were months before the club would open, which meant there were months left for me to broker some kind of peace between us if that proved necessary. Maybe it was foolish of me, but I truly believed that I could convince him to my way of thinking. Fats had loved my father, and I knew I was doing what Daddy would have wanted. I just didn’t want to make this case to Fats tonight. “It’s done,” I said. “Have a good night. I really must attend to my guests.”

I ran up the stairs and I did not look back.

At long last, I made it over to one of the samovars. I turned the spigot to fill my glass, and Charles Delacroix sidled up next to me. “You did well,” he said. “This is a great night. This is where it all begins.”

“So you said. ‘Chocolate city,’ huh?”

“I thought it had good drama to it. People like drama, Anya. They remember drama.”

I tasted the drink. I’d followed Theo’s instruction to the letter, but the flavor was strong, if ever so slightly sour. Though no one at the party seemed to notice, something had gone bad in the mix. Maybe Theo was right when he had told me that there wasn’t a good substitute for chocolate. Yet half the samovars were already empty, so perhaps I was being an overly sensitive hostess. I took a second tentative sip. When I looked up, I saw Win, standing across the room next to Scarlet and Gable. I hadn’t seen him arrive. Despite everything, he had come for me. At that moment, my heart, my lowly, amnesiac heart, could not recall the things that had been more important than those eyes, those hands, that mouth. Forgive me, I wanted to say to him, I knew I would hurt you and I did it anyway. I don’t know why I am the way I am. I don’t know why I do the things I do. Please, Win, don’t give up on me. Love me a little, even though I’m flawed. “Thank you,” was what I did manage to whisper. He couldn’t have heard, but I was sure he saw my lips. He did not cross the room to me. He did not reply or even smile. I was not forgiven, not yet. After a moment, he raised his glass. I imitated his gesture before draining that bitter drink to its lees.