Glorious Rivals (The Grandest Game, #2) (42)

He glowered at her.

“You do!”

“I’m not taking anyone to that damn island.”

“In that case,” Gigi said solemnly, “I have no choice but to go to town.” She made it two steps before the old guy cut her off. Gigi patted his shoulder. “Believe me, I am totally grateful for the stalwart rescue—A-plus—but I need a ride to Hawthorne Island, and if you aren’t feeling inclined to give me one, and you don’t have a phone, I’m going to town. Either way, I need to get out of here before a certain someone gets back.”

“A certain someone. Who kidnapped you. And who I am not supposed to shoot?”

Gigi patted his other shoulder. “Correct!”

“Damn kids.”

“It was incredibly nice to meet you, too,” Gigi replied. “Have a nice night!” She made it five steps past him this time, and then Endearingly Bearded Man spoke again.

“Fine,” he said roughly. “I’ll take you to the island at dawn.”





Chapter 37





LYRA


A dozen ballgowns hung in the secret closet, each more beautiful than the last. Lyra stared at them, unable to stop the pounding chorus in her brain. Screw Eve and her deal. I have to tell him. Except it wasn’t that easy.

The money.

The file.

It was everything Lyra could have hoped for coming into this game: the ability to save Mile’s End, a start on getting answers.

I’m not taking any damn deals. Lyra locked her gaze on the gown that hung dead center. The dress was blue, overlaid in gold, its skirt full and flowing, deep blue turning to a dark and stormy gray near the floor. Lyra reached out to touch the translucent gold fabric that flowed like water over the surface of the skirt. Even on a hanger, the dress looked like it was in motion. It looked like the kind of ballgown that should have had a name. The Sky at Night.

It looked like the kind of dress that a girl who’d caught the attention of Grayson Hawthorne should wear.

I should have told him already.

Lyra dropped her hand from The Sky at Night and forced her attention to the other ballgowns. One was silver with layers of white tulle that made it look like it had been called forth from the mists. Another was a deep, dark red with black stitching so intricate that Lyra felt like she might become hypnotized just looking at it. There was a forest-green gown, a pale silvery-blue one, lavender, indigo, glittering turquoise.

Black. Lyra stopped in front of the black dress. Compared to the others, its design was simple and understated. A fitted bodice, a loose and flowing chiffon skirt that would hit mid-calf. More evening gown than ballgown, Lyra thought. More versatile. Practical.

Her choice made, Lyra lifted the hanger from the rod and realized suddenly that the dress wasn’t entirely black. As the chiffon moved, colors became visible in the skirt, obsidian giving way to purple-gray, a deep and fire-kissed pink, and honey amber. Lyra went still, and as the dress she held did the same, it looked black again—just black, the true colors of the feather-light chiffon only visible with motion. Lyra couldn’t help thinking that this dress, like The Sky at Night, deserved a name.

Darkest Sunset.

There were no ordinary options here. Trying not to let that matter, Lyra shed her armor and downed the gown, contorting her arms to zip up the back. As she did, Eve’s voice snaked its way back into Lyra’s mind.

Drakos, it whispered. Reyes. Aquila.

Three names—none of which mattered to Lyra as much as Mile’s End. Focus on the game, she told herself. If she refused Eve’s deal, winning would be her only option.

If?

Setting her jaw, Lyra looked back to the closet, to the end of the rack. Luxury purses. She chose one with a long strap. Like her dress, the bag was black, made of what looked like crocodile leather with small, glittering embellishments. White gold. Diamonds. More importantly, it was just large enough to hold the music box, the charm bracelet, and the dice.

Once she’d stocked the bag, Lyra made her way into the bathroom. With every step, the colors hidden in the chiffon skirt of her black gown made themselves known. With every step, Lyra told herself that she knew exactly who she was and what she had to do.

No one gets to manipulate me. Lyra looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, ignoring the way the gown accented her curves and focusing instead on the familiar face that looked back at her. Amber eyes. Full lips. Golden tan skin. Lyra had never looked much like her mother. She didn’t sound much like her, either.

You are a kind and generous soul, Lyra Catalina Kane. The memory of that declaration had Lyra’s fingers curving inward toward her palms.

A kind and generous person would have told Grayson before she’d kissed him. A smart person would have reported everything to the game makers while Eve and her associate were still on the island.

Unless that smart person was considering taking the deal.

I’m not. Holding her own gaze in the mirror, Lyra knew what her dad would have said—about Mile’s End, about deals with the devil, about living life in a way that let you look at yourself in the mirror at night.

I am no one’s weapon. Lyra made herself think the words. I am no one’s pawn. And she was going to tell Grayson about Eve.

Eve, who’d offered Lyra millions to lose a game and break a Hawthorne heart.

There was a knock at the bedroom door.