“Hurts so good,” Paul slurred drunkenly.
“Oh, my God.” Everything was falling apart. “Look, Paul, you’re obviously not feeling well. Let me take you to your room.”
“Excellent plan,” Paul said.
“I think it would be better if you handed over the keys,” the valet said.
“I’m not staying long,” I replied without even glancing at him.
“I think you are staying,” said the valet firmly. “Don’t you and Mr. Slater have a dinner reservation?”
That made me glance up. There was something oddly familiar about the valet’s voice.
It wasn’t until I looked into his face that I realized why. A chill passed over my entire body.
The man holding my door was no valet. It was Jesse de Silva.
veintiocho
“Monsieur,” said the waiter, bowing as he laid a napkin over Jesse’s lap.
“Gracias.”
Jesse didn’t look at all bothered by the fact that he’d invited himself to dinner—and forced the waitstaff to add a third chair and place setting to what was obviously a table for two—even though everyone else in the restaurant was staring at us.
Things like that don’t faze Jesse at all.
In fact, I think he was enjoying himself, especially when the sommelier brought over the bottle of Dom Pérignon that came paired with the first course on the tasting menu, chilled oysters on the half shell, topped with Beluga caviar.
“I brought my own bottle,” Paul grumbled, and filled his champagne flute with the whiskey he’d brought from Delgado’s studio.
The sommelier looked disapproving, but since Paul was a paying guest, there was nothing he could do.
“As you wish, sir,” the sommelier murmured, and walked away.
Mariner’s was the Carmel Inn’s four-star restaurant, voted the top destination in the Bay Area by Forbes Magazine, and Paul had gone all out, reserving its best, most romantic table—known locally as “the Window Table” because it was tucked into a dark corner of the restaurant that happened to be paned on both sides by floor-to-ceiling glass, and jutted out a dozen yards above the crashing surf of the southern most edge of Carmel Bay, so that diners had the giddy sensation that they were eating on a cliff, a private aerie above the sea.
Only the aerie was not so private or romantic tonight, since the restaurant had been more than happy to add a third place setting and chair at the Window Table, per my fiancé’s request.
“So,” Jesse said. “What are we celebrating?” He lifted his champagne glass. “The fact that I’m a demon?”
Paul raised his own glass. “I’ll drink to that if it means you’ll finally go to hell, de Silva.”
“Stop it,” I snapped. “Both of you. Jesse, how did you—?”
“Your stepbrother David was trying to reach you,” Jesse said with a shrug. “But you wouldn’t pick up—as usual. So he called me to see if I knew where you were. He seemed to have something particularly urgent to tell you, so naturally I asked what it was. David being David, he was reluctant to betray your confidence, Susannah, but eventually I convinced him it was in his best interest. Imagine my surprise when I discovered I was the reason he was calling. Or rather, the fact that I seem to be under some sort of curse.”
I felt as if someone had poured ice-cold champagne down my back instead of into my glass. “Jesse,” I said. I was going to kill David. “Look. I can explain . . .”
“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Jesse said, enjoying his food with a gusto I found surprising for someone who’d just discovered he was destined to lose his soul and become a mass murderer. “I look forward to hearing all about it. Yes, I will try the wine, thank you.” He smiled up at the hovering waiter.
“But how did you know we’d be here?” I hadn’t told David—or anyone—about my evening plans.
“Where else would Paul Slater stay when visiting Carmel?” Jesse set aside his fork to take a sip. “Only the best. Now, where shall we begin? With the bargain I heard the two of you mention, or whatever happened between you on graduation night?”
“Jesse,” I said after I’d taken several gulps from my water glass. My mouth felt as if it were filled with sand. “It’s not what you think.”
“Oh, it’s quite all right, querida.” There was a dangerous glint in his dark eyes. “If a man is doomed to murder everyone he’s ever loved, it’s nice to know he has reason to do so.”
“Jesse.” I choked. “Stop it. You know that isn’t true.”
“Which part, precisely, Susannah?” Jesse drained his wineglass. “I told you that we may no longer have a mediator-ghost connection, but I can still tell when you’re lying to me, and you’ve been lying to me all week. Those flowers on your desk at work? They weren’t from a grateful parent. They were from him.” He glared at Paul.
“Guilty as charged.” Paul winked at him. “But isn’t she worth it?”