The Billionaire And The Waitress (gxg)

41 - a reveal

     "I should go find Adrien," Muse repeated, rising to her feet. 

     After telling Pegasus to stay put, she closed the door behind her and went in search of Adrien. 

     She was now conscious that she had bodyguards, security that kept tabs on her to make sure she was safe. She resisted the urge to look back over her shoulder―as if they'd be following her in plain sight like some awful spies in a James Bond movie.

      The hotel lobby was packed with guests, with no Adrien in sight. 

      Mr. and Mrs. Pescuzzi waited on the couch with various Louis Vuitton, Prada, and Gucci luggage bags beside them. A long line of limousines had been parked outside; porters hurried in and out of the entrance. The quick clicking sound of their footsteps, along with the echo of suitcases rolling across marble and the chatter of the guests talking about stocks and their next meetings, created an overwhelming cacophony in Muse's mind. 

      She surveyed the area again, double-checking Adrien wasn't mid-conversation with one of the guests or the staff. 

     Phoebe and Agnes sat by the bar, kissing between drinks. Two tote-bags had been slung at the foot of their stools: one green and embroidered with plants, the other pink and starry.

      Of course Phoebe and Agnes's vacation bags would look like that.

     Muse debated talking to them, but she wanted to find Adrien, and she'd already said all her goodbyes after breakfast. Agnes had kissed her forehead and wished her luck on the honeymoon, with a two-second glower in Grey's direction. 

      And Phoebe had snatched her glass of tea at breakfast and read the leaves.

     "Oh, dear," she had said.

     "What? What do my tea leaves say?"

     "Disaster," said Phoebe, her face nearly white.

      Agnes had swatted at her wife and grabbed the teacup. "Nonsense. Don't listen to her. The time after your wedding is supposed to be blissful." Then she had glanced down at the tea leaves, and the colour had drained from her face, too.

     "I thought you weren't into the whole fortune-telling thing," Muse had said.

     Agnes's voice had been faint and trembling. "Well, when you've been married for a few decades, you pick it up, my dear."

     "What did you read?"

     Agnes had looked up at her with wide, hopeless eyes. "It says divorce, not disaster."

     Phoebe had reached for the teacup again, still white-faced, and examined it from a different angle.

    "Oh, God," she'd gasped. "It says death!"

    Muse had decided she'd had enough of the teacup readings then, reassured them there would be no death, disaster, or divorce, and promised she'd see them in a week back in New York.

     She'd also said goodbye to Ezra and his wife. Somehow, that been far worse than Phoebe and Agnes's ominous fortune-telling.

     They'd both sadly smiled at her, like they knew they were never going to see her again. That look had contained so much bleak knowing that Muse definitely didn't want to approach them again.

     Adrien was still nowhere to be found. 

     From across the lobby, a blonde woman with black, oversized―probably designer―sunglasses strode quickly past the couch with Mr. and Mrs. Pescuzzi. Something about her was familiar in a stomach-wrenching way. But before Muse could think about it, Mrs. Pescuzzi caught her eye. Her neon pink, lipstick-painted mouth split into a grin. Not unlike a vulture.