“Women in this family only work until they have babies, if they work at all.”
“That’s ridiculous.” She glanced at me as if for confirmation.
“Pops is old school. So is Jessie’s father.”
“So… Maggie. If the whole writing thing doesn’t work out, you could become a dominatrix or maybe join the police academy?” Jessie winked, easing the tension at the table.
“Like hell.” I jabbed my index finger into Jessie’s ribs.
Maggie rolled her eyes. “He’s right. I would stink at both. This is research. My main character is shackled and has to escape. It’s much harder than I’d hoped.”
“Let’s practice at home…in bed.”
The woman stunned the hell out of me by looking from my face to my cock and back again.
I took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Time to go.”
Dahlia sipped her wine. “Maggie, you have to get dressed for the gala with us. The guys can’t see us before the big reveal. It’s a tradition.”
Son of a bitch. I’d forgotten to tell her about the party.
“Mardi Gras Gala? Aren’t we working?” She glanced at me.
I’d screwed up. Big time.
“No way. We’re all expected to be at the gala. Gabe closes early that night.” Jessie gave me a dirty look. “You didn’t tell her?”
The gala was one of the largest social events of the year, hosted by none other than my father. “We’ve been busy.”
Dahlia gave me an equally dirty look and turned to Maggie. “Have you ordered your gown?”
“I’m not much of a gala person.” She tossed the unlocked cuffs on the table.
“Nonsense. I even scored a ticket for Shanna. You have to come. It won’t be the same without you.” Dahlia glanced between me and Maggie.
“I might be able to squeeze into one of Rebecca’s old dresses.” She chewed her lower lip.
“Oh no you won’t. I’m going to take you shopping. Face it, Maggie. People know you two are engaged, they will expect to see you on his arm looking good.” Dahlia turned to Leo. “I’d murder you in your sleep if you forgot to tell me about something like this.”
Maggie sighed. “It’s no big deal. I doubt we can get a sitter on Fat Tuesday anyway.”
I squeezed her hand, thankful she didn’t seem too upset. She’d said we. “Ready to get home?”
She nodded, but I had the feeling I had some serious explaining to do.
The ride home sucked. I didn’t know what to say, so I drove while she stared out the window.
Apologize before this gets out of hand. “I’m sorry. I should have asked you. I assumed you’d say no. I know how you feel about my folks.”
“I…don’t know what this is between us.”
The muscle in my jaw tensed. I thought we’d gotten past the point of running for safety every time one of us stepped on the other’s feelings. “What do you want it to be?”
“Part of me wants it all. The church, the white picket fence, the happily ever after.”
“And part of you doesn’t?” My chest tightened. Having this conversation behind the wheel was asking for trouble. I slowed and pulled into an empty parking lot.
She shifted to face me. “I’m scared history will repeat itself.”
“So am I, but I’m willing to give it a shot.” I slid my fingers between hers and kissed the back of her hand.
“Me too.” She waved her hand. “I’m tired, and moody, and ready for a shower.”
A bolt of electricity zipped through me. Hope. This woman had just handed me a gift-wrapped package of hope that we’d make it. “Will you go to the gala with me?”
“No, but I’ll meet you there.”
“What? Why?”
“You heard Dahlia. You have to pick me out of the crowd or something.”
“Honey, I’d recognize you anywhere, but I’ll play along.” I leaned across the console.
She met me in the middle.
I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. She looked so damned cute with eyes half closed and lips parted and those freaking braids. “Did you want something?”
“I want you.”
I cupped her face. “If all you’re going to do is use me for sex, we may as well be married.”
Maggie licked her lips. “Married people don’t have sex,”
I cocked one brow and did my best imitation of The Rock. “We will.”
“Everyone thinks that—then they get married and the well dries up.”
“I, for one, plan to test this theory, every night for the rest of my life.” I couldn’t stand to be wrong, nor could I stand another second ticking by before I kissed her smart mouth.
30
Maggie
Though Fat Tuesday was days away, my early afternoon shift had dragged on and on and on. I sat behind the bar and reread the final draft of the Bourbon Street Bad Boys articles. While I didn’t have a firm deadline, Marlena had hoped to have it last week. However, I hadn’t had a clue what I would write until the conversation with Dahlia and Leo two nights ago.
I shifted my weight in an effort to relieve the ache in my lower back. Tired from too little sleep and too much Gabe, I’d stopped for coffee on my way in, but it had made me queasy—weird considering I practically lived on the stuff.
I hit send on the email and closed my laptop. I’d gone way off the script from the proposal, but I was proud of my work. I only hoped Gabe liked it, too.
The same blonde I’d caught in the breakroom weeks ago slid onto a stool. “Maggie, right?”
“That’s me.” I smiled, though it always freaked me out a little when the patrons knew my name.
“I thought it was you. You don’t remember me. How could you? I mean it’s been a year. I’m Lindsey. A friend of Rebecca’s. We met at the funeral.”
Why is she just now introducing herself? “You’ve been in here quite a bit...”
“Yes, but I wasn’t sure you were the same person. I saw the announcement in the paper. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” My voice came out breathy. I’d decided to pick my battles with Evelyn. While I didn’t appreciate her putting my personal business in the newspaper, she was Gabe’s mom.
“I read in the paper that you’re engaged to Joe’s brother.” She tilted her head to the side as if studying my reaction.
Nope, not discussing my life with someone I hardly know. “Corona with lime?”
“Not this early. Diet Coke, please.” Lindsey put her elbows on the bar. “How are the kids? I bet they’re getting big.”
I filled a glass with ice and soda and set it in front of her. “They’re doing great.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, are you okay? I saw him put his hands on you the other night.”
Gabe and I’d worked every night for two weeks straight. I had no idea what she referred to. “When?”
“A couple nights ago. You’d changed clothes. He seemed angry…”
“Oh, no. We were goofing around.” I forced a smile unable to imagine my sister befriending someone so awkward.
“I only ask because I do advocacy for abused women.” She sipped her drink.
I laughed before I could stop myself. “I’m fine, really.”
“When’s the wedding?”
“We haven’t set a date.” Hoping she’d stop the interrogation if I looked busy, I went into the back and returned with a bag of limes.
The blonde motioned to my hand. “You don’t have a ring?”
“Not yet.” I slammed the knife through the fruit. “How did you know my sister?”
“Oh, we met at Chloe’s preschool. Rebecca and I visited while the girls had playdates.”
That makes sense. You can’t choose mom friends like you do friend-friends. “Does your daughter go to Chloe’s school?”
“Oh, no. We can’t afford Sacred Heart.” She seemed offended by the thought.
“I can’t either. Her grandparents insisted.”
“Do you have
a picture of Chloe? I’d like to share it with Ainsley.”
“I left my phone in the back. Why don’t you text a picture of your daughter, and I’ll respond with one of Chloe? I’m sure she’d get a kick out of seeing her photo.”
Lindsey hesitated. “You’re a mother now. You should have your phone on you at all times. Let’s go get it.”
Before I could sort out the weird request, Dahlia and Shanna arrived. Both women dressed to the nines, I took one look at them and groaned. “I totally forgot we were supposed to go shopping today.”
“You’re going.” Dahlia made sitting at a barstool look graceful.
I’m not ashamed to admit I envied her long legs.
Shanna wore a smirk, and a little black dress. “Did you bring a change of clothes?”
I shook my head. “I forgot all about it this morning. Can we do this another day?”
“You’ll be lucky to find an off-the-rack gown as it is. The gala’s this weekend. I ordered my dress six months ago. Face it, honey, it’s today or never.” Dahlia glanced at Shanna as if expecting her to agree.
“She’s right. This late everything will be picked over.” Lindsey smiled, seemingly unaware she’d butted into their conversation.
Shanna glanced from Lindsey to me with a what-the-hell expression.
Dahlia didn’t seem bothered—that or she had better manners. “Hi. I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Dahlia.”
“Lindsey. Nice to meet you.”
“I name-dropped us into an appointment at Harold Clarke,” Shanna said, ignoring the other conversation.
“Whose name did you drop?” I put the cut lime wedges in a container and stuffed it into the mini fridge.
“Yours of course, and I happened to mention your fiancé.”
Perfect. As a general rule, I hated shopping. Nothing fits the way it should when you’re short and busty. “Give me a few minutes to clean up.”
In the time it took me to freshen up, Lindsey had wrangled an invitation to go shopping with us. I found it weird. Judging by Shanna’s expression and constant eye rolling, she agreed. Dahlia, on the other hand, seemed too excited to care.
We arrived at the dress shop five minutes past our appointment time, but I didn’t think our tardiness had caused the salesperson’s sour expression.
The woman glanced from my beat-up boots to my messy bun and frowned. It reminded me of the scene from Pretty Woman, except I’d brought friends and…well…I wasn’t a prostitute.
Shanna did the talking while I browsed the dresses on display. A pit formed in my stomach, a pit that threatened to swallow me from the inside out. Generally speaking, if the menu didn’t have prices, I couldn’t afford the food. I assumed dress shops operated under the same principle.
“Ladies?” An older woman motioned for us to follow her into a sitting area near the dressing rooms. She turned to Dahlia and smiled. “You must be Mary Margaret.”
Oh, God, can this get any more embarrassing? I raised my hand. “I’m Maggie.”
The woman’s smile faltered. “What size are you, dear?”
Yes, it could get more embarrassing. “A twelve.”
The woman tittered. “Why don’t we take some measurements? You don’t look like a size twelve, though it’s hard to say in those baggy clothes.”
I followed her behind one of the drapes like an obedient puppy. “I just got off work.”
“Please, call me Clair, and don’t worry about it. We’ll get you taken care of. I understand you need a couple of cocktail dresses, as well as the formal?”
“No, just the formal.”
“Oh? I spoke to Mr. Marchionni this afternoon. He said to assure you that he would take care of everything.” Clair smiled, and I swear I saw dollar signs in her eyes. “His instructions were clear.”
My heart fell to my knees. Which Mr. Marchionni had agreed to pay for my dresses? It had to be Papa Joe, because I couldn’t imagine Gabe caring what I wore. “Okay.”
“I’ll be right back.” Clair left me sitting in the dressing room wearing a lavender silk robe and chewing on my bottom lip.
Shanna and Dahlia talked in hushed tones outside.
I poked my head out of the drapes. “What are you guys talking about?”
“You, of course.” Dahlia laughed.
Lindsey glanced at the other two and nodded with a bright smile, too bright.
I did my best not to think about her. I hated to be mean, but the woman gave me the creeps. “Shanna, did you know they called Papa Joe and asked about payment?”
Shanna hitched a shoulder. “They called Gabe.”
My mouth fell open.
“He wants you to pick out a dress for tonight, too,” Dahlia said.
“What’s tonight?” I knew I hadn’t forgotten plans with Gabe. We didn’t date, we played house.
Before they could answer, Clair returned with an armful of dresses.
I must have turned eight shades of red when Clair stayed in the dressing room. While I appreciated the assistance with zippers and such, I wished I hadn’t left home wearing a ratty old bra and Hello Kitty panties.
First, I tried on a sleek, black sheath dress with a deep V-neck. It. Was. Awful. Half my bra hung out and my boobs looked deflated.
“Let me get you something that will help.” Clair stepped out of the room.
I stared in the mirror, imagining what my mother would say about this dress. Nadine would not approve.
Clair returned with a strapless bra and proceeded to help me into it. It fit perfectly, no binding in the back and no boob spillage over the cups. When I pulled the dress up again, it looked like a different garment altogether.
“Wow.” I leaned closer to the mirror, then turned sideways. My tummy had flattened, waist narrowed, and my breasts…holy moly. The stress diet was working.
“Would you like to show your friends?”
Heck yes! “Sure.” I followed the woman out into the sitting area.
Dahlia clapped and Shanna gasped. “Oh, Maggie, that’s gorgeous.”
“It’s simple, but stunning.” Dahlia motioned for me to turn.
Watching my reflection in the mirror, I spun in a slow circle. “I’ll take this one.”
Another woman rolled a rack of five or six gowns outside her dressing room. I took one look at them and the room tilted. Cocktail dresses were one thing—formal wear made me want to run for the door.
“You look frightened. We’ll do this one at a time, dear.” Clair patted my shoulder.
I tried all six gowns on but none of them fit—too short, too long, too boobish, too matronly. It was a disaster.
Clair hung the last reject on its hanger. “Excuse me a moment. I have some things in back that you may like.”
While the saleswoman hurried to a different part of the store, I popped my head out to talk to my friends. “Where’s Lindsey?”
“She had to go,” Shanna said. “Seriously, Maggie. Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to pick up strays?”
“She’s harmless,” Dahlia said.
“She’s weird,” Shanna replied.
No sense in arguing with the truth. “I agree she’s odd.”
Clair returned, and I went back into the dressing room.
“I think I have the perfect dress for you, but I have some questions first.” Her smile lit her eyes.
“All right.” I stared at the garment bag, praying this one would do the trick.
“We don’t want to put you in something that’s the same shape as your wedding gown. Have you chosen one yet?”
I reached for the wall for support. The mere mention of wedding dresses made my already queasy stomach lurch.
“Would you humor me and agree to wear a mermaid fit for your wedding? With your hourglass figure, it would be breathtaking.”
“Can I wear a strapless with my bust size?”
“Not all mermaids are strapless. I envision you in a halter neckline, mermaid bottom, very old Hollywood.”
“That
sounds perfect.” Years before, I’d spent days poring over bridal magazines with my sister. I knew the lingo well enough to picture the dress.
“Good. Next question.” Clair hesitated as if nervous to ask. “Would you consider lightening your hair to a paler shade of blonde?”
I glanced at the mirror at my dark blonde hair. I’d never colored it. “Do you think it would look better?”
“It would brighten your complexion and bring out your eyes.”
“Sure. Why not.”
“I’ll call my guy. He’s the best. Do you have time to do it this afternoon? You’ll want it done as soon as possible. I wouldn’t suggest waiting until the day before the gala.”
“Let me ask.” I pulled the curtain aside. “Do I have time to get my hair done today?”
“Yes, for all three of us. Shanna has to get the red out of her hair or she’ll look like a Christmas tree in her green dress,” Dahlia said.
I turned back to Clair. “Would you ask if the salon has time for three appointments?”
“Let me make a call.” Clair seemed too excited. She walked to the other salesperson and whispered something to her. When she returned, she rubbed her hands together and grinned.
The next time I came out of the dressing room, I practically floated on a cloud of filmy fabric. “This is the one.”
The dress draped in a Grecian style that left my shoulders bare and gathered at my wrists in woven silver bangles. The matching belt made my waist look tiny, yet didn’t feel confining. Best of all, the color gradually faded from silvery white to the same robin’s egg blue as my eyes.
Clair handed me a delicate metal mask in the same silver as the belt and bracelets. One large white plume sprang from the side of the mask, sparkling with tiny crystals.
“Oh, Maggie…” Shanna brought her hands to her mouth.
“No, no, you can’t wear that, or you’ll upstage me.” Dahlia grinned.
I stared at myself in the mirror, speechless.
Clair knelt to check the hem. “Once she lightens her hair, with her pale skin and blue eyes, she will look like a Nordic Queen.”
Shanna and Dahlia stood and admired the gown up close.
I couldn’t tear my gaze from the mirror. “Do you think Gabe will like it?”
Absinthe Minded: A Mafia Romantic Comedy (Bourbon Street Bad Boys' Club Book 1) Page 19
