Evermore - Alyson Noel [30]
Then she pulls away and glares over her shoulder, saying, “I told you you suck at lying,” before continuing on.
I take a deep breath and follow behind, trailing them through the kitchen, the den, making my way to the door, my eyes fixed on the back of Damen’s head, noticing how he moves so fast and sure, it’s as though he knows just where to find her. And by the time I step into the foyer, I freeze when I see them together—he in his eighteenth-century splendor—and she dressed as a Marie Antoinette so rich, so lovely, so exquisite, she puts me to shame.
“And you must be . . .” She lifts her chin as her eyes land on mine, two glowing spheres of deep emerald green.
“Ever,” I mumble, taking in the pale blond wig, the creamy flawless skin, the tangle of pearls at her throat, watching as her perfect pink lips display teeth so white they hardly seem real.
I turn to Damen, hoping he can explain, provide some logical explanation for how the redhead from the St. Regis ended up in my foyer. But he’s too busy gazing at her to even notice my existence.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his voice nearly a whisper.
“Haven invited me.” She smiles.
And as I glance from her to him, my body fills with a cold hard dread. “How do you know each other?” I ask, noting how Damen’s entire demeanor has changed, suddenly growing chilly, cold, and distant—a dark cloud where the sun used to be.
“I met her at Nocturne,” Drina says, gazing right at me. “We’re headed there now. I hope you don’t mind my stealing her away?”
I narrow my eyes, ignoring the twitch in my heart, the pang in my gut, as I struggle to get some kind of read. But her thoughts are inaccessible, sealed off completely, and her aura nonexistent.
“Oh, silly me, you were referring to Damen and I, weren’t you?” She laughs, her eyes traveling slowly over my costume, until coming back to meet mine. And when I don’t respond she nods when she says, “We knew each other back in New Mexico.”
Only, when she says, “New Mexico,” Damen says, “New Orleans.” Causing Drina to laugh in a way that never quite reaches her eyes.
“Let’s just say we go way back.” She nods, extending a hand to my sleeve, her fingers trailing its beaded edge, before sliding down to my wrist. “Lovely dress,” she says, clasping me tightly. “Did you make it yourself?”
I wrench my arm free, less from the shock of being mocked and more from the chill of her fingers, the frigid scratch of her cold sharp nails freezing my skin and shooting ice through my veins.
“Isn’t she the coolest?” Haven says, gazing at Drina with the sort of awe she usually reserves for vampires, goth rockers, and Damen. While Evangeline stands beside her, rolling her eyes and checking her watch.
“We really need to go if we’re going to make it to Nocturne by midnight,” Evangeline says.
“You’re welcome to join us.” Drina smiles. “Fully stocked limo.”
And when I glance at Haven, I can hear her thinking: Say no, say no, please say no!
Drina glances between Damen and me. “Driver’s waiting,” she sings.
I turn to him, my heart caving when I see how conflicted he is. Then I clear my throat and force myself to say, “You can go if you want. But I need to stay. I can’t exactly leave my own party.” Then I laugh, attempting to sound light and breezy, when the truth is, I can barely breathe.
Drina glances between us, brows arched, face haughty, betraying just the briefest glimmer of shock when Damen shakes his head and takes my hand instead of hers.
“So wonderful to meet you Ever,” Drina says, pausing before climbing into the limo. “Though I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
I watch as they disappear from the driveway and onto the street, then I turn to Damen and say, “So, who should I expect next, Stacia, Honor, and Craig?”
And the second it’s out, I’m ashamed for having said it, for revealing what a petty, jealous, pathetic person I am. It’s not like I