Mariella alighted from the limo, a bright but purposeful smile pinned to her face as the paparazzi’s bulbs exploded all around her. Gabe had come through and made sure the media knew where and when to be.
She turned and smiled at Elana and Thom as they stepped out beside her. Gabe followed, buttoning his jacket. Almost in unison, they all slid on their sunglasses.
From the SUV behind her, Luc and Rachel also stepped out, then Rafe pulled up in his Maserati. Mariella’s mood dimmed a little as Ana stepped out of Rafe’s car and waved to the gathered crowd. Despite the unseasonal heat, she looked cool and drop-dead gorgeous in another jumpsuit, this one a one-shouldered red number, highlighted by sparkling gold jewelry.
Mariella knew she also looked spectacular in her jade-green pantsuit, but she was irritated by the number of cameras swinging her sister’s way.
Despite planning not to indulge in a Q&A with the media, she couldn’t resist when one shouted a question at her.
“All I’m going to say is that this is going to be a weekend to remember. We intend to put on a fantastic show. I’d say miss it at your peril, but I know you guys will all be there.”
They laughed.
She laughed.
But as she turned to enter the terminal, she couldn’t stop her mind from hooking onto the other problem they’d shoved under the carpet this week. The problem she’d had more than a few nightmares about.
The Fixer was still out there. Silent. Biding time?
What if the Fixer chose this weekend to strike? What if, at this very minute, he too was making plans to ruin everything she’d worked so hard for?
* * *
The forty-fifth floor of the Grecian Las Vegas had been blocked off for the visiting Marshalls. Six self-contained suites, complete with two butlers and a chef apiece, a dedicated concierge service, and a private sommelier, meant they only needed to lift a finger for every desire to be catered for.
Rachel turned away from spectacular view of the Strip and did just that, suppressing a little squeal of excitement as the butler hurried forward and glided to a smooth stop before her.
“Can I help Madam with anything?” he inquired solicitously. “Another cocktail, perhaps?”
She wanted to object to the madam label—she was nowhere near old enough to be called that—but this suite, this hotel, hell, this family, was proving to be too classy for her to voice such objections. She’d known the family she was marrying into had serious clout, but although her grandfather’s millions had left her family well off and she’d stayed in some of the best hotels and resorts in the world, she hadn’t been on the receiving end of this much power and wealth until today.
They’d been treated like royalty from the moment they’d stepped out of the SUV to board their private jet to Vegas. And it hadn’t been just any jet. The Global 6000 was the latest in the line of sleek private jets. She knew because she’d heard her father rhapsodize about flying in one at Christmas.
She couldn’t wait to tell him she’d experienced the luxury for herself. Couldn’t wait to tell him she would be experiencing it, and many more such awesome perks, from now on. He would be so proud of her. But what would make him even prouder would be the announcement that she was expecting the next Marshall heir, once she managed to get herself pregnant. Now that she’d talked herself into the idea, she was impatient to get on with it. It would be nine months of hell, sure, but a quick C-section for the birth and a nanny once the baby was born, and she could get back to the serious business of living her intended life as the latest Marshall.
“Madam?” the butler prompted gently.
A little annoyed to be caught daydreaming about her future, she glared at the man in front of her. She thought of ordering another Grecian mint julep, the hotel’s signature cocktail. Other than the fabulous taste, she conceded there was something decadently fantastic about drinking a cocktail that contained shavings of edible gold leaf. She’d already had two of the hundred-dollar cocktails. She needed to remain classy. Besides, a third cocktail in the space of half an hour was a little too much. Especially if she intended to keep her ovaries healthy enough to snag herself a pregnancy in the very near future.
“No, thanks. Maybe later. Have you seen my fiancé?” She stressed the term so there would be no confusion as to what her position was in the Marshall hierarchy. She knew part of her angst stemmed from the fact that she’d discovered Mariella had flown Vanessa to Vegas too. She intended to keep a close eye on the little bitch. Possibly even turn the situation to her advantage if she could.
“Dr. Marshall is in the bedroom, madam,” the butler responded.
“Thanks. Have our bags been unpacked?”
“Of course. It was taken care of right away. If there’s anything thing else you need, just let me know.”
She nodded, handed him her glass and headed for the suspended marble stairs that led to the giant master suite one floor above.
Luc was coming out of the shower when she entered. She felt a little prickle of disquiet that he hadn’t even bothered to tempt her into the shower with him. But no matter—she had her ways.
“There you are.” She sashayed to where he was toweling his hair dry and leaned up to kiss him. Although he responded, he pulled away much too quickly for her liking. Lowering herself back to her feet, she smiled at him. “Help me with my zipper, baby?” She presented him with her back and swept her carefully styled hair out of the way.
She’d chosen the dusky-pink Zac Posen dress because it was similar to the first dress Luc had ever complimented her on. It didn’t hurt that the body-hugging design also showed her slim figure and long legs to perfection. And the full length zipper afforded a quick exit to nakedness when needed. She was banking on that when she let it drop and turned to face him in nothing but her heels.
“Jesus, Rach, you got on the plane to Vegas with no panties on?” Luc said with a frown.
“No bra, either, let’s not forget that,” she supplied with a sultry wink.
The subtle wetting of her lips went unnoticed as his frown deepened. “Why the hell would you do that?”
Uh...duh. She stepped closer and slipped her arms around his neck. Her breath hitched a little when her nipples brushed his chest. But a look at his face showed he was waiting for an answer. God, men could be so obtuse sometimes. “Well, I was hoping we would get the chance at some mile-high action, but—”
“With my mother on board?” His tone joined the frown on his face.
Okay, when he put it that way, maybe it hadn’t been one of her better ideas. “You’ve been working so hard these past couple of weeks. Do you blame me for feeling a little neglected?”
“So neglected you wanted to have sex with me with my mother a few seats away?” he asked.
“Fine, it was a bad idea, but at least you know I was thinking about you. Were you thinking about me?” she pouted, rocked her hips closer to the bulge behind the towel tied around his waist.
“It’s hard not to when you’re right there next to me.”
Not the answer she’d been looking for, exactly, but she was nothing if not persistent. Standing on tiptoe once again, she trailed her mouth along his firm jawline. God, she loved the way he smelled when he came out of the shower. She loved the way he smelled, period. “Come on, Luc. I know your mom’s been driving you all nuts this past week.”
“She’s doing it because she wants this weekend to be a success,” he replied with an unmissable tone of warning.
Rachel drew back sharply, a little scared and a little annoyed that he’d mistaken her gesture. “I wasn’t criticizing her, Luc. Your mom’s amazing. God, she’s my idol. I’m just saying that I understand that perfection comes at a cost. You’re all on tenterhooks, you most of all. But I want you to know I’m here for you.” She moved closer against him, and when he didn’t put his arms around her, she trailed her hands down his broad shoulders, down his arms and drew them decisively around her waist. Then she went back to trailing kisses on his jaw. “I want to do my part, even if it’s just making you feel good. You do want to feel good, don’t you, baby?” she whispered in his ear, grazed his earlobe with her teeth, then hid a smile when a light shudder went through him.
About to move in for the kill, she jerked back when a firm knock came at the door.
“Great, that would be lunch.” He dropped his hands and headed for the door. “I’m starving.”
“Lunch?” She winced at the slight screech in her voice.
“I came straight from the office to get you so we could go to the airport. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”
“Luc, I’m naked!” This time her screech was real as he put his hand on the doorknob.
He shrugged. “Go put some clothes on then. I don’t want my steak to get cold.” He pulled open the door, muttered a few words to the butler. Then, shutting the door, he walked into the adjoining dressing room and pulled on a pair of Lululemon sweatpants and a T-shirt. “I ordered enough for the two of us. Come join me when you’re dressed,” he threw at her as he headed for the door. Two seconds later, she was alone in the bedroom. Butt naked. With her jaw on the floor.
Had that really just happened? Had Luc just chosen steak over her naked body?
Anger and fear mingled in her gut as she slowly made her way to her side of the dressing room. The private jet and this hotel had cemented her desire to become a part of the Marshall family at any cost. Coupled with Luc’s love, of course. His rejection didn’t mean anything.
This was just a little bump in the road. But it was no time to let a little bit of anxiety take over. If anything, she needed to step up her game.
Eyeing her neatly packed things, she selected a gold lamé bikini that had cost her an eye-watering seven hundred dollars. It’d been worth it the moment she took a look in the mirror. It would be worth it when Luc got an eyeful of her in five minutes. At the very least, she could elicit some aggression on his part at the thought of other men seeing her wearing it. Luc was possessive. Given the choice between letting her go to the pool like this without him and him dragging her back to bed, she was sure she knew which option he’d take.
The anticipation made her put a little bit more effort into the way she took the stairs down to the living area. She knew she’d succeeded when she saw his eyes flare at the sight of her. Pleased with herself, she took a seat next to him at the dining table and placed a hand on his thigh. When he glanced at her, she caught her lower lip between her teeth.
“I thought we could head to the pool when you’re done eating,” she ventured as he cut up the last of his steak.
He sent her a droll look. “I’ve just taken a shower, Rach. I prefer not to get wet again any time soon.”
“Okay. How about we hit the casino? Maybe stop by a couple of those exclusive shops on the way back up?”
“I’m not in the mood to gamble,” he replied as he took a large gulp of his wine.
She gritted her teeth. “I don’t want to be cooped up in here all afternoon, Luc.”
“Then don’t be. No one’s stopping you from going out.”
“You want me to go out without you? How would that look?”
“Who the hell cares how it’ll look? If I’m fine with it, that’s all that matters.”
“What if I’m not fine with it? I don’t want some creep hitting on me because I’m alone. Do you care about that?” she demanded.
He sighed. “Fine, we’ll go out, but not now. I’m fucking bushed. Can I catch a few winks first?”
She smiled. “Of course, baby. Shall I wake you up in half an hour?”
Luc shook his head. “Make it an hour. And since you’re already dressed for it, why don’t you head to the pool? It’ll make me feel better knowing you’re not down here twiddling your thumbs waiting for me.”
“I...okay,” she conceded.
Although he smiled and placed a kiss on her head, Rachel couldn’t shake the feeling that he was preoccupied as she watched him sprint back up the stairs. And not just with the thought of taking a nap. She definitely sensed a distance from Luc.
Was it because her fiancé was thinking about someone else? Vanessa?
For a moment her vision went red as anger pounded through her. She hadn’t heard from Gabe since their last unsatisfactory conversation. But she hoped, for his sake, that he’d stuck to his word and taken care of the pesky little housekeeper. Anything less than news of Vanessa’s permanent disappearance and Gabe would get a very real sample of just who the hell he was dealing with. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more the idea from earlier made sense. Vegas was the perfect place to dispose of her little housekeeper problem. And this time she would make sure she came away with a firm yes.
* * *
The hired limos pulled up in front of Opus Marshall at seven thirty on the dot, because Mariella had timed their arrival to perfection. She’d snapped, cajoled and threatened her way into making it happen, and as the Marshall clan stepped out onto the red carpet leading into the second-largest Marshall restaurant in the country, she took a moment to bask in the satisfaction of pulling it off.
As arranged, a healthy amount of the media were in attendance. The Marshalls at one of their award-winning restaurants were always big news. Questions about Harrison’s whereabouts and state of health couldn’t be avoided, not that she intended to answer any of them. She’d accepted that it would come with the territory this weekend.
But that particular downside had been offset by good news. Since their arrival and announcement of their plans for the weekend, the reservations for Opus Marshall had doubled, with tonight’s seatings fully booked by midday. The manager of their restaurant had called with the effusive news just before she’d headed for the shower this evening.
Mariella intended to maintain that theme for the rest of the weekend. Nothing could be allowed to go wrong. Nothing.
* * *
“Are you all right, honey?”
Elana forced herself not to wince as another flash went off in her face, just as she forced herself not to wince at Thom’s gentle question. But keeping her emotions—and the nausea she’d foolishly hoped was banished forever but had suddenly returned with a vengeance—under wraps was turning out to be a bear to wrestle down. Especially when she was in the full glare of the whole fucking world. As much as she loved to party, she really wished her mother hadn’t embarked on this particular Save the Marshalls crusade right now. She could do with a week or two of lying low and getting her head around the fact that she was knocked up to the gills with zero idea of who the father of her baby was. And a husband who, bless his clueless heart, seemed to be on a crusade of his own, this one titled Best Husband Evah.
She pulled her stomach in and tugged on the hem of her black Carolina Herrera cocktail dress. The plunging neckline showed off her girls to perfection, but the fitted dress wasn’t doing her bloated belly any favors. Shit, she should’ve gone with the super-short Balenciaga tunic her stylist had packed for her. Then the only thing she would be concerned about now was flashing her thong at the paparazzi.
Instead she would be spending the rest of the night worrying if she was going to pass out from keeping her stomach sucked in.
“Elana?” Thom inquired a little more urgently.
“I’m fine. Stop worrying about me. It’s freaking me out a little,” she retorted sharply, then winced again when he frowned. “Seriously, I’m okay.”
He nodded, but she could tell she hadn’t totally convinced him. He confirmed that by moving closer to her and sliding his arm around her waist. Well, it could’ve been that, or it could’ve been the fact that Mom had told them all to play up to the camera. Present a united, smiling front.
She sighed under her breath as she bared her clenched teeth in a blinding smile. Behind them the door to the restaurant opened. A second later she was hit with the cloying smell of garlic. Her stomach rolled, and she had to swallow fast and hard to keep herself from hurling right there onto the red carpet.
Holy fuck, this evening couldn’t end fast enough.
* * *
“Rachel, how’s it feel to be a Marshall-to-be?”
“Have you set a date for the wedding?”
“Who will you be wearing?”
“Can you tell us where it’ll be held?”
“What mask will you be wearing to the ball tomorrow?”
Rachel beamed and clung tighter to Luc’s arm. The attention being showered on her went a long way to soothing her roiling emotions from this afternoon. Sure, those emotions had been compounded when she and Luc had joined the rest of the family in Mariella’s suite and she’d caught her first glimpse of the jewelry the Marshall women were packing. Elana’s Bulgari necklace and Ana’s Harry Winston jewelry had only been eclipsed by the Chopard masterpiece Mariella herself was sporting. It’d made Rachel’s platinum diamond solitaire necklace, a twenty-first birthday present from her parents, look like a piece of useless paste jewelry. Plus she’d also caught Luc watching Vanessa more than once. Seriously, that bullshit was going to end this weekend.
On the flip side, she knew it was just a small sampling of what awaited her once she became a Marshall bride.
So, really, she had nothing to be insecure about. Her hair and makeup were flawless, her dress an original sourced from Paris fashion week. And with Luc now smiling indulgently at her, it was almost a shame when they were shown inside the stunning Opus Marshall.
* * *
“Waiter, bring us another round of cocktails! And a cognac on the rocks for my son.”
Gabe suppressed a growl and schooled his features, just as he’d been trying to all evening. His biological mother’s steady drinking aside, he’d had a task on his hand to keep being civil to Rachel when he knew the depths the woman was prepared to plunge to keep her claws on Luc. He couldn’t show his hand, of course, but he fully intended to keep a very close eye on her.
As for his mother...
Mariella had arranged for them to be seated in a semiprivate space in the stylishly elegant restaurant. Their positioning gave the dining public a chance to see them, even be photographed by those brazen enough to do so, while affording them the kind of exclusivity that got them talked about. At least that had been the intention.
Ana’s progressively boisterous behavior, both vocally and physically, was in danger of getting them talked about for all the wrong reasons. He’d been a fool to think they’d make it through the five-course meal without incident. His birth mother hadn’t quite made a scene yet, but all the signs were there that her overexuberance would manifest itself in an unpalatable way sooner or later. It always did with Ana.
He leaned toward her as she carried on instructing the waiter on the precise way to prepare her favored caipirinha. “I think you should slow down with the drinks.”
Ana waved the waiter off on his journey, then turned to spike him with a glare. “And I think you should change your name from Gabriel Santiago to Gabriel Downer. It suits you more.”
“I’m fine with my name as it is, thanks. What I would prefer, though, is not to have to carry you out of here because you’re too drunk to walk. And worse still, not to have you photographed in that state.”
Ana rolled her eyes. “I’m nowhere near drunk. Dios mío, lighten up, mi hijo.”
His heart sank a little at the distinct slur in her words. The affectionate but meaningless term she threw out stuck in his craw, too.
“I mean it, Ana.”
“Ana? When are you going to start calling me Mom?”
When hell freezes over.
“Do you really want to me to call you that when you’ve done nothing to earn it?” he tossed out. Then sighed under his breath when her eyes grew shiny with unshed tears.
“I will earn it very soon, Gabe,” she muttered fiercely, then stood, swaying in her six-inch heels before steadying herself. “But until then, I’m going to find someone else to cheer me up. You’re bringing me down big time.”
She walked off, smiled and waved at a few strangers who warily waved back. She gave an almost childlike giggle, then headed around the dining table. She stopped to chat with Luc and Rachel before sitting down in the vacant seat next to Rafe. Gabe told himself he wasn’t bothered that his birth mother seemed to have gotten close to Rafe in the past few weeks. Whatever Ana was up to, he would find out sooner or later.
He always did.
* * *
Thom glanced at his wife and bit his tongue against voicing another concerned query. Elana’s sullen silences were getting to him, but for the life of him he couldn’t fathom a way to get through to her other than asking if she was okay. So far, all he’d received were her sometimes subdued, sometimes snapped responses that she was fine.
He wanted to think that she was adjusting to married life, but what the hell did he know? His own learning curve was so steep sometimes he wondered how he was holding on. Sometimes the urge to just let go, free-fall onto his ass, was more than tempting.
But he’d made a vow to her. One he intended to stick to. At all costs. No matter how agonizingly impossible it seemed at times.
He sipped his wine, glanced at his wife again. Her pinched face told him she wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He took a deep breath, looked past her to where Rafe sat next to her.
He too was staring into his drink. A quick glance around the table showed that the only member of the Santiago-Marshall family genuinely having a good time was Ana. And she was busy flirting with the maître d’.
Great.
He propped his arm on the back of Elana’s chair and spoke across her. “So, Rafe, how’s work going?”
Rafe jerked in surprise, glanced at him, then leaned back with a shrug. “Business is great.” He paused for moment, then flicked a glance at Thom. “You?”
Thom smiled. “Everyone wants bigger and better. Square footage, that is.”
Rafe grinned, and his face transformed from handsome to heartthrob. Thom’s gut clenched tight with feelings he refused to acknowledge. “Yeah, I bet,” Rafe sniggered.
“Excuse me,” Elana muttered, grabbed her purse and left the table before Thom could ask her, yet again, if she was okay.
“I’m thinking it’s probably time to invest in real estate. Got any recommendations?” Rafe asked, turning in his seat to face Thom.
Thom, his wife temporarily forgotten, drained his glass before he answered. “Santa Barbara’s a good place to start if you’re inclined toward urban living. Our projections for property appreciation are sound for the next five years. Of course there are no guarantees, but I don’t think you can go wrong. If that’s not what you’re looking for, then the usual suspects apply. Stay away from Malibu, though, unless you have your heart dead set on it. Prices there are fucking ridiculous, unless your last name is Midas.”
Rafe’s grin widened. “Got it.” He stared into his glass for a moment before his gaze connected with Thom’s. “If you’re not too busy, maybe we can get talk about it some more when we get back home?”
Thom shrugged and moved into Elana’s seat. “Pass me that bottle of wine you’re hogging and I’ll be happy to get the ball rolling right now.”
“Damn, you’re not even hired and you’re already costing me big,” Rafe ribbed as he handed over the bottle of Lafite Rothschild he’d ordered. Thom leaned forward and reached for it just as Ana laughed at a joke at the far end of the table.
His fingers closed on the cold bottle. And Rafe’s warm fingers. Electricity jolted up his fingers, along his palm and arm. The deeply unsettling sensation froze him in place for a charged second before he jerked the bottle out of Rafe’s grasp.
He watched his brother-in-law’s eyes widen before his brows clenched in a deep, forbidding frown. Thom opened his mouth, to say who the fuck knew what. No words emerged, probably because the electricity had traveled to his brain and was busy frying his every thought.
“Um, can I have my seat back, Thom?”
He jerked back at the sound of Elana’s voice.
Elana. His wife.
Fuck.
How could he sit there, staring at another man—at his brother-in-law, for fuck’s sake—with sensations tumbling through him that were spreading decisively toward his groin?
He twisted in his seat, away from Rafe. Setting the bottle on the table in front of him, he made a show of pulling back Elana’s chair, then taking her hand to help her sit down. When he was sure she was settled, he risked a glance at Rafe.
The look on his face shriveled Thom’s insides. He recognized the bewilderment just as clearly as he recognized the guilt that flitted across his brother-in-law’s features a second later. They hadn’t done anything wrong, but if Rafe had felt that wild frisson, too, then...hell. Had he? He searched his expression, then his heart dropped as Rafe’s countenance turned carefully neutral. And since there was fuck all he could do about it, now or ever, he too turned away and carried on with his night.
* * *
Fucking hell.
Rafe clenched his jaw and sucked in a deep breath.
When the hell was he going to learn not to let his guard down? Had he given himself away? Damn, did Thom think he was hitting on him? He hadn’t meant to. They’d just been having a tension-free conversation. For once. Hadn’t they?
It’d been going so well.
Right up until that contact. He’d seen Thom’s face, knew he’d felt that same charge when they’d touched.
Under the table, Rafe flexed his fingers on his thigh. The spark hadn’t been only on his part. Maybe it was wrong, and yes, he felt a little guilty, but shit, it’d felt so right! But that didn’t mean he’d intended to do anything about it.
Thom was his sister’s husband, for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t very well voice his thoughts here and now, but maybe he could transmit his thoughts to Thom, tell him it was no big deal.
He turned with that intention in mind. Except Thom had lost all interest in him. His sole focus was on his wife.
This was going to be a long fucking dinner.
* * *
Luc was having as good a time as he could in the grand scheme of things. He didn’t doubt his merry state of mind was aided by the endless shots of Jägermeister he’d instructed the waiter to keep sending his way. Luckily, having gotten them all here, and with the requisite exposure to the media achieved, his mother had mellowed and was no longer barking orders at all of them. Rachel, too, for that matter had suspended talk of wedding planners, venues, seating charts and, holy hell, babies for the time being.
This evening could be salvaged after all. The thought had barely formed when a familiar figure walked into the restaurant. “Fuck. What the hell is he doing here?”
“Who?” Rachel asked.
“Joe,” he snapped, then glanced sharply at his mother when her head whiplashed toward the new—unwanted—comer.
Luc watched his father’s right-hand man approach, his smile cordial until it reached his mother. Whereupon it turned into something...more.
A slow well of anger pulsed in his belly. At first he’d refused to believe what Vanessa had told him about his mother and Joe. Then he’d assumed the ostrich position, aided by other unfolding crises within his family. Now he couldn’t deny that whatever was going between them was still happening. The only person he’d seen his mother’s face light up for that way was his father. The father she was betraying by sleeping with his best friend while he lay in a coma. Fuck, could his family be any more messed up?
“Joe, we weren’t expecting you. What are you doing here?”
Luc was glad Gabe had asked the question. He wasn’t sure he would’ve phrased it as politely.
Joe spread his arms. “I thought as Harrison’s business partner, I could make myself useful to you for the nightclub opening. In case there are any last-minute hiccups—not that I’m expecting any, of course.”
Luc swore under his breath. His mother was seated at the far end of the table, but she still sent him a withering warning glance. This time, Luc couldn’t summon enough emotion to care.
“That’s very good of you, old man,” he said loudly. Then he pulled out the empty chair next to his. “Here, have a seat. I have a few business questions you might be able to help me with.”
“Yes, Joe, come over to the fun part of the table. We won’t bite,” his tía added cheekily, patting the same seat Luc had pulled out.
Joe eyed the seat next to Mariella for a moment. Then, with the same cordial nod Luc was beginning to detest, he walked around the table and sat down.
* * *
Ana bit the inside of her lower lip to keep from bursting with laughter. Seriously, did her sister think she was doing a good job of hiding the fact that she had a very big thing going on with Joe? She’d all but jumped out of her skin with girlish excitement when the man had walked in.
On the one hand, Ana was proud of her sister for getting some while the getting was good. And the glances these two were flicking at each other when they thought they weren’t being observed announced that loud and clear. Ana knew good sex.
But on the other hand, it sucked that Mariella once again had a man eating out of her hand. For God’s sake, it seemed her older sister only needed to blink in a man’s direction to have him falling all over her.
It was getting a little old to be relegated to second best once again. And quite nauseating to watch. But there was no reason not to get some entertainment out of this.
She slicked her tongue over her lips as Joe sat down next to her. Although he smiled at her, it was clear his attention was straining toward the far end of the table. She leaned in closer, made sure her cleavage was on full show.
“What can my gorgeous waiter get you, Joe? You look like a whiskey neat guy. Are you?” she inquired.
“Yeah, sure, why not?”
“Why not indeed.” She snapped her fingers, and the waiter sprang forward. “A whiskey for darling Joe, and another cocktail for me, Angus.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“I told you, it’s Ana.”
The young waiter blushed and nodded. “Of course, Ana.”
As he went off to get their drinks, she sighed and leaned closer to Joe. “These young ones. So much training required for the smallest thing, don’t you agree?”
“Hmm,” he responded noncommittally. His gaze started to stray toward Mariella.
Ana crossed her legs under the table, kicked off one heel and slid it up his calf. He visibly jerked in his seat.
Then he began to sweat.
She bit her lip again, hard, to stop from spluttering with laughter. He tried to withdraw his leg. She followed.
He made a pained noise under his breath.
“Are you all right, Joe?”
He jerked out a nod. “Yes. Fine.”
“Great. Here are our drinks now.”
She patted Angus the waiter on his beefy bicep and let her touch linger for another moment while she enjoyed his profuse blushing. Aware she was attracting disapproving looks, she finally glanced down to the head of the table and winked at her sister. Mariella’s eyes screamed bloody murder, but Ana knew the last thing her sister wanted was for her perfect evening to be spoiled. Smug that she wouldn’t receive any lip from that direction, she turned back to the man she was willing to bet her last diamond ring was Mariella’s lover. “So, what shall we drink to, Joe?” She batted her eyes at him.
“Since we’re all here for one thing—to have a successful opening tonight, and a great ball tomorrow—I propose we drink to that.”
She curled her leg around his and smiled wide. “I couldn’t agree more.” She clinked her glass to his and raised her cocktail high. “Salud!”
* * *
“Oh my God, did you see that?”
“Yeah, I’m live tweeting it right now!”
“My Insta followers are loving it.”
“This is gah-mazing!”
Mariella silently lapped up the gasped accolades from the crowd gathered on the red carpet as the cast of Cirque du Soleil leaped and twisted through the air. When she got back to Santa Barbara, she would ensure her publicist received a nice little bonus for pulling off this brilliant piece of entertainment. The first act had gone down well, but it looked like acrobats were the in thing with the A-listers these days.
She clapped and smiled as the fireworks marking the denouement of the performance ripped through the air. Beside her, her children followed suit. They’d thankfully dialed down their bickering at Opus Marshall in favor of presenting a united front for the ribbon-cutting ceremony at Club Elana.
The media was dutifully recording every action and smile. With any luck, they would be splashed across the papers come morning.
She heard a tinkling laugh behind her and fought not to grit her teeth.
Ana was drunk. Very, very drunk. Mariella knew the only reason her sister hadn’t face-planted on the red carpet was because Joe and Gabe were taking turns propping her up. Although Ana seemed to be leaning more on Joe than on Gabe. Or was Joe’s assistance by choice rather than necessity? They’d certainly had a lot to whisper about back at the restaurant.
She tried to stem the anger and jealousy twisting through her. What business had she to be jealous when she was being unfaithful herself? But hell, she couldn’t stand watching her sister sink her claws into yet another man who...what? Belonged to her?
What right did she have to Joe when she was still married to Harrison? When her life was threatening to unravel before her eyes?
The performance came to a rousing end. Keeping the smile pinned on her face was the worst form of torture, but somehow she managed to pull it off.
With Luc and Rafe on either side of her and Elana and Thom completing the supportive line, they posed for the row of cameras stationed before them and cut the wide black satin ribbon that officially opened Club Elana.
Mariella exchanged hugs and kisses with her family, taking care to avoid Ana’s shifty gaze as she air-kissed her sister. She offered Joe her cheek when he moved close, then hurriedly moved away.
Together, they all headed inside the nightclub. Although she’d been there during the week for a final inspection, Mariella’s breath still caught at what Rafe and Harrison’s architects had managed to pull off.
Giant crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting stunning light on the large gold and burgundy space. Sumptuous club seats invited patrons to linger and indulge in the wide array of expensive drinks in close proximity to the bar that took up the entire south wall of the nightclub. On the opposite end of the room, the VIP lounges offered even more decadent luxury, with roped-off cubicles available for those with cash to burn.
The dance floor was large and inviting and sparkling with silver-studded black tiles, which caught and drew the eye under a set of strobe lights. And against the backdrop of the dance floor, a world-renowned DJ specially flown in from Iceland was suspended in his cubicle halfway up the wall, busy putting the finishing touches on his setup.
“Congratulations, Mariella. The place looks amazing!” Rachel gushed.
“Thank you.” She smiled at her future daughter-in-law before excusing herself to head to the middle of the dance floor, where a stage had been set up. Her hand shook slightly as she picked up the mic. Suddenly, the words she’d practiced feverishly for days evaporated from her brain.
The gathering crowd gave her another minute of respite as she fought to gather her thoughts. So much had happened to bring her to this point. Maybe too much? Had she bitten off more than she could chew?
Her gaze swept over the crowd, over Joe and Ana, Thom and Rachel. It swept over her children. She read the silent support in their faces. Then she locked eyes with Gabe.
His solid, solemn nod firmed her spine.
Her hand tightened around the mic. “Welcome, everyone, to Club Elana. When Harrison and I had the idea to open a string of nightclubs across the country, everyone thought we were crazy. Our chief financial officer certainly thought we ought to be committed.” She paused for the obligatory round of laughter. “But like every venture my husband and I set our minds to undertake, we were fiercely passionate and determined to make it a success. That has been the cornerstone upon which we’ve built the Marshall legacy. It’s a legacy we’re extremely proud of and intend to protect regardless of what life throws at us. And as you all probably know, life has thrown a few things at us these past few weeks. Harrison may not be here with us tonight, but I know for a fact that he wouldn’t want us to dwell on the challenges that are sent to test us. I have no words to describe how badly we miss him, but at the same time, I know exactly what he would say if he were here. He’d look around this room, at old friends and new acquaintances, and he’d smile and say, ‘Look, darling. We did it.’ I would tell him not to be so smug. And he would reply that it wasn’t smugness if it we’d poured our hearts and souls and our hard work into making it happen. He would tell me to be proud. And he would be right, because—” she spread her arms wide and smiled even wider “—we certainly did it. We’re here. We’re strong. And nothing will bring us down.”
The deafening roar from the crowd brought tears to her eyes. She swallowed, composed herself and grasped the mic once more.
“Thank you. My family and I are honored and touched that you’re here to celebrate with us tonight.” Another, louder round of applause filled the room as her family crowded around her.
“So, Mariella, what’s next on the giant to-do list?” a member of the paparazzi shouted.
She looked into the crowd and winked. “That’s for me to know and for you to salivate and tweet about when you find out.” More laughter rippled through the room. “But until then, every single drink is on the house tonight. DJ, turn up the music and I’ll see you all on the dance floor!”
The DJ immediately cranked up the music to deafening levels. A group of millennials who’d barely been restraining themselves flooded the dance floor to the tune of Bruno Mars’s “24K Magic.” Mariella handed off the mic and stepped off the stage. Only to have her bubble of happiness ruthlessly deflated by the sight of her sister plastered against Joe. Ana’s hands were creeping around his waist, headed for his ass.
Red-hot anger fired through her bloodstream, ripping away every lock she’d placed on her self-restraint.
Enough was more than enough!
It’d been hard enough standing up there on the stage, extolling the virtues of her cheating husband and the myriad secrets that loomed larger and multiplied with every passing day. Even worse was the reality that she didn’t know whether Harrison would wake up long enough to give her the answers her soul demanded.
She would absolutely not stand by and pretend she didn’t care as Ana pawed and salivated over Joe. Mariella knew very well her sister was doing it to get a rise out of her. But tonight she’d stepped on her last nerve.
With a smile still pinned on her face, she strode coolly and calmly through the crowd, accepting congratulations and welcoming friends and acquaintances.
When she reached her sister, she placed a gentle, manicured hand on her shoulder.
“Ana, would you come with me for a minute, please?”
Ana’s eyes widened before she frowned. “Ah...the waiter is getting me a drink. Maybe after—”
“No. Now. Please.”
Without giving her a chance to reply, Mariella tightened her grip and nudged her sister firmly toward the front of the nightclub. With her announcement of drinks on the house, almost all the guests were headed for the bar, with only the VIP guests being served by designated waiters in their lounges.
She would be ensured more privacy at the front than in the ladies’ room, where she’d originally planned.
“Mariella—”
“Excuse us, please, Joe,” Mariella interrupted before he could waylay her. She couldn’t deny that some of her anger was directed toward him for not stopping Ana’s advances.
Dios mío, she knew men were led by their cocks, but she’d wanted to believe some could resist witches like her sister for one damned minute.
“Ooh, looks like it’s sister-bonding time,” Ana called out as Mariella herded her away from the crowd.
At the entrance, she smiled at the bouncers and shoved her sister out of the front door.
* * *
The front lot was deserted, as she’d hoped. Save for the valets who momentarily glanced their way when she marched her sister away from the front entrance, Mariella and Ana were alone.
The magic of free booze and a world-class DJ, Mariella mused cynically.
After the noise inside, the silence out here was so deafening she could hear her heart pounding loudly in her ears. After a moment, the tinkling of the fountain intruded. Then, as if her senses had burst wide open, the sound of cars and honking horns on the street came roaring in. She blinked rapidly as the neon lights that spelled the name of the nightclub named after her daughter flashed into her eyes.
Her daughter.
Her family.
Her special night.
Ruined by her selfish, impossibly aggravating sister.
Mariella rounded on Ana, who’d wrenched from her grasp and now stood three feet away, teetering on her heels.
“You are unbelievable, do you know that?” Mariella snapped, her voice wobbling with the depth of her anger.
Ana rolled her eyes. “Oh, here we go. What imaginary sin have I committed now?” she slurred.
“Imaginary? Are you fucking kidding me? Or are you just too shit-faced for anything to register anymore?”
“I am not drunk!” Her protest lost all credibility when she immediately followed it with a loud hiccup.
“Jesus. You’re a disgrace!”
Anger sparked through her sister’s eyes. “I’m a disgrace?”
“Yes! From the minute you arrived in Santa Barbara, all you’ve done is make me ashamed to call you my blood. When you’re not drinking yourself into a stupor, you’re being rude to my staff or raiding my wardrobe. We’re not the same size, by the way, so that shit stops today.” Mariella saw the valets looking over at them, but she was too far gone to stop. This had been so long in coming, a freight train couldn’t have stopped her.
“If you say so—”
“I do say so! And don’t even think about saying a word about you being a size smaller than me.” She threw her hands in the air. “I don’t understand you, Ana. How could you behave like this when you knew how important tonight was to me?”
“I’m still waiting for the big reveal on exactly what I’ve done wrong to cause the mighty Mariella to use so many swear words,” she replied waspishly.
“You really want me to list it out for you? Fine! You, starting the evening by flirting with every person with a dick in the restaurant. You, waving to total strangers who thought you were off your head on drugs or something. You, aggravating Gabe—”
“He’s my son, in case you’ve forgotten,” Ana slashed at her.
“Neither of us have forgotten, but what you can’t seem to get through your thick head is that he doesn’t think of you as his mother!”
Ana gasped, but Mariella wasn’t anywhere near finished.
“And last but not goddamn least, you slobbering all over Joe. Don’t you have any pride at all? Or do you blithely disregard any signs that a man doesn’t want you simply because you think you’re irresistible?”
Her sister burst out laughing. It wasn’t the ladylike sort. Ana doubled over, clutching her stomach as mirth shuddered through her body. When she straightened, her mascara was smudged from the tears streaming from her eyes. “Wow, and you think I’m unbelievable? You have the nerve to lecture me on keeping my hands off men who don’t belong to me, when you’ve been fucking your own husband’s business partner while your darling Harrison’s been in a coma. You can judge me all you want, sister dear, but if you’re brave enough to look up the definition of cheater and hypocrite, you’ll find your name in bold black letters, not mine. I know exactly who I am, and your sins are much worse than mine. Trust me!”
Mariella would never know whether it was the urge to shut up the juicy secret that spilled so easily from her sister’s mouth or whether her anger had just reached uncontrollable proportions. She suspected it was a large dose of both.
Before she could stop herself, before common sense could remind her of why she was in Vegas in the first place, she launched herself at the source of her immediate woes. The slap erupted from her hand before she’d registered the action, but the pain that ricocheted up her arm only spurred her on.
She grabbed a handful of her sister’s hair and yanked her forward. “I hate you!” she snarled her face.
“I don’t fucking care, you bitch!”
Mariella yanked harder, heard a rip as Ana’s dress gave way. Her sister’s cry of disbelief was followed by a desperate grab for Mariella. They staggered sideways, toward the giant fountain in front of the nightclub. The sound of water gurgled closer as they fought for a grip on each other.
Her feet twisted beneath her, and she felt her shoes fly off as Ana dragged and pushed. Her bare feet scraped along the asphalt, her eyes stinging with tears. Pain rippled through Mariella’s side, and the taste of blood filled her mouth.
“Bitch!”
“Puta! You’re dead to me from this day on, do you hear me?” Mariella screamed.
“What the fuck?”
“Oh my God. Luc, do something!” Rachel screamed.
The sound of their gathering audience barely registered as Mariella clawed at her sister. Her hip bumped hard on concrete and she registered peripherally that they’d stumbled over to the fountain.
Good. She would drown her fucking sister once and for all and be done with it. Snatching a deep breath, she tightened her hold on Ana and dragged her toward the swirling water.
But despite her inebriation, Ana still had a lot of fight in her. She began to twist out of Mariella’s hold. She held on tighter, planted her hand on her sister’s back. And shoved with all her might.