Free Kiss Kill Vanish by Jessica Martinez Page B

gestures to both of us, and the liquid in his glass sloshes over, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Wait, you two know each other?”
    â€œWe just met,” Emilio says, perfectly casually.
    Don’t say my name. Forcing a brittle smile, I try to make eye contact with Emilio, but he won’t look at me.
    â€œWell, aren’t you the social butterfly tonight,” Marcel says to me with a raised eyebrow.
    â€œActually,” I say, hoping he doesn’t hear the quiver in my voice, “I was trying to get away from the crowd, and I thought the room was empty. Emilio was just telling me about these old music scores.”
    â€œFascinating,” Marcel says drily, glancing into the case. “So you’re here to buy a LaFleur, I assume?” For reasons unknown, he tries to do air quotes around “LaFleur”and spills a little more of his drink.
    Emilio shrugs. He looks so relaxed I’d believe he really was that calm if I couldn’t see his knuckles still white from clenching. “Depends. My boss wants me to look at a few while he feels out buyers. You’re a friend of LaFleur’s, aren’t you?”
    Marcel grimaces, his distaste for Emilio becoming more and more obvious. “I think we both know I’m mostly here just to piss off Lucien.”
    â€œHow do you two know each other?” I interrupt. Emilio gives me the quickest glance. A warning? Am I not supposed to speak?
    â€œThrough Lucien,” Marcel mutters, which only ignites another line of questions in my head. Emilio and Lucien know each other too?
    â€œHe’s here, I’m assuming,” Emilio says.
    â€œOf course,” Marcel says, and turns to the frosted window. “You know how he loves his art .”
    With Marcel’s back to us, Emilio looks into my eyes. There’s a message I’m supposed to understand. A question. I can’t tell.
    â€œI’ve yet to see any of Lucien’s paintings,” Emilio says, pulling his eyes away from me just as Marcel turns back around.
    â€œYou’re not missing much. Jane’s beauty notwithstanding, of course.”
    Emilio’s confusion only lasts a second, but it’s long enough for Marcel to notice.
    â€œShe didn’t tell you?” he says with a chuckle.
    â€œI just met him,” I say through gritted teeth. “I had no clue he knew Lucien.”
    Emilio waits, looking expectantly from me to Marcel.
    â€œJane here is Lucien’s muse,” Marcel explains.
    â€œYou’re his girlfriend,” Emilio says, not a question, eyes betraying nothing.
    Marcel laughs loudly, and the sound fills the small room. “That would make it less weird. She’s just his subject. Or has your status changed tonight?” His lip curls with the suggestion.
    Emilio’s knuckles go even whiter.
    â€œI’m his model.” I force myself to look at Marcel while I speak. I don’t trust my acting. I can’t look at Emilio like I don’t know him, like I don’t care what he’s thinking. “That’s all.”
    â€œExcept for this evening,” Marcel says.
    I narrow my eyes.
    â€œThat’s why you’re hiding from him, right?” Marcel says. “That’s typical behavior for one of Lucien’s dates, but a little odd if he’s paying you to be here with him. Is he paying you?”
    Blood burns my cheeks, humiliation and hatred pulsing because I don’t know the answer to that question.
    â€œI see you’re still as charming as ever with the ladies,” Emilio says, with a wry smile. “Last time I ran into you, you were hiding from some socialite with claws. In Amsterdam, I think.”
    Drunk enough to be easily distracted, Marcel gives a lazy cheers motion with the empty glass. “Ah, Ingrid. She was psychotic.”
    â€œAnd unprovoked, I’m sure,” Emilio says.
    I don’t listen as Marcel reminisces about Ingrid the psychotic