Page 48 of When Hearts Unravel (The Orchid #6)

My stomach roils and my skin is clammy, all sensations I don’t expect to feel in the middle of a luxurious charity gala inside one of the most iconic buildings in Monte Carlo. It’s like ants are crawling all over me, and I don’t know why.

It’s unsettling. If I believe in signs, this feels like an omen.

It’s all in my head. Omens aren’t real.

I brush my damp palms over my purple silk gown, which Lana claimed was perfect for my complexion, then pat my classy low chignon, making sure strands aren’t escaping.

Taking deep breaths, I focus on my surroundings, a tactic which can help stop an anxiety spiral.

Salon Paris is gorgeous—one of the primary spaces in the hotel and casino.

The vaulted ceilings are adorned with intricate frescoes, gold filigree wrapped around an oval stained-glass skylight of sea foam and amber hues.

Tall Corinthian columns bracket the space, and multi-layered crystal chandeliers illuminate the room in a warm glow.

It’s beautiful. I should focus on this once-in-a-lifetime experience. Buttery aroma of the hors d’oeuvres lingers in the air. I hear the soft clinking of champagne flutes and laughter from crowds gathered around the blackjack tables throughout the space.

I shiver, hairs standing on my forearms. The unsettling pit in my stomach won’t go away.

I blow out another deep breath. Calm yourself.

“We’re not in Kansas anymore,” Lana says from my right and I flinch.

“Shit! You scared me.”

“Whoa, you don’t look so good. You okay?” She steps in front of me and frowns. Then she puts her palm on my forehead. “No fever. But you’re a bit pale.”

I shake myself. This is ridiculous. Maybe I caught a bug, or I didn’t sleep well last night.

I think about how I woke up this morning in the Absinthe suite alone when housekeeping knocked on the door, carrying a tray of assorted pastries, fruits, and coffee.

Then there was his note.

Olive,

You shine the brightest in my eyes.

Remember that.

And don’t believe everything you see. Trust me.

Rex

My heart tightened then, as it’s doing now. The note is bittersweet and ominous. What is he hiding, and why can’t he tell me?

I haven’t seen the man all day—it’s like he’s vanished from the ship.

My stomach churns again, the same foreboding weight settling over me.

“Have you seen Rex?” I ask Lana.

“I haven’t. I swear, I’m going to kill the man when I see him. This is the last big event before the cruise ends, and he’s pulled a Houdini on me.” Lana tosses her hands into the air, drawing attention to her figure-hugging gold gown.

I gnaw my lip. “Maybe something came up? This cruise is important to him. I doubt he’d ditch you unless it was urgent.”

If you asked me a month ago if I thought Rex Anderson had a serious bone in his body, I’d tell you no. But now, I know much of that is a facade, an act he’s putting on for others because he thought that was expected of him.

I wish I could make him see himself—his selfless heart, his sensitive soul, how he cares about the people he loves, like his family, with his whole being.

“I would’ve heard about it. I get morning briefings on everything happening on the cruise, and it’s all run-of-the-mill, nothing unusual. Although now that you mentioned it, there is something weird.”

“What?”

Lana deepens the furrow between her brows and scans the sizable crowd around us. “Yeah, definitely weird. I didn’t put two and two together before, but…”

“Stop talking in riddles. What’s going on?”

She turns to me, a sharpness in her eyes.

“Bree said she wasn’t going offshore today, which isn’t strange, considering she rarely leaves the ship.

But earlier, I saw a waitress who looked just like her, but when I called her name, she scurried away.

I thought I must’ve been seeing things. And now Rex isn’t here, and he and Bree are good friends.

The Shadow King isn’t here either, and that man is everywhere. ”

The Shadow King? Oh, Elias.

The image of him talking to Bree on the sky deck the other day flashes into my mind. All these seemingly random puzzle pieces floating in the air—perhaps they form the same image all along.

I stiffen. “Lana, I saw something the other day on the sky deck.”

I tell her about what I saw, the heated discussion and panic on Bree’s face, how Elias calmed her down. I left out the part about the man giving Lana his jacket. That didn’t seem relevant here.

“Something has to be going on with the three of them.” I tick my fingers. “Rex isn’t with Bree, and he’s close to Elias. Elias has connections to Bree. And now, they’re missing. They must be planning something.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, the orchestra suddenly stops playing. A clamor rises in the crowd as rapid staccato flashes bathe the room in bright light.

The devil himself strides in, a model on each arm. He lifts their hands in the air, and the ladies spin as the press gathers around them. Then he kisses their cheeks.

I can’t stop the sharp hiss from escaping my lips, and Lana looks at me.

I turn away, not wanting her pity.

I know this is bound to happen—the playboy prince will resume his normal life because I’m not his forever, despite what he says, despite that fresh tattoo he claimed he got for me.

But these actions, him flirting, holding, kissing other women, speak louder than his pretty words and that beautiful tattoo.

I just didn’t expect to see the fallout before the cruise is over.

His words from the note appear in my mind. Don’t believe what I see. Trust him.

Is this what he meant? But how can he ask me to trust him when he doesn’t trust me with whatever he’s planning? And he hasn’t really promised me anything beyond this trip.

His temporary forever. Maybe we’ve come to an end.

I take a deep breath, the raw pain radiating from my heart, the organ pulverized from a mere moment.

“I’m going to kill him,” Lana seethes. She takes a step toward her man whore of a brother.

I grab her arm to stop her. “Don’t make a scene. This is your family’s cruise. The press is here. And i-it’s not like we were anything to e-each other. Just a vacation…fling.”

The last word tastes bitter on my tongue. I drag my gaze away from the happy trio, trying to stop my eyes from tearing up.

Because it isn’t worth it to cry over this maddening man.

Because any man lucky enough to have me will know my worth and treat me well.

Because a true spotlight isn’t only for a moment, but should be enduring.

“Always the beautiful ladies around you, Mr. Anderson,” someone hollers, and the crowd laughs.

“I never disappoint. Then again, with a face and body like mine, can we expect less? It’d be a shame not to share it with the world.”

More guffaws and flashes, the crowd growing larger, clearly drawn to him like kids to an ice cream truck.

“What about your doctor friend, Rex? She’s looking awfully lonely over there.”

A chill sweeps through the room and shoots straight into my veins. Several hundred pairs of eyes bore holes into me. Lana steps in front of me, an angry grizzly mother bear, and I want to hug her for it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” she begins, her voice taking on her gracious PR persona.

I’m thrown back to our Twelfth Night reenactment, the discomfort when the scene ended and I felt everyone’s gazes on me. The thought that crossed my mind—how I was meant to be in the shadows.

The same sensation is back tenfold, but there’s also something new in the mix.

A fire licks up my spine, a surging heat scorching my body—anger, indignation, frustration, whatever other emotions colliding into a force to be reckoned with.

Straightening up, I tap Lana’s shoulder. She stops talking and glances at me, clearly concerned.

Staring at the crowd, the reporters in their tuxes with their phones thrusted my direction, the blinding flashes searing my eyes, I focus on the one man who asked the question.

Greg Masters, a sleazy smile on his face, no doubt peeved we’ve ruined his attempt for an immediate payday after the test kitchen incident.

“How can I be lonely at the world’s most exclusive gala surrounded by my friends,” I wink at Lana, “and all these wonderful guests?”

My pulse skedaddles, and I continue, “But I have to say, there are two types of folks who are worried about other people’s loneliness. They’re either kind and empathetic, or they have unmet needs and issues they aren’t dealing with. Let’s guess which of those categories you fall into.”

The asshole’s face reddens as a colleague elbows him. Chuckles sweep through the crowd.

I arch my brow, barely containing my disdain. “I take pro bono cases sometimes. You can find me if you ever want to talk, sir.”

Cheers and applause spear through the audience as I turn away from the sniveling man.

And then I see him staring at me.

Rex’s lips are hiked up to the side, his hands clapping like the rest of his entourage. His dark eyes shine with pride and mirth, and for a moment, my traitorous heart skips several beats, my body heating from the intensity of his attention.

Then I see the socialites next to him, grabbing his arm, patting his chest, and the heat swiftly vanishes from my body.

Gritting my teeth, I ignore him, the twinge in my chest flaring again.

Back to the real world, Olivia. This man isn’t for you.