vanity, the tears still wet on her cheeks. Then she wiped her face with the back of her hand,

coat and jeans. She couldn't risk being recognized. If Avon found out she had left the penthou

directly down to the underground garage. The air was cold and smelled

ess in the East Village-a speakeasy with no sign and a reputation for strong drinks. A place she used to come

, a world away from the silent, gilded cage of her penthouse. It p

ping electronic music, sweat, and spilled liquor. Colored lights swung acro

ng of dancing bodies, her eye

far end of the bar, slumped

in the same kind of pain she herself carried. Two women

nd gently touched her f

into black rivers down her cheeks, and her hand w

ling with fresh tears. "He's enga

e let herself lean into the embrace too, drawing what little strength she could from the warmth of another person who unders

bartender. "A glass o

ss into Brianna's hand.

d, just a little. She started rummaging through her designer clutc

invitation. She slapped it onto the sticky bar top. "Stole it

invitation

. Brianna had come through for her, even in the middle of her own bre

u have no idea what

grip surprisingly strong. Her eyes, unfo

red, her breath smelling of whi

ing cold was already creeping u

r, her voice a drunken

el Co

c, the chatter-it all faded away into a dull roar. The only thing she coul

ter all th

she had spent eight years pretending had healed. Her fingers t

vious to Eleonore's shock. "Looks ric

ulled her wrist from Brianna's grasp, h

d, too flat, as if she were trying to convince herself as

, she could feel the li

bills from her wallet and tucked

ver her shoulder, taking o

her voice tight. "I

rowd and pushed open the heavy steel door, stumbling

r neck-the unmistakable feeling of being watched. She glanced over her shoulder, but th

alking it up to exhaustion and the ling

eling didn