chapter
THIRTY-TWO
And Desi did plan the engagement party. I said no to Lady Mendel’s, so she had it in her apartment with the best of Hell in attendance. I bought a very edgy Gwen Stefani dress and boots. The party was at the end of April because Marten couldn’t get back into town before then, and he was more pleased than I was that Des was giving a party and that Meph and Beliel and Hatuman and Martha Herself had all RSVP’d in the affirmative.
I hadn’t wanted to invite Beliel, but Meph insisted. “Positioning,” he said curtly when I insisted I didn’t want the Head of Security there. “Besides, if you exclude him he’ll know we’re on to him, and we have to avoid that.”
Of course Marten was pleased with the guest list. Even if we broke up in the next week, he would have been personally introduced to Satan. Mephistopheles had already taken an interest in him, and would now take more. But strangely, when I talked to Marten (on Skype, so totally love Skype), I honestly believed that he was excited about the acknowledgment and not scheming for his own advancement.
When I was around my friends I was the Bride-to-Be. My friends all fussed over me. The morning of the party, Sybil took me to Bliss for the Works—a hot-stone massage, oxygen facial, and mani-pedi before we hit Matsu for lunch. Marten had come in the night before and we had had an, ummmm, lovely evening. I think that’s what you call loads of hot sex with your fiancé. I didn’t know what he was doing this morning, but Sybil assured me that Meph and Vincent had some plans that might have involved some kind of male-bonding sports event.
“Really, it’s going to be wonderful.” Sybil sighed as she inspected my new dress and shoes. “I wish I could wear this. And I’m hoping that a demon engagement will give Vincent some ideas.”
I was so appalled I nearly dropped my piece of California roll. “You haven’t been dating all that long,” I reminded her.
She shrugged. “You have been dating Marten for less,” she observed. “Anyway, it’s too early for Vincent to think about anything, and I wouldn’t consider him until he passed his Level Six exams. Which he is likely to in a year at this rate. And with Meph behind him, you know he’s doing well. So—I would like him to have the idea planted for when the time is right.”
She dropped me back at my place, which seemed strangely quiet with Marten out with the guys and his luggage in my bedroom. I read MagicMirror, where my party was definitely The Event of the week. Demons chatted about what they were going to wear and how much they envied The Happy Couple. That would be us.
I should be happier about this, I thought. I was finally getting married. I didn’t have to give anything up. I loved Marten and he wasn’t even asking me to give up other guys. It was time to get dressed and I dutifully poured myself into the shower. If everything was so wonderful, why was I so confused?
The new dress hugged my curves and played up my tiny waist and mass of hair. Marten showed up after I had finished dressing and stood quietly, inspecting me. Then he shook his head. “You will forgive me if I say I am sorry we have to go to this party,” he said. “Because really, I would like nothing better than to tear that dress off and for us to spend the evening here in your bed.”
He sounded so sincere that I was ready to agree to his suggestion. More hot sex with Marten would take my mind off Beliel and Marduk, and if we missed our own party, well, we’d be the porn stars of the century in Hell. And Hell has a good selection of porn stars. So I smiled and told him that I would love to stay in with him, but Desi would kill me if we didn’t show up on time and adequately dressed.
Desi’s apartment is done in shades of tan and chocolate and cream with a few touches of turquoise silk. The sofas are leather and clubby, the love seat is silk and ladylike, and she’d hung two Mary Cassatt portraits, an Edward Hopper lighthouse, and a single stunning Modigliani that dominated the space. It was elegant and expensive, understated and tasteful without being bland. A traditional Murano chandelier in turquoise and gold hung over the dining table where the caterers had laid out chafing dishes full of rijsttafel in honor of Marten’s Dutch heritage, lamb in pomegranate sauce, and spicy Moroccan eggplant in honor of mine. A man in full whites with a toque stood at a carving station armed with a giant fork and larger knife to deliver slices of roast beef, lamb or pork roast, or all three, to a guest’s gold-ringed plate. Other servers circulated discreetly with trays of scallops and shrimp wrapped in bacon and asparagus wrapped in mustard-flavored pastry.
Meph and Moloch stood together near a window that overlooked Lexington Avenue and sipped what appeared to be martinis while Beliel looked daggers at them from the dining room door. Martha sat enthroned on a club chair surrounded by sycophants, her elegance unruffled by their presence. Among them were Lawrence Carroll and Roman. I thought it was brilliant of Desi to invite them and even better for them to accept. And Lawrence was every inch the sophisticated gentleman. Not a trace of drama queen remained.
Desi stood up and clinked a knife against her glass. “I think everyone’s here,” she said loudly. Her words slurred just the tiniest bit and I wondered how many cosmos she had managed to consume while supervising the kitchen staff. “So I want to take this moment to say that I’ve known Lily for six hundred years, and I’m glad that a magician like Marten had the good sense to appreciate what an amazing woman she is. And I hope they have the very best marriage in Hell.”
I raised my glass to her. “And with friends like all of you, I don’t see how we can have anything but,” I said loudly to enthusiastic applause. Lawrence actually beamed at me and squeezed Roman’s hand. Danielle came up on the arm of a gentleman who looked like he was barely out of high school and congratulated both of us soundly, including kissing Marten at least four times. Eros slid over to Beliel, who still glowered in the doorway, but projected less hostility when the demigoddess brought him a fresh drink.
And me, I enjoyed the party. Marten attended me but didn’t hover and Meph told me that he approved. He wouldn’t let me marry just anyone, but he thought Marten would do right by me and asked if he could give me away at the wedding.
I don’t really believe in the whole custom of giving away the bride so I told him that I would rather have him officiate, which made him look pleased.
I had been paying so much attention to Meph that I hadn’t noticed someone else come in. I went over to rejoin Marten to find him talking to—Nathan Coleman.
Why had Desi invited him?
My stomach lurched at the sight of him. I still wanted him at the same time I was still furious at him for the way he treated me in Aruba. “Hello, Nathan,” I said, and kept my tone cold enough to freeze oxygen. I did not hold out my hand.
“Lily, I wanted to congratulate you and Marten,” Nathan said, and he looked miserable. “He’s a great guy, I know you’ll be happy.” He sounded as if he were reading the notice of his own execution. And I was angry enough that I wanted him miserable. The satisfaction of his despair was not enough to make up for mine.
“So you two seem to be thick as thieves,” I said, trying very hard to sound perky.
“Marten was explaining nonmonogamy to me,” Nathan admitted. “And about immortal marriage in Hell.”
“I could have become mortal,” I reminded him. “Satan has granted me the option of leaving Hell and regaining my soul, if a man falls in love with me enough to marry me.”
“But you’re not?” Nathan asked.
Marten came up with a fresh drink for me and answered him. “I did not want my wife to die,” he said simply. “I plan on a very long immortality myself and wish only for Lily to share it for always, not for the few decades humans have.”
“Well,” Nathan said, looking uncomfortable. “I wish you both the best. I just wanted to stop by and congratulate you.” He gave me a look of such despair that I almost felt vindicated. Then he shook Marten’s hand and left.
I hoped I never saw him again.