her something good. Something nice, you know?” Graves squeezed my shoulder, but gently. I guess he was trying to be comforting.
Too bad I was past being comforted.
“I think she needs to rest for a while,” Graves continued. “She’s, uh, pretty broken up. About the house. The fire.”
I’m right here, I wanted to yell. Don’t talk around me, for Christ’s sake.
But I didn’t care. They could do whatever they were going to do. I had enough to deal with, keeping my stomach from emptying itself all over the dash. Keeping the screaming inside me locked down in my throat where it couldn’t come out and break every window in the car.
“She . . . has had a difficult time of it.” Christophe spaced the words evenly. Neutral.
The space inside the car relaxed. I kept breathing into my knees, my eyes shut tight. The engine purred along, smoothly, carrying us all.
We finally made a sharp right, tires bouncing a little.
Christophe let out a long breath. “Here we are. Four Seasons, at your service.”
“Swank. Can we afford this?” Graves actually sounded grudgingly impressed.
“Of course. Nice rooms, discreet staff, quiet. Just the thing.” Christophe brought the car to a stop, nice and easy. “Let me do the talking. Just stay behind me, and try not to look . . . well, never mind.”
I made up my mind I wouldn’t care. Breathed into the comforting hollow between my jean-clad knees, wished the dark could last forever.
“Dru.” Mocking and businesslike, Christophe was back to his old self. It was almost a relief. “We’re going to have to check in, kochana.”
Graves’s hand fell away from my shoulder.
I braced myself and looked up, blinking furiously.
It was swank. Money breathed out of the fake adobe, and there were valets already perking up to attention. The doorman, a tall man with chocolate skin and a snappy dark blue suit jacket, eyed our car. His tie was a vivid flash of red. All the colors were too intense, crowding in through my eyes and pressing into my brain.
Dad would hardly ever have stayed in a place this nice. He had some ideas about the constitutionality and advisability of valet parking. But occasionally, he’d take me so I knew what to expect and how to get in and out of a nicer class of hotels.
My voice wouldn’t work quite right. My cheeks were wet. “I don’t think I’m dressed for this.” We’ll stick out. Oh, God, will we ever stick out here.
“Don’t worry.” Awkward for the first time, Christophe actually patted my elbow. The awkwardness passed, and his face smoothed. He actually looked ready to handle this. “You look lovely. Stay here, let me open your door.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Christophe took control, quietly and efficiently. One look from him and the doorman and bellhops snapped to attention, the valet took our car, and our luggage—such as it was—was unloaded with alacrity. The desk clerk had murmured something about a standing reservation, and we’d been whisked upstairs inside of two minutes. Christophe tipped the bellhop, saying something in a low voice, and pushed me gently toward the huge granite-tiled bathroom to freshen up. Clean clothes arrived like a genie had ordered them, so as soon as I got out of the shower there was a new pair of designer jeans and a navy-blue silk T-shirt. I used the hotel soap with abandon, scrubbing away the sweat-film, and tried not to cry. It didn’t work. I was leaking.
The restaurant was Italian, within walking distance, and the type of place Dad wouldn’t have touched with a ten-foot pole. The kind where they have eight different sorts of forks ranked alongside your plate, sneering waiters, and a ties-are-not-optional dress code.
The “Italian” extended to a sort of indoor courtyard full of lush greenery. I guess you could even call it a grotto, what with the statues. Naked statues, in glaring white marble.
The expensively suited maitre d’ had held my seat and laid a green linen napkin decorously in my lap, discreetly not mentioning that I was on a slow leak. Christophe pretended not to notice, and as soon as he settled himself and the water glasses—actual goblets full of crushed ice and a paper-thin slice of lemon arranged just so—were filled, he picked up the menu and examined it critically.
I wiped at my cheeks. The tables were all screened off, either by potted plants or by trellises with climbing vines. All the trouble of air conditioning, and this place was still trying to coax plants to grow inside. I