by L E Fraser
“So go get it maybe?”
Wearing skin-tight jeans and a long-sleeve T-shirt, the teenager was tall and thin with long, greasy black hair. He sported an eyebrow piercing, a snakebite on his lower lip, a septum nose ring that reminded Sam of a bull, and a black scaffold piercing in his right ear. His neck was tattooed. He probably thought it was hip. It resembled prison ink to Sam. Except for a complexion problem and puffy dark circles ringing his bloodshot eyes, he was good-looking in a musician/bad boy way. He looked stoned to Sam.
“This is our son, Nicholas. Nick, this is Reece, an old friend of mine from Western.”
Nicholas tilted his head in their direction without acknowledging either of them verbally. One hand twitched at his side while his eyes roamed wild, never settling on one spot.
“Well,” Nicholas’s tone dripped with disdain, “do you see me standing here?” He snapped his fingers in front of his mother’s face.
Gabriella didn’t respond to her son’s rudeness, but she also didn’t back away from his aggressive stance.
“Going to pick up some babes with your buddies?” Derek grinned at Reece.
Sam doubted that. Nicholas looked as if he hadn’t showered in a week. The more she studied him, the more she believed he had a drug problem.
“Not if I don’t get some dollars.” Nicholas leaned into his mother’s face. “What’s your deal, old lady?”
“Your mother is in her own world.” Derek rolled his eyes at Sam and Reece, as if they agreed with him. He pulled his wallet from his pants’ back pocket, removed some bills, and held the money out to his son.
Unbelievable, Sam thought.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Derek chuckled.
Nicholas snatched the cash, nodded his chin at Sam and Reece, and left the house.
There was still no expression on Gabriella’s face. “Please excuse me. I have something on the stove.”
“Sure, you ladies go and gossip.” Derek stared at Sam, his meaning clear.
Happy to ditch Derek, Sam stood. “Is that okay with you, Gabriella?”
“It’s fine with her,” Derek answered. “Let me get you that drink, Reece.” He threw a dismissive glance Sam’s way. “Gabby has wine in the other room.”
“It’s fine if you join me.” Gabriella’s posture suggested the opposite. The intensity of her stare, coupled with her creepy lack of expression, made Sam uncomfortable.
It felt as if Gabriella recognized her and wasn’t pleased to see her. Sam didn’t recall meeting the woman before. Considering Gabriella’s stunning looks, she was sure she’d remember. Curious.
Once in the kitchen, Sam took in the impressive space. “Oh boy, you must be a serious chef.”
“I enjoy cooking.”
“Have we met?” Sam asked.
“Why would you ask that?”
Sam shrugged, confused by the alarm etched across the other woman’s face. “I thought you recognized me.”
“No.”
A large white dog sat beside the kitchen island. He stood, walked over to Gabriella, and sat at her feet.
“Look at you. Aren’t you gorgeous,” Sam said and the animal allowed her to stroke its head. “I love dogs,” she told Gabriella. “Samoyed, right? What’s his name?”
“Ganawenim, I call him Gana. I’ve had him since childhood.”
What? The woman had to be in her late thirties.
“Ganawenim is Ojibway,” Gabriella muttered, adjusting the heat on the large commercial stove.
“Do you mean you’ve had the breed since childhood? Don’t Samoyeds originate in Russia?”
“The name,” Gabriella murmured, “means protector.” A tiny muscle twitched at the edge of her eye.
The woman was agitated, and Sam couldn’t figure out why. Maybe she was embarrassed over her son’s awful behaviour. That made sense.
Silence stretched out. Reaching for a new topic of conversation, Sam turned to admire the fridge. “Wow, glass doors. I guess you have to keep your fridge clean.” Her smile felt unnatural.
Gabriella stirred something on the stove. “Yes.”
Sam gazed at the glass-fronted kitchen cupboards. The room felt staged for a magazine shoot. Everything about the house and the woman who lived in it was too perfect. It reminded her of The Stepford Wives.
If her son’s crappy behaviour caused Gabriella’s discomfort, it would be best to address the elephant in the room. “Reece tells me you have three children,” Sam said. “Is Nicholas your eldest?”
“Yes.”
Gabriella didn’t apologize for her son’s appalling behaviour or make any comment about her other two children.
“Did you attend Western with Reece and Derek?” Sam asked.
“I went to Western.”
That was the end of that line of conversation, apparently.
“Reece tells me you work as an executive assistant in an ad agency.”
Gabriella uncovered an elaborate multilayer cake and a bowl of icing. “I was fired.”
“Oh.” Sam felt embarrassed. “Um… when?”
Gabriella iced the cake in quick little strokes. “Security escorted me out this morning.” She reached into the fridge and removed a pastry bag. “I was fired yesterday afternoon.” Pink rosettes materialized around the base of the cake.
“They fired you without telling you? That’s awful.”
Gabriella moved the cake in a small circle so she could assess the sides. “It doesn’t matter.”
“You have a lovely home,” Sam tried. “Dinner smells wonderful. Your husband is a lucky man.”
Gabriella was in the process of removing dishes from the oven when she stopped short, closed her eyes and stood still, muttering under her breath. The dog barked once and stepped back.
When she looked at Sam again, she was furious. “Derek has a whore downtown.” Disgust laced her voice, but she wore a frightening smile. “Gabriella is the lucky one.”
Weird. Weird. Weird. Sam had no idea how to interact with this odd woman. Gabriella returned to her preparations, and Sam edged toward the door to the living room.
When she reached the doorway, her host looked up and removed her apron. “We’re ready to eat,” she said politely.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Reece
REECE BACKED DOWN the driveway too fast and slammed on the brakes to avoid smashing into a passing car. “Well… the food was amazing,” he ventured.
Sam burst out laughing. “Who could eat? I’ve never been more uncomfortable. Gabriella told me her employer fired her today. Security walked her out without any explanation. Why in God’s name would she host a dinner party?”
“Is that what that was? I thought it was a campaign fundraiser.” He shook his head in disgust.
Sam was still laughing, but he could tell she was unsettled. “You okay?” He stopped at a light and studied her.
She rubbed her hands across her face. “Honestly, no. That was the worst night I’ve ever spent. What’s wrong with that family? Did you notice how Gabriella talks in the third person? I hate it when people do that in jest, but she was doing it for real. Oh, and she told me Derek is having an affair but that’s okay because it means ‘Gabriella is lucky’. Seriously, there’s something wrong with both of them.”
At the next stop light, Reece reached over and did up her seatbelt. Ordinarily she was obsessive about wearing seatbelts. Her dad, a police detective, had died in a car crash. The accident was why she’d left school and joined the Toronto Police Services. She’d hated being a cop, and he knew she wasn’t fond of her current profession either. Part of the reason he’d agreed to join her firm was to offer her the option of leaving at some point. She’d make a better therapist. A no-nonsense one, he thought with a grin.
“Did you hear the way Derek talked to his wife?” Sam asked. “What a jackass. That’s why I never got married.”
Reece knew that wasn’t true. Her parents hadn’t enjoyed a happy union. Her mother was dead, appare
ntly. Her only sibling, an older sister, was Incubus’ second victim. That was the extent of his knowledge of her past. Reece didn’t even know her parents’ first names.
He wished she’d talk to him about her past, but Sam was a pragmatic do it and be done with it type of person who never wanted to discuss personal history. He was the polar opposite. Reece believed self-help required head-on analysis of things that hurt or disappointed you. That meant talking about it to process the pain. Pretending it never happened was emotionally stunting and robbed people of the opportunity to heal.
“Well,” he said in discomfort, “it’s unfair to judge marriage as a whole based on tonight.”
At thirty-three, Reece wanted to get married. Five years ago, his fiancée had died of cancer. Recognizing he needed help to deal with Sarah’s death, he’d found a therapist who taught him recovery tools. Slowly, his life became more than going through the motions, but he didn’t believe he’d ever find anyone else to love. Then he met Sam. Sam’s ambition was part of the barrier, but it was more than that. Something from her past haunted her. He wanted her to let him in so he could help her work through her feelings.
“What’s up with that kid?” Sam asked. “Gabriella must be medicated to live in that house. Hey, that would explain her creepy zombie-like behaviour.”
Reece turned into a Tim Hortons drive-through. After ordering coffee, he parked in the lot. “They were married when she was eighteen, so Derek’s about fifteen years older. Maybe the age difference has something to do with their dynamics.”
“You told me that, but it didn’t register that Derek was over thirty and lusted after a teenager.” Sam’s eyes filled with disgust. “She wasn’t old enough to make an informed decision. It must be a parent-child relationship. That would explain the patronizing tone he uses when he speaks to her.”
He heard her mutter pig under her breath. “That doesn’t explain why he treated you the same way,” Reece said. “He’s a chauvinist. Why would a woman allow her husband to speak to her like that?”
Sam shrugged. “No idea. She made some unflattering comments of her own.”
“Really? I didn’t hear her defend herself once.”
“Well, she did. To me, at least. They’re both weird. Birds of a feather, I guess.”
“I can’t picture her being a politician’s wife. She’s…” Reece couldn’t come up with a suitable word to describe the woman. Gabriella’s beauty took your breath away, but her personality was something else entirely.
“Weird is the word you’re looking for.” She laughed. “When I was helping her clear the table, I managed to get her to tell me she studied four semesters of biochemistry. God, talking to that woman was like pulling teeth. Maybe she’s weird because she has a super high IQ.” She took the lid off her coffee to blow on it. “Why is Tim Hortons coffee always too hot?”
Reece felt old. His lower back was throbbing and a tension headache tugged at his right temple. Derek had spent the evening trying to force him to agree to speak with Sam’s stepfather about contributing to his campaign.
“He invited us because he wants Harvey to contribute to his campaign,” he admitted. “He brought it up when you were in the kitchen with Gabriella. I told him flat out he had to talk to you because I’ve never met the man.”
She was unperturbed and smiled. “He didn’t ask outright, but he skirted the issue.” She laughed. “Every time he tried to discuss campaign funds, I changed the subject. Your pal didn’t like me much.”
“Geez, we’ll have to break up if Derek doesn’t approve.”
“Besides,” Sam continued, “I’m used to people using me to try to get to my stepfather’s money.”
“You know, I’d like to meet the man someday.”
“Maybe,” she replied. “I don’t know him well. My mother married him after I left home.”
They sipped their coffee in silence and watched the lights of the passing cars.
“I didn’t like the dog,” Sam said.
Reece was surprised. “You love dogs.”
She shrugged. “Not that one.”
“Why not?”
“It acted like a service animal and never left her side once. Usually, dogs have personality. That one didn’t. It was creepy.”
Reece stared out the windshield. It was after midnight and traffic was still heavy. He missed Uthisca. He’d enjoyed running the OPP detachment because he hated cities. Correction, he disliked the people who lived in cities. He didn’t understand why they were always running from place to place like rats in a maze. He didn’t belong in Toronto, he knew, but he was in love with Sam, a downtown girl through and through.
It would help if he had some friends in the city. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Sam’s friends, but he’d prefer to have a few of his own. He wasn’t desperate enough to pick Derek Martina.
“Is Derek what Canadian politics has come to?” he muttered.
Sam shuddered. “Let’s hope not. At least we don’t have to see them again. In a few days this will be funny.”
“I’ll block it from my memory.” He started the car.
“Let’s go and hug our normal dog.” Sam reached for his hand. “All that Stepford Wives bullshit makes me feel naughty.” She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Come be my sex slave, you subservient male.”
Reece gunned the engine. “I wonder if my ex-OPP rank will garner any favours if we’re stopped for speeding.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Derek
“MELISSA? MELISSA COULD you please come in here,” Derek asked for the third time.
His assistant tapped on the door and entered his office. Timid as a mouse, she hovered by the door, wringing her hands together and avoiding his eyes. Derek sighed in irritation. His assistant’s lack of initiative and cowering mannerisms annoyed the fuck out of him. What was the point of paying an assistant when she wouldn’t do anything helpful?
Once he arrived at the office for a day packed with meetings, he realized he didn’t have his phone. The day had started with Gabriella in one of her delightful moods, and, in his desperation to escape, he’d left his cell in the charger.
He asked Melissa to nip over to his house and grab it. Nick was heading out to Montreal with friends, was out of bed for a change, and would have handed over the phone. His house was a twenty-minute drive. But no, Melissa complained she was an ‘administrative’ assistant, not a ‘personal’ assistant. It wasn’t her job. Bullshit! His firm paid her parking so her car was available in case he needed her to run over to the courthouse. According to Melissa, that was different. That was a professional task whereas helping out her boss by getting his cell wasn’t.
He then asked Nick to swing by his office with the phone, but he refused. They were taking the 401 east to Montreal, and his son didn’t want to ask his buddy to drive downtown. No amount of begging, bribing, or threats would make Nick change his mind. Was it too much to expect one person to show a bit of respect? He paid his assistant’s salary, and he was paying for Nick’s trip. His bad mood was one degree from boiling over.
“Melissa, where’s your computer?” he snapped. “I want to dictate some notes.”
“It’s four-thirty, Mr. Martina,” she mumbled.
He scowled at her. “Are we on government time? Do you have something more important to do?” He was satisfied to see her blush in embarrassment.
“You told me to remind you to pick up your sister-in-law at the airport.”
“Damn it,” he yelled. “The last thing I want to do is hee-haw to the bloody airport in rush hour traffic. Did you check to see if the flight was on time?”
“You didn’t say which flight, sir.”
“I told you it was Air Canada arriving at Pearson. Christ, take some initiative, you’re supposed to be a legal assistant.”
Her blush rose to her hairline. “I need the flight number or the city of origin.”
“West Coast, Vancouver. I don’t have the flight number.”
She p
aused and Derek stared at her with what he hoped was an intimidating expression. If she told him checking a flight arrival also wasn’t in her job description, he’d fire her on the spot.
“I’ll see what I can find, sir.”
She was probably going to call Human Resources to whine. He resisted the urge to march over and slam the door shut.
Why were all the women in his life so damn difficult? Derek sat at his desk brooding about Gabriella. He’d entertained the notion of divorce on more than one occasion, but the child and spousal support the judge would force him to pay would cripple him. He’d had to take a second mortgage on their house to fund his campaign, because he’d maxed out their line of credit for the down payment on his girlfriend’s condo.
Nicholas was nineteen and their daughter was sixteen, but their youngest, Kevin, was thirteen. Unless Gabriella agreed to sell the house, which she wouldn’t do when she found out how much he owed on the property, the court would allow her to reside in the matrimonial home with the three children. He’d be mortgage-poor without the benefit of living in the house.
The nasty truth was that he was broke and barely keeping the creditors at bay. There was only one option. Drastic, for sure, and it would take finesse and great acting skill, but Derek was confident he could pull it off. After all, politics was all about acting and misdirection.
His law partner, Marty, popped his head in the doorway. “Got a minute?”
“No, I have to drive to Pearson airport.”
“You’re in for a long drive, my friend. There’s an accident on the Gardiner westbound. It’ll be easier to go north to the 401. Who are you picking up?” he asked.
“My sister-in-law.” He reached behind his chair for his suit jacket. “She’s coming for a two-week visit.”
Marty was frowning. “I don’t recall Gabriella mentioning family. Don’t they get along?”
“Not all families live in each other’s back pockets like yours,” Derek retorted.
“You should have asked her to use Toronto Island airport.” Marty looked confused. “Doesn’t Gabriella want to pick her up?”
