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“Nothing matters more than money to us, the Beautiful Ones who walk down these city streets in pristine gloves and silk-lined garments. You can give yourself the luxury of love because you are not one of us. That is why you are my friend: because despite everything, at heart you remain an innocent.”
He’d been performing, he’d been misdirecting, to distract Nina and spare her feelings, but in the end it was she who was the superior artist, making him forget himself. It was the look of wordless wonder on her face, truly. It undid him. He spent the rest of the night awake, her head resting heavy against his chest, but he was unafraid.
Valérie was as sharp as glass then, as sharp and perhaps as fragile, for she moved back and stumbled. It was as if the veil she had worn each day had grown frayed, revealing the naked, desperate truth beneath.
“I have given you everything, Valérie,” he said, looking heartbroken, but she did not care. Trinkets, she thought. Rings and necklaces and earrings, everything accounted for.
Hector had adored her. But even Hector had not been enough. Even his love had not been enough. Nothing could ever be sufficient for her.
“I will have his name, damn you!” He was angry. Finally true emotion coursed through him instead of the tepid affection he had always granted her, she who demanded a roaring fire and had been given but a tiny match to light her heart.
he had also been drifting toward her since the beginning, magnetized, a compass that had spun wildly and then gently settled upon a true north.
