They all laughed, feeling like a band of conspirators huddled together drinking wine in the middle of the afternoon, untouched by the storm yet to come.
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
Jessica finished straightening her hair, feeling better after the nap, wine, and shower combination. Excitement stirred in the depths of her eyes that had nothing to do with the promotion that they were celebrating. She could have it all—correct that, did have it all. To hell with the doubters.
She stuffed a handful of aspirin into her mouth before gulping them down with a glass of water. The headache from earlier had subsided somewhat, but a dull throb persisted against her forehead.
Jacques stepped behind her, dressed more formally than she had ever seen him in a black suit with matching black shirt and tie. Freshly shaven, he rested his chin on the top of her head and met her gaze in the mirror. His fingers trailed down the length of her bare arms.
"Look at us, all grown up, dressed to kill, and going out with friends," she said after putting the glass next to the sink.
He smiled, gaze still on hers. "Older but still hot."
"Hey, no joking about being older."
"Age looks good on you."
"Marc will be there." She felt him stiffen behind her, noticed the slight hardening of his eyes, even as his hands continued their gentle caress of her arms.
"Are you ever going to explain your relationship to him? He and I didn't exactly like each other when he visited you in Italy. He's a leech. I didn't trust him then and find it interesting that you do now."
"Marc and I...we're complicated."
"Do you have an aversion to simple?" He winked before pushing her hair aside and kissing her neck.
"Look who's talking."
"I suppose I deserve that." He dropped his hands from her arms.
"No, actually, you didn't. I'm sorry." She stepped away, a tinge of guilt flexing in her heart for their time apart and all that had transpired. She twisted the ring on her finger before pulling it free and slipping it from her right hand to the left, the significance of her action fueling her determination to not be like her mother or her grandmother. They had each chosen love or career, but she intended to have it all. "From now on, we're simple together."
"I'm not sure that's realistic." He grabbed her left hand and looked at the ring on her finger. "Do you remember my proposal?"
"Every word." She grinned, feeling the flutter in her heart and wishing that the world outside would just let them be.
"I can't promise you a villa in Florence—"
"But you bought one already."
"Or a life without turmoil—"
"Check."
"But I can promise that I will wake up every morning eager to talk to you. I can promise you that I want to share every adventure with you for the rest of my life and that I will love you until I die." He squeezed her hand and repeated the words he had said so long ago in Rome in front of a fountain while they had danced to the music of a street musician. "Marry me, Jessica Moriarty. Be my wife. Let's be extraordinary together."
"I've never loved anyone like I've loved you." She flattened her hands against his chest, stood on tiptoes, and kissed him. "I said yes then after a few months and I'm saying yes again after a few days."
"No running away this time?"
"That goes for you, too."
"We need to learn to be simple together again, like we used to be." His mouth moved over hers in a feather-like touch that stirred desire deep in her gut.
"And I promise to leave a note if I ever need to leave unexpectedly."
"We will add that into our vows. Leave notes. Be simple. Say I love you every day." He stepped back and pulled his own ring from his right hand. She took it from him and placed it onto his left ring finger, the significance of the moment binding them.
"We can do this." She met his gaze.
"You sound like a coach when you say that."
"I've read a lot of motivational books over the past few years. Think positive and all of that." She smiled, wanting to skip the next few weeks of whatever the hell was about to happen and get to the good stuff of simply being together every day.
You're going to fuck it up, there's no way this is going to work. Wait and see, doubt whispered and caused her smile to shake.
He smiled, dimples piercing his cheeks, and shook his head. "What am I going to do with you, Jessica Moriarty?"
"Oh, I can think of a few things I'd like to do with you, Jacques Sinclair. But first," She tilted her head at the sound of her front door opening and Sela's voice greeting Marc, "we have some things to get out of the way."
"Your friends really love you." He tugged on one of the curls that skimmed her neck. "They're going to a lot of trouble to celebrate your promotion."
"Not all of them." From trembling smile to no smile at all, she sighed and rested her head briefly against his shoulder. "We had better go. For better or worse and all of that."
"Your enthusiasm for this dinner is blowing me away." He released her, sat on the edge of the bed, and slipped into his scuffed black boots. The contrast between his suit and footwear made him look like a kid playing dress up. A thick strand of blond hair fell across his eyes when he met her gaze. "What?"
"I love your boots."
"I didn't pack—"
"No, I mean it." She laced her fingers through his and tugged. "I love your boots. They're perfect."
Side by side, they walked down the hallway toward the sound of voices. The tension grew with each step. Behind closed doors, they were perfect, but out here, well, she worried more than she would admit.
Marc lounged with his hip against the back of the sofa, his arm loosely draped around a blonde she'd seen once or twice at McDougal's. Sela chatted with them and looked stunning in the borrowed blue dress. Kevin came through the door, looking frazzled, and smiled when all eyes focused on him.
"Where did you go?" Jacques asked.
"Simone called...I went outside to take it and locked myself out. The kid from downstairs let me in." Kevin met Jacques' gaze, lingered as if trying to communicate telepathically.
"Is everything okay?" she asked, not really wanting the answer.
"Yes, it's all as good as it possibly could be." Kevin absently straightened his tie before turning his attention to the newcomers. "I'm Kevin, the assistant."
"I'm Marc, also the assistant it seems." He shook Kevin's hand. "This is Tiffany." Marc turned, his gaze firmly set on Jacques. "I never thought I'd see you again, yet here you are."
"Here I am, you're as observant as usual." Jacques ignored the outstretched hand and nodded toward the upstairs. "Weren't you going to show that schedule to me before we left? It's on your iPad, right?"
Kevin blinked at him for a minute. "Ohhhhh...yes. The iPad thing. The schedule. Yes. We need to look at that right away, it can't wait."
"Do I need to look at this schedule?" She rubbed sweaty palms over her hips, gaze darting between Jacques and Kevin.
"I think I should probably be looped in on the schedule, too." Sela set her glass aside and walked toward the stairs.
"What's the big deal about the schedule?" Marc squinted at all of them. "Don't we have reservations at eight? What's going on?"
"Kevin and I can handle it." Jacques put his hands on her shoulders and grinned. "We'll be right back. Have a glass of wine. It's your night to celebrate, yes?"
She sure as hell didn't feel like celebrating. She met Tiffany's gaze and grinned. "I'm glad you could make it. I think we've met before, haven't we?"
"Yes, I work at Pearson and Smithe." Tiffany shook her hand, blue eyes sparkling with knowledge. "I hear our accidents have followed the project over to you all. Our loss."
A chill went through her and she dropped the woman's hand. "All the men in my life love talking, it's the strangest thing. Yes, we had a fire, nothing quite as disastrous as what you guys dealt with, I hear."
She surveyed the woman from head-to-toe.
Not Marc's usual bimbo by any means, this woman screamed classy from her sleek blonde hair that skimmed her shoulders to the white dress that hugged the curves of her body without revealing too much skin.
"We've been dating for several months. I thought it was time she met my friends. This dinner felt like the perfect event." Marc leaned close behind Tiffany, his gaze filled with a challenge. "I sent a car to pick up your mom. I knew you wouldn't want her taking the T this late at night and know she can't afford a taxi. She's meeting us at the restaurant. I didn't think you would want her to miss your big night, what with your fiancé in town and everything."
Fuck you, she screamed at him in her mind and hoped that the words transmitted via mind waves. Smiling, she accepted the wine glass from Sela.
"Fiancé?" Sela looked down at her left hand. "Your ring...you switched it to the left hand...are you and Jacques engaged again?"
"Yes, we're making it official," the last word choked her throat. Nerves shook her hand as she lifted the glass to her lips.
"Well, that's fast. Less than a—" Sela stopped herself and shook her head. "I mean to say, congratulations. It's a long time coming. You finally got smart and snagged the sexy Belgian. Good for you."
"Yes, congratulations." Tiffany raised her glass in a toast, her smile appearing genuine. "My, you have a lot to celebrate tonight, don't you?"
"If we were smart, we'd be eloping to Vegas," she muttered against the rim of her glass, wishing them all away.
"Why? Don't you think you'll make it for the long haul if you wait more than a minute?" Marc smiled, his hand resting lightly on Tiffany's shoulder.
Footsteps on the stair behind them indicated the return of Jacques and Kevin who both seemed lost in thought. Watching Jacques and knowing the trouble he faced, she couldn't help but think of the carefree man she had known in Italy. Every day had been an adventure filled with laughter and passion. She wanted that feeling back, wanted to make him laugh like that again, wanted the ease, wanted the freedom to do whatever the hell they wanted to do when they wanted to do it.
"I need to go," he said when he reached her side. Regret loomed in the depths of his eyes.
"Now?" Dread swirled in the pit of her stomach.
"Yes." He stared into her eyes as if wishing to communicate telepathically. Unfortunately, that part of her brain that used to read his thoughts no longer worked.
"Your fiancé is missing your dinner? What a shame." Marc smiled his I-Know-Everything smile.
Jacques twisted his head to look at the other man. "I will make it up to her, don't worry."
She stood a bit taller, straightened her spine, and wished that she'd canceled the dinner. "We should go. Everything is fine. Time to celebrate."
Jacques shoved his hands through his hair and glanced at Kevin who shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Both men looked like they wanted to flee the country. The thought made her hesitate.
Sela opened the door and ushered them out. She met Jessica's gaze and whispered, "Maybe you need to distance yourself from him for a few weeks until things settle down."
"That's what he suggested and I already said no."
"But—"
She met Jacques' gaze when she turned to close the door. "You'll be here when I get back?"
He shook his head 'no' and said, "Trust me."
She remained quiet as they piled into two waiting taxis and looked up at the glow of her apartment window. Sam, the downstairs' neighbor, walked down the steps and waved at them. She grinned, but when her attention went back to the window, the light had gone out.
She twisted in her seat in time to see Jacques and Kevin walking out of the front door, each on a cell phone.
"Do you trust him?" Sela asked. "Are you sure he isn't playing you for a revenge scheme, perhaps making you fall for him again just to break your heart?"
She whipped her head around and gaped at her friend. "How can you say that?"
"Because it would be the ultimate revenge, wouldn't it? You left him, now he's leaving you." Sela shrugged. "Do you trust him or not?"
"I do, I trust him," she said, once again hating this idea of a mid-week dinner.
Sela reached over and squeezed her hand. "Then I do, too."
"That easy, huh?"
"You're my friend, Jessie. If you trust him, so do I." Sela looked at the cab following him. "What's up with Marc and Tiffany? She came out of the blue, didn't she?"
"I'm not so sure." She thought of the accidents at the other architecture firm. "I'm beginning to think Marc is a very calculated person. He really doesn't like me being his boss."
"You're his boss?" Sela frowned. "I knew you were promoted but—"
"It's a recent development. He's not happy about it." She bit the corner of her lip, questions about where Jacques had gone consuming her thoughts. "I do trust Jacques, Sela. I need you to be on my side about this."
"Sides? I didn't realize I needed to choose a side, but if I do, yes, I'll have your back." Sela sighed. "Does he have any sexy friends?"
"Actually..." she thought of Carter and laughed, "he does. Do you like documentaries?"
"Does the man making the documentaries look like Jacques?"
"Well, no one looks exactly like Jacques, but Carter is handsome. He's British."
"Mmm...a man with an accent who makes documentaries. When does Carter come to town?" Sela scooted closer.
They filled the short cab ride with laughter and stories of Carter's past misadventures. But when she stepped from the cab, her smile faded.
Julie danced to a tune no one else could hear, her face full of rapture, as she hummed and twirled around strangers who looked like they were about to call the police.
"Isn't that your mother?" Sela asked, having only met Julie twice years ago.
Her heart fell to the bottom of her chest. She swallowed hard. "Yes, that's my mom."
She went to Julie and grabbed her arm, reassuring the onlookers that she would handle the problem. Sela walked next to her without saying a word.
Jane stood near the door, a look of apology on her face, and said, "I'm sorry, Jessie, I called the police. I didn't recognize your mother and she was causing a scene on the street, actually accosted a man who she thought looked like someone named Edward."
"My dad," she muttered, ashamed that her friends were witnessing this. She had fought for years to hide this part of her life. "Edward is my dad's name."
"Oh." Jane and Sela said simultaneously, their gaze connecting over Julie's head.
Marc and Tiffany stood behind her. "Is there something you want us to do?" Marc asked.
"Just go inside, I'll deal with this," she said as a police car parked next to the curb. With a sigh, she looked at her oblivious mother and wished she didn't hate her and love her at the same time. "All of you can go inside, enjoy your night without me. I'll be fine."
"We'll come with you," Jane said, obviously feeling badly for being the one to call the police. "I didn't know...I thought she would get hurt or hurt someone else."
"Yes, we'll come with you." Sela studied her mom's upturned face. "What is she on?"
"Probably heroin, I don't know." She straightened when the policemen approached. She glanced around at the crowd they had attracted in front of one of the trendiest restaurants in town, noticed all the eyes that averted as she looked at the faces of the pretty and perfect.
"Who is responsible for this woman?"
"I am." She patted her mother's hand before relinquishing control to the policeman. "I am her daughter."
"I don't have a daughter!" Julie screamed, eyes suddenly wide and terrified as she glanced at the three women surrounding her. "Who are you? They're abducting me, they are. Don't trust them. They killed my daughter and are pretending so they can get my money."
Defeated, Jessica said, "She has no money. She's delusional."
Over Julie's head, she met Marc's gaze and stepped back when she saw him smiling as if enjoying their little show. He had sent his mother a c
ar...and what else? Had there been some party treats for her to enjoy the ride? Only he knew the whole story. Then she saw Charlie and his wife, Stella, standing the near the doorway. Marc must have invited them.
Maybe she had trusted the wrong person with her secrets.
She twisted the hem of her dress in her hands as they rode in a taxi behind the police car. "You two don't need to come with me, I've done this before a million times."
Jane gripped her wrist. "Why do you think you need to do everything alone?"
"It's okay to lean on your friends," Sela added. "I thought we were closer than this."
"It's not something I like to admit."
"Kind of like the fiance and the reasons you two ended so long ago? Kind of like that? I feel like you're two different people." Jane released her hand and looked out the window. "Marc knew and not us? How is that possible?"
She bit back all of the excuses she had used over the years. None of them felt right anymore. "It's not easy being the child of an alcoholic," she whispered to no one in particular. "I spent my life either covering up for her or doing backflips trying to get her approval, all the while hoping that she meant it when she promised it would be the last time. I don't want to make excuses as to why Marc knew and you two didn't. It wasn't a matter of trust...it just happened."
"Is that why you went to Italy?" Jane asked. "Were you trying to break free?"
She smiled at the memory of her first hours in Italy. "I went to Italy because I wanted to see what it would be like to do whatever I wanted when I damn well pleased. I met a boy. We fell in love. I hung out with artists and adventures and we'd get drunk every night and sleep as late as we wanted. I created artwork I happily hung in a local gallery. I went there for myself and no one else."
"And you fell in love with a boy..." Sela pressed her shoulder against hers.
"Yeah, I did." She looked down at her folded hands in her lap and blinked back tears. "But then mom nearly died and I came home early. She tried to kill herself."
"Oh, my God, and you didn't tell us?" Jane again shook her head. "Would you have told us if she died or would you have buried her yourself with only Marc there to console you? Damn it, Jessie. You're not alone. We're your family, we've always said so."
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