Mirabella
I knew the Boss must have had set up his bunker especially to show me. At the press of a button, golden drapes lowered from the ceiling, masking all the walls. Then the huge bed was raised. Verity was in the very center, sunk deep into masses of pillows. Her golden hair was spread out like lace. The peach silk sheet was folded under her thin white arms that were carefully placed by her sides, hands flat, showing perfectly manicured, pink polished nails. A gardenia was tucked behind one ear, plucked, I had no doubt, from the great bowls of them on every surface, the scent of which threatened to overpower the air itself until I felt I choked for breath.
Dear God, I thought, she looks like a dead woman, made ready for her coffin. I turned to the Boss, who was standing right behind me. “What have you done to her?”
“What have I done? Why, Mirabella, look around, why don’t you? Look at this palace I’ve constructed especially for your friend. I ask you, who could do more for Verity than I? Of course you are shocked to see her in this state but I assure you her medical care is the best. Better in fact than anything Prescott could have done. The machine you see next to her bed is feeding nourishment into her, even as she sleeps and the air is specially filtered to maximum purity.”
The Boss spread his arms wide, the amiable smile reaching his eyes—generous, likeable, charming. “Trust me,” he said gently. “I will make sure the old Verity returns to you intact. A girl does not almost drown without there being aftereffects, problems with the lungs, blood flow. I removed her from the hospital because I have the best medical help in the world for her here.”
I wasn’t buying it. Something was very wrong. I stared at him right back. “I’m taking her home with me now.”
Arms folded over his massive chest, the Boss began to pace the room, glancing at Verity, then back at me.
“I’d like to know exactly how you intend to do that, my dear. In fact, why don’t we share a glass of wine? Let Verity sleep while you and I figure out what is best for her. Of course it goes without saying that we both shall do only what is best.”
He knew I was afraid, in fact he could probably read my thoughts almost before I had them. I wondered what to do. I had no clue, I was panicking. I refused the offered glass of wine.
“My dear, it’s a Montrachet. I decanted it some hours ago, expecting your company.”
“You expected me?”
“Of course. I knew you would come to visit your friend. It’s natural. And as you can see, all is well.”
I took the glass. I wished Chad were here, and the Colonel. I was afraid of this man, afraid for Verity. Yet he was being so nice, he was a celebrity billionaire, he did not need either me or Verity.… So what was I doing here, alone with him in this magnificent bedroom?
He took me by the hand and led me to a deeply cushioned velvet chair opposite the bed.
“Please. Taste the wine, I’m sure you are going to love it.”
He came closer, bent over until his knees touched mine. He wasn’t exactly threatening, but to me it felt like it. I took a cautious sip.
He towered above me. “Well?”
“Delicious. I’m not used to such elegant wine.”
“Well now, why not sit back and enjoy it? In a few moments we shall see the show.”
Mystified, I saw him press a remote, lowering a curtain and cutting us off from the bed, from Verity.
Alarmed, I got to my feet, but he was up at once, right there, in front of me.
“My dear Mirabella, when will you stop this panicking? I only want you to watch the show, of which, of course, Verity is the star. I have it all set up, electronically, but it will take a few moments. So, now…”
He pushed me back into the chair, and held the glass to my mouth, forcing me to drink. I knew I must not, knew what he was capable of. I gritted my teeth and wine dribbled from the corners of my lips onto my white shirt. I went to wipe it off, but he snatched my gloved hand. “Of course. Poor Mirabella, such a terrible accident.” Then he squeezed my hand, hard, and I cried out in pain.