This was wrong. This was wrong, and this was all done by a man she said, thought, felt she loved. How could she have ignored this, convinced herself that Damien was removed from these parties? He created them, nurtured them, encouraged them. Must enjoy them.
She turned quickly, needing out, and her arm brushed a man's bare ass as he thrust into his partner, who was bent over the antique Sheraton desk, its hand-carved cherry legs shaking from the jarring motion.
"Sorry," she murmured.
Instead of being annoyed, he smiled at her, hips still moving. "No problem." He looked down at her chest. "Hey, stick around for a second. She's almost done here."
Marley realized the bent woman was moaning quite vigorously, her voice rising.
"Then I'd like to get to know you."
They were having this conversation while he was having sex with another woman, and Marley didn't know whether to laugh or throw up. "Oh, uh, no thanks, I'm looking for someone…" She trailed off as the woman went into frantic mewls.
On that note, Marley turned and left the room. She just couldn't do this. Trying not to make eye contact with anyone, touch anyone, or see any more body parts, Marley moved past through the opposite salon, the dusky room quieter than the last, conversations, intimacies more muted, couples tucked into corners, on couches, but no Damien.
Deciding she just wanted to go upstairs and get the hell away from all of this, Marley eased toward the door. And nearly bumped into her sister.
"Lizzie!" Her sister was leaning against the wall, a man bent over her br**sts.
Her eyes popped opened. "Hey, Mar." Her voice was languid, aroused. "Great party, huh?"
No. In fact, she didn't think she could stand one more minute and she'd only been there for five. "I'm so glad to see you! Come upstairs with me so we can talk."
Lizzie looked down at the man. "Alex, can I go upstairs with my sister to say hi?"
His head lifted. "No."
Lizzie shrugged. "Sorry, Mar, Alex says no. Maybe later."
Marley stared at her sister. "Lizzie." She hadn't seen her in almost three months, and she wanted to talk to her. And who the hell was this guy?
He turned and Marley instantly disliked him. His expression was amused, arrogant, disdainful. He didn't say anything to her, just raised an eyebrow. Then pulled Lizzie's shirt back over her br**sts.
"Elizabeth, I want you to give that man o**l s*x."
"Which one?"
"The short one next to the fireplace, looking lonely. Go now."
Lizzie started to walk toward him, then turned and asked, "For how long, sweetie?"
"Until I tell you to stop or until he comes in your mouth."
"Okay." Lizzie blew him a kiss, went up to the guy standing by himself, said a word or two, than went down on her knees.
Marley watched in disbelief. What the hell was Lizzie doing?
Alex smiled at her, like this was perfectly normal. "She likes being told what to do. It makes her feel safe."
Marley gasped in disgust. Horror, panic all had her choking on a gag. She couldn't look at Lizzie or this guy, and she pushed past him, tears in her eyes, through the archway, down the hall, out the front door. She ran down the two dozen steps, her sandals slipping, nearly sending her face-forward down the stairs.
Where was Damien? She'd left her phone in her room, so she couldn't call him on her cell. Nothing could induce her to go back into that house until every last human being was gone. Heading toward the garçonnier, she wiped her eyes and took deep shuddering breaths to get ahold of herself.
Maybe if she asked, Damien would cut the entertainment short and ask everyone to go home. But that wouldn't fix what had her feeling shattered, pummeled, disillusioned. What the hell was the matter with her sister? Marley didn't understand how anyone could possibly be happy doing what she had just seen her sister do. And Damien. What did Marley do with Damien in her mind, her intellect, her heart, and all her feelings for him?
She knocked on the door, then pushed it open. With a huge sense of relief, she saw Damien immediately, sitting on top of his kitchen table, of all places, bare feet on a wooden chair. His shoulders were slumped and he had a piece of paper waded in his hand.
"Damien. What's the matter?" He didn't look right, and for a split second she thought he was dead. But he was sitting up, he couldn't possibly be dead.
His head lifted and she saw his eyes were red, swollen, bleary. "I thought it couldn't hurt anymore," he said. "It's been so long, but then I read what she wrote, and God, Marley, I can't take it. Marie was this sweet, innocent wisp of a woman when I married her, and I didn't appreciate that."
"What are you talking about?" His wife's name had been Marie? The panic was rising again, like a furious hot air balloon inside her chest, pushing up, shoving, threatening to take her head right off her shoulders.
"I didn't know about this confession she wrote. I can't believe that she thought any of that was her fault… it was me, all me. And it's my fault she died."
"How did she die?" He stared at her for so long she thought he wasn't going to answer. And when he finally did, she almost wished he hadn't.
"She killed herself." Damien spoke the words for the first time in two hundred years, forced them past his teeth, out into the air, knowing he was ruining his relationship with Marley, but certain the truth had to be told. Marie deserved the truth.
"Oh, God," Marley said, tears in her eyes. "I'm so sorry."
Her compassion always got to him, touched pieces deep inside he thought were gone, obliterated. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I talked you into staying here, Marley. Sorry that I pulled you into the mess that I am. You deserve better."
"I stayed because I wanted to stay. I care deeply about you. But I think you need to tell me everything… for both of our sakes. Anna was, well, she was acting crazy tonight, Damien. She said all these insane things about immortality and you and how she is really someone named Marissabelle."
Marley looked worried, and she clearly wanted him to tell her that Anna was indeed a lunatic. But his old mistress and nemesis had actually perfectly paved the way for him to tell Marley the truth about himself. "Anna isn't crazy, ma cherie. She is Marissabelle, and I am the first Damien du Bourg, the only Damien du Bourg. I am over two hundred and forty years old, and I cannot die."
Her head went back and forth. "Don't… don't say those kinds of things. It doesn't make any sense."
Watching her eyes dart wildly back and forth, running up and down over him, her expression horrified, Damien was sorry for what he had to do, what he was about to put her through. But Marley had the right to the truth, and part of him understood that he wanted Marley, wanted to keep her and the future she represented, take the love she offered and return his own. He wanted to let go of the past, move forward like she had asked him to.