“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.
My own wedding.
Acknowledgments
So many people had their hands in the creation of this book. Thanks to my agent, Mandy Hubbard, who scraped me off the pavement after I’d been kicked to the curb not once but twice and who believed in Glitter right from the beginning. To my editor, Caroline Abbey, who put so much time into the development of this story. Truly above and beyond. To Emi Haze for an incredible cover for a super-quirky book. To Mollie Glick, who gave me some crucial advice about the setting of Glitter, even though I didn’t end up signing with her. Thank you, Mollie!
To Lauren DeStefano for an early read and critique, not to mention hundreds of whiny emails. Hundreds. To all of the Cave Creek ladies (+2 gents) who were so supportive when I didn’t even know what to do with good news. To Sandy for all of those runs when I spaced out because I started plotting. To Kristin Harmel for amazing feedback and a wonderful listening ear. You are one of my favorite finds of the last few years. To Skyelyte, who gave me a super-early beta read, even though it meant she’ll have to wait forever for the sequel. Thank you for your time and DMs and RTs.
My family and family-in-law are always so very supportive. Especially when I’m under deadline and am useless for anything else. My kids, who are endlessly patient with their Writer Mom. And my husband. Oh man, Kenny. I would melt down into a puddle of mush without you and everything you do.
APRILYNNE PIKE
is the critically acclaimed, internationally and #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Wings series. She has been spinning stories since she was a child with a hyperactive imagination. She received a BA in Creative Writing from Lewis-Clark State College in Lewiston, Idaho. She lives in Arizona with her family. Visit her online at aprilynnepike.com and follow her on Twitter at @AprilynnePike.