Sancte Diaboli: Part Two (The Elite King's Club 7)

I shake my head, another sip. “No.”

Ophelia’s eyes narrow, but after a second, her expression disappears. “Convenient,” I hear her whisper, but she shakes it off and stands, placing her glass on my bedside table. “All right, I’m going to show you in” —she stares down at her watch— “seven minutes. Lean forward.” I do, shuffling to the edge of the bed. “The error that people make with these visions is that so many who get them presume they’re not real. They are. Have you heard of an out-of-body experience? See, people think it’s neuroscience, and to a degree it is, because everything is science, but—” Her fingers rest on my temples. “Close your eyes.” I do. “I need you in a relaxed state, almost like you’re sleeping.” My shoulders relax and I breathe in and out. I didn’t realize how tired I was until I found myself falling deeper and deeper into a heavy haze. My eyes pop open, but this time, I’m standing beside Ophelia, where she’s still standing in front of my body with her fingers on my temples. “See,” she says, and I turn around to notice another version of her next to me. We both watch our bodies. “It’s not a vision at all. It’s all in the science of your mind. Kind of like hypnosis.” “But, wait—” I shake my head. “So does that mean that the person I am seeing isn’t a ghost?”

Ophelia shrugs. “Could be, but I always see more of the logical and realistic way of our kind, so I’m going to say no, I don’t think he’s a ghost. I wish it was more paranormal than neuroscience, but it’s really not. I’m yet to actually see a damn ghost.” I don’t tell her that I’ve seen one. A lot. Hello, crazy Ava Garcia.

“So what you’re saying is that someone has been coming into my room while I sleep to do this?” I scowl, my skin crawling.

Ophelia’s fists clench at her sides. “Maybe. I’m not sure and haven’t studied deep enough into it yet because I didn’t think I would need to. We will talk about it more when you kick me out. Getting someone out of your head isn’t as difficult as it seems. You just have to find an anchor to bring you back out.” I close my eyes, and just like that, I open them and I’m back in my body.

“Bishop,” I say sadly. “I still have Bishop.”

Ophelia reaches for her glass again, downing the rest of it. “This isn’t good.”

“Keep it quiet for now,” I say, swirling the liquid in my glass. “I don’t know who I can trust.”

Ophelia nods. “Agreed. Tonight, I’ll sneak in and check on you. I’ll stay up all night if I have to, just to see if anyone comes in.”

I nod. “That’s a good plan.”

There’s a knock on my door, and one of the housekeepers, I think her name is Natasha, pokes her head around the corner. “Hair and makeup are here. So is Miss Ivy.”

Ophelia clinks her glass with mine. “Cheers. Let’s get so fucking hot that every single person in that room won’t even know how to breathe without our permission.”

Hair and makeup go fast. I felt a little like Cinderella getting ready for the ball with how fast they all moved around us three. By the time we were done, we were onto our second bottle of Cristal and I was thoroughly ready for tonight.

“Wow.” Ophelia pauses when I stand from my chair. “Seriously impressed that they got you a Berta gown, and not just any Berta. That looks breathtaking.” I move to the other side of my bedroom, in front of the floor-length mirror.

I pause.

Glamor. The rose gold gown pinches at the waist before flowing to the ground in a flurry of sequins and glitter. The strapless style is perfect, my cleavage spilling out the edges with small slits on either side of my breasts. Hello, side boob. My skin glistens with gold from the fake tan, perfectly matched for the color and style of the gown. My hair is down and straightened so sleek that it looks almost plastic, where my makeup is thick and smokey around the eyes, the edges so dark that it makes my color look transcendental.

“Okay, yeah, wow.” I run my hands down the sides, ignoring how clammy they feel. Every time I remember I’m about to see Brantley again, my heart skips one hundred beats.

“I’m not ready to see him,” I say, my chest closing in. I can’t breathe. “I can’t do this yet.”

“Hey!” Ophelia places her glass on the table and makes her way to me. She grabs me by my upper arms, her bright green eyes illuminating. Her hair rolls down her back in perfect natural curls, her skin flawless. She’s not wearing nearly as much makeup as I am. “You’ve got this.” She hands me my glass of champagne. “Finish this and we will be ready to leave. Veronica is hell-bent on us making an entrance, so we’re going to be a little late.” I gather up my YSL bag and check my phone for new texts. Nothing. Deep down, I wanted something from Brantley.