She hasn’t said a word yet. Strange. Usually you can’t get this chick to shut up. I sit down, take a drink, and start the small talk. I’ll prove to them I’m just fine. I’m up to date with the goings-on in the Village—I’m an active member. I say, “So, when do you and Carter leave for the Hamlet? You two got a bun in the oven yet?”
She gives me a queer look. “You know Bronson vetoed that plan last year, right? We were supposed to go after we’d been married a year, but then Bronson said he needed just a little more time with Carter beneath him in the ranks, you know... since we’d just lost Brett? Remember?”
I might vaguely remember something about that. When Brett died, Mary’s husband John moved up into his place, and Carter moved up to take John’s. I say, “Of course I do. But refresh my memory.”
She gives a sigh. “Well, after we were married, Carter wanted to start a family right away, but with the new job, it looks like we’ll be here until Bronson finds a replacement. But you know how picky he is. No one’s good enough for Bronson.”
I hate when Sasha gets like this. Bronson didn’t approve of her when she first became engaged to Carter—she used to be a real brat—and she’s never gotten over it. I say, “Well, he is our leader and we need to respect that. He works hard for the family.”
“I know. I just get so frustrated. At this rate, we may never get to the Hamlet.”
“What’s the big draw anyway? I could never see why one would give up Village life in the city for Connecticut suburbia.”
“You know that there’s no kids here, Tess. And we desperately want a family. We’ve visited the Hamlet and it’s just like the Village, only tamer with cute little kids running around. The houses are gorgeous. Custom built and each one is on an acre. The families all hang out in the square. There’s movie nights—”
“Sounds lovely.” I yawn. Kids are adorable. Being a mother just isn’t something I think I’d be good at.
She continues, stars in her eyes. “It is. And I hope we get to move there soon. But... ah... that’s not what I came here to talk about.” Her gaze travels from mine to the refrigerator.
“Okay, so spit it out. Why the impromptu visit?” I smile, hoping to calm her nerves. Whatever she has to say sure has her worked up.
She looks at me and says, “Tess, this is serious.”
I give her a curious glance. She swivels in her chair until we are facing one another.
Another tug of her ponytail.
“What’s up, Buttercup?” I say, then take an enormous swig of my wine. My glass is half-empty... the story of my life.
She gives my drink a glance, then meets my eyes. There’s a flash of that Sasha-like determination rising in her. She locks her gaze on mine and says, “You’re not going to like what I have to say.”
I snort. “Lately, I haven’t cared much what anyone says or thinks.” Making my point, I lift my glass to my lips and drain it. I smile, reach for the bottle, and say, “More wine?”
Before I can grasp it, her hand whips out, lightning fast. She’s got my Chardonnay and she’s running over to the other side of the kitchen. What the hell is she doing? She’s got it over the sink and is draining the last of the two hundred dollars of Roseland Winery’s finest down, down, down.
I stand from my stool, too quickly. I wobble a bit, grabbing the counter. I shout, “What do you think you’re doing?”
Her gaze is fierce as she stares back at me. “Exactly what I’ve been told to do.” She opens the recycling drawer and drops the bottle within. It lands with a crash. I picture it lying amongst all its dead relatives—the bin is overflowing.
My head is spinning—I’ve drunk too fast. I want to stop her, but now, she’s in my fridge. When she sees the contents, she gasps. It’s full of untouched casseroles. The meals she and the Beauties have been bringing for months.
Moldy casseroles. And white wine. Lots of it.
Getting over the shock of the uneaten food, she gets to work. She’s pulling a cardboard wine box off the top of the fridge. She’s filling it up with bottle after bottle. My Riesling, my Pinot Grigio, even her personal favorite, the Sauvignon Blanc. Thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth, collected from the country’s finest vineyards.
My hands go to my hair. I want to tear it out. I scream, “Stop, this instant! That’s my property. You leave it right where it is and get out of here!”
Her back is facing me and her ponytail sways as she gives a hard shake of her head. “Can’t. Bronson’s orders.”
“What are Bronson’s orders, exactly?” I sneer.
“All the wine in the Village goes to the family cellar in the restaurant till you get yourself under control. Every single bottle.” She’s so fast, she’s already filled one box and is on to the next one.
“You have got to be kidding me!”
“Nope. And we’ve all agreed—we’re going dry, too. Especially with Brett’s memorial this weekend. We’re all going to be sober. At least until he gets here, to get you under control,” she snaps.
He who?
Rockland.
The tips of my fingers go to my lips, pressing lightly against them. For a moment, I forget about the wine thief who’s stealing my stash. I see his face. Those gold eyes. The black spirals that mark his hard muscles.
But the mental lapse is short lived, and my temper awakens within me. I dash around the island, almost falling from my lightheadedness. I grab the edges of the full box on the floor beside her, but it’s too heavy for me to lift. I gasp, releasing it. Sasha shoos me away like a pesky fly. Effortlessly lifts the heavy box from the floor, moving it behind her.
How have I become this weak?
She steps closer to me, blocking the box as well as the fridge from me with her body. Her hands go to her hips.
She stares me down. “It’s been two years, Tess. Life goes on. You have to let it.”
I want to slap her beautiful face. Claw out her gorgeous eyes. What does she know of timelines when you’ve lost your husband? Become the lone widow in a Village of lovers? Anger roils in me, making me nauseous. She may be a hell of a lot stronger than me, but I have crazy lady psycho energy on my side. I say, “Get the hell out of my house, now. Or I will make you.”
No longer tugging her hair or trembling over her words, she’s suddenly hard as steel. The tigress is rising in her and she growls at me, “So help me, Tess. I know you’re hurting but I will kick-box the crap out of you right now if you touch me.”
My mouth drops open. I want to scream, to yell. My hands reach out toward her, I want to hurt someone.
To make someone feel as much pain as I do.
I take a step toward her.
Her arms wrap around me, engulfing me. She holds me to her chest. She’s stroking my hair. Rubbing my back. My body racks with sobs. My words choke in my thick throat, but she knows what I’m saying.
“I’m just so damn... lonely!”
Her voice is full of empathy. “I know. I know, sweetheart. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through.”
“I just... I feel like I don’t belong here anymore,” I say.
She pushes my wild hair from my eyes. “Oh, Tess! I hate that you feel that way. We miss you so much, but we’ve been trying to give you your space. We’re here for you. We love you.”
“If you love me, why are you taking all my wine?” I sniffle.
She smiles. “What you need right now may not look like love. But it is... tough love. For a tough woman.” She gives me a tight hug. Holds me at arm’s length and searches my gaze. “Why don’t you go on up to bed? I’ll take care of this and you can just sleep through the whole thing. Okay?”
I nod, sniffling and wiping at my eyes. I turn to leave the kitchen, head up the stairs to my room.
She calls out, “And Tess?”
I turn to her, my eyes blurry from tears. I say, “Yes?”
She says, smiling as her nose wrinkles, “For goodness’ sake, woman, take a shower. You look lik
e crap.”
I laugh. And it feels good.
I take a shower. Exhausted from the effort, I fall into my bed, naked, hair soaking wet. I’m so spent I can barely think, but there’s a nagging feeling in my chest—as if there’s something I should be worrying about. I piece together the evening for clues as to why I feel unsettled. Sasha’s words dance in my head, until he gets here to get you under control, but it’s only for a moment, then the wine creates a cloud in my mind and I just can’t think anymore. I drift off. I sleep a deep, dreamless sleep.
When I awake, despite a dull headache, I feel almost... whole again.
And there’s a new sensation washing over me, the morning sun warming my skin through the picture window. A clean feeling. A lightness I’ve not felt.
For about two years.
The grip of grief’s tight clutching fingers have gone. I’m not sad. I’m not angry. Brett is a warm memory in my heart. A good feeling that I will carry with me all the days of my life. No longer a hindrance to me living my life.
I make an effort. I brush and curl my hair, tugging at the stubborn tendrils that have dried in a mass of chaos. I put on a little mascara. Slide gloss over my lips. I file my talon-like neglected nails, painting them a pale pink.
Taking my time, I dress carefully—like I used to. I decide on a short red dress. Kitten heels. Sling my white leather Prada bag over my shoulder.
I’m going to the office today. It will be good for me.
As I leave the house, I take one long look in my hallway mirror. I’m halfway decent. There’s a new light in my eyes. A determination.
I must start my life over again.
Today. He would want it this way.
And the Village needs me.
I step outside. The air is crisp, clean. I take a deep breath as a gentle breeze flutters my clean, curly hair. I smile.
Family members wave to me on the street. Their faces read shock, surprise, and relief. I wave back, flash them smiles that are real, not forced. A few minutes later, I reach the west side of the Village, gaze up at our family’s tall gray stone office building. Read the familiar sign, Bachman Enterprises. Press my thumb to the pad and greet our doorman. He welcomes me warmly, as if I hadn’t missed a day of work, much less a year, then pushes the second-floor button on the elevator for me.
The doors close. I’m alone. The tiniest flinch of panic rises in my chest. So many people—ones I’ve been ignoring for months. I breathe through the anxiety. When the doors slide open, I step out into the hall with a smile on my face.
I’m greeted by a few of the office Beauties, hugs and kisses and squeals of delight to be reunited. It feels so good to be back in the world. Why have I avoided it so long? I say hello to the legal team, my fellow accountants. I hit the café, order a cappuccino. Hold it in my hands and inhale its warm cinnamon scent before I take a sip of the heavenly concoction.
I pass a few more people. I’m eternally grateful of how cool they are being—no deep questions, no sorrowful stories of Brett. Just polite, light interactions. It’s business as usual, which is exactly what I need today.
What I need to move on.
I reach my office door. A little thrill of excitement rises in me, knowing behind this door is the familiar surroundings of my private workspace. A smile stretches on my face as I throw it open. I begin to walk in but stop dead in my tracks.
Bronson Bachman is perched on the edge of my desk. My small glass gemstone globe is casually being tossed from hand to hand. His gaze meets mine and his dark brow raises. “Lovely of you to join us, Tess.” He places the globe gently on the desk with his left hand. My eyes catch the platinum band around his ring finger as he does.
I’ll never get used to the idea of hardcore bachelor Bronson being in love, married.
He strides across the room, stopping inches from me.
“How did you know I’d be here?” I ask.
He smiles. “Darling. You know I have eyes and ears all around this Village.”
He must have men watching my house. Keeping tabs on the town’s crazy widow.
I throw my bag on my desk, claiming it as my own. “So, you’ve been spying on me?”
He shrugs. “Perhaps. Just a bit. For your own safety, of course.”
“For my safety, right? Like the Village isn’t the safest freaking place in the city?”
His brow darts up in distaste. “Tone.”
I swallow, hard. Mutter an apology.
He says, “I take it you’ve learned of our dry spell in the Village?”
“Yes. Sasha paid me a little visit last night. I lost over ten grand worth of wine. Are you going to replace it?” I ask.
His gaze searches mine. “I’ll pay you double what it was worth. Purchase it for the family cellar. We all just want to see you well.”
I take a deep breath. My anger is misplaced. I’m furious with death, but I’ve been taking it out on the Village. My family. My tone softens and I say, “I know.”
His hands rest on my shoulders. His dark eyes fill with emotion. His guard is down, just for a moment, as he says, “Tess, we love you. We gave you the privacy you needed to mourn. Now it’s time. You need to come back to us. We’ve lost Brett; we can’t bear to lose you, too.”
His kind words resound within me. I’m filled with a warm gratitude. For their love. Their care. The space they’ve given me, the fact that they love me enough to demand my return. I raise my gaze to his. “I know. I’m... back. I—I promise.”
“Good.” He kisses my cheek. Pulls away. Heads to the door of my office. Just before he steps out, he turns over his shoulder and eyes me carefully. He says, “But I’ve called in reinforcements, just to be sure.”
My brow furrows. “You mean, just for the memorial this weekend, right?”
He gives me one of those deep, dark looks he’s famous for.
As I continue to prod, desperation creeps into my voice. “Bronson—tell me you mean you’ve asked Rockland here for reinforcements... just for the weekend?”
Bronson gives me a wink. Disappears.
My mind whirrs. Clicking through the moments of Sasha’s visit last night. What had she said? Something that had made me uneasy.
Then it hits me.
Bronson’s enacting the hierarchy.
For real this time.
She was trying to warn me.
Rockland will be arriving at any moment. For good.
* * *
Rockland
I know what she needs.
I’ve always known what she needs.
It just wasn’t my place to give it to her.
And that kiss...
Last year, on the day of the memorial, did I punish her? Take her over my knee and chastise her like a little girl? Make her cry out in pain? Yes. It’s what she needed. The pain was the only way she could release and focus on the task before her... surviving yet another reminder of the death of her beloved husband.
I’ve thought of her every day—hell, every hour—since I watched the crystal blue seas of the Aegean from the jet’s windows, leaving her behind.
The kiss...
Leaving her house that day was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But she needed her space. She needed to be on her own, alone with her grief.
Get to the edge of the canyon of her despair, then, just before tipping over, save herself.
Now I watch the waters from the plane’s windows, again. This time, as I return to the Village, to the north Greece borders with Albania, Bulgaria, and Turkey to the northeast. Greece has more than three thousand islands and islets, of which only one hundred thirty are inhabited.
Or so we tell people.
A hefty price has been paid for one of those precious pieces of land to be documented as uninhabited. But it is inhabited... by Bachmans. The island is the home to a Mediterranean branch of the family that only a few in the American Brotherhood know to exist. Our island is located in the Aegean, the sea that separates Greece and Europe from A
sia Minor.
We call it the Parish. Named because we first bought our boats from a little Catholic church on one of the main islands. We still use those boats at times, going back and forth to visit islands as you would drive to a friend’s home in a neighboring town.
We also own a fleet of yachts. Why live on the ocean if you aren’t going to play in it?
Our homes are elegant, tasteful, yet could be described as opulent. Enormous glass windows overlooking the turquoise sea. The waves splashing against the sandy shores of the massive white stone structures. Marble floors, marble counters, only the best quality materials are used during construction. As with the Village, we Bachmans build things to last for many generations. Our future always at the forefront of our thoughts.
Our modest Parish. To Tess, a village of backwards ruffians with no running water. I never bothered to correct her—let her think what she wants.
The brotherhood of the Parish is smaller than that of the Village, as we’ve only been intact for several years. We are a private people, tightly bound by family. Children run about freely, loved by their parents, and raised by everyone. Our men are devoted to their women, our rules for our marriages the same as the Village’s.
In some ways, our day to day greatly differs from that of our New York counterparts. Our lives are more in tune with nature. The sun, sea, sand. Navigating the difficult terrain. Policing ourselves, protecting our family, with no outside political or law enforcement’s influence.
Our marriage rituals are the same. Our grueling initiation process a direct replica.
Except for one thing.
Our skin is permanently marked when we enter the brotherhood of the Parish. Ink on skin to remind us of the lifelong commitment we’ve made. We wear the black swirling tattoo I’ve designed. The one that Tess was so taken with that night...
The night I held her in my arms.
The night I kissed her.
It’s a long flight. I’ve taken the family jet and we’ve had to stop to refuel. When we get going again, I rest my eyes, the attendant closing the blinds for me. I try to catch some sleep—I have quite a task ahead of me, taming Tess.
Rockland: A Mafia Billionaire Romance Page 5
