by Logan Chance
Gabriel
* * *
KISSING CLEMENTINE IS the icing on the cake. It really is. The cake is good, but the icing is so much sweeter. I don’t know what it is, but every time I’m around her, I find myself staring at her lips. Plump. Pink. Perfectly decadent. It’s becoming a serious problem.
I’ve never been this affected by anyone in my entire life. Now I see why my grandfather possibly picked her for me. He knew I’d become obsessed with the mere presence of her, and he thought that would be fun to watch from his spot next to Satan.
The man had issues. And so do I, apparently. It’s wrapped in a plum colored halter dress.
If she can turn it off so easily, so can I. For the most part.
With a semi, I push away from the countertop and stand. “I’ve already sent Mayer home. I’ll have Stefan drive us home together.”
As if I didn’t have my tongue in her mouth mere minutes ago, she slides her phone out of her purse and gives it a once over. “Ok. Tenny has a playdate with Troy, so Erin is bringing him back later. And I have to figure out the bridesmaid dresses tonight.”
I pick up the dirty plates. “Where should I put these?”
“Trash,” she says.
“You throw your plates away?” I ask. “I’ve got more money than I know what to do with and even I don’t throw my plates away.”
She laughs. “They’re plastic. It’s the poor man’s china.”
“Ah.” I toss them in the garbage can while she flutters around the industrial kitchen, packing away the unused cake and icing.
“I just have to clean up here for a few minutes.”
“Let me help you.”
She hands me a damp dish towel. “Careful, a woman can get used to a man who cleans.”
I wink. “I can do a lot more than that too.” Why am I still flirting with this woman? What is she doing to me?
“But can you cook?” she challenges, turning to place a covered bowl in the stainless steel fridge.
Then I say something that even I can’t believe my own ears. “Let me cook for you.”
She whips around to face me, her amber eyes shining bright. “You cook too?”
“Yes. I cook too.” I almost sound like a caveman complete with a brutish tone, and Clementine laughs again.
“Now this I have to see to believe.”
We finish putting everything away and when we leave the shop, she double checks the locks and then we drive back to the estate. On the ride, I send a text to my personal chef to make sure the things I need are stocked.
When Clementine and I enter the house, I head toward the kitchen. “Did you want me to cook you dinner tonight?”
I could easily call the home chef in, even though I texted him and gave him the night off, and have him whip us something up, but I don’t want to do that. I want to impress Clementine for some insane reason.
“Yes, I’m starving.” She moves closer, the sweet smell of her drifting closer as well. “So, what are you making me?”
“I make a mean steak. We could use the grill out back.” I jab a thumb over my shoulder, motioning to the outdoor kitchen complete with a state of the art master grill.
“Sounds perfect.”
She follows me through the house and out onto the expansive patio.
Clementine takes a seat on a stool next to the counter where I’ll be cooking. “Front row seats.”
I ignite the grill, letting it preheat, and then put an apron around my neck.
“This just gets even better,” she says, with a smile. “You have your very own apron.”
I glance down at my ‘An Apron Is Just A Cape On Backwards’ apron, smoothing my hand down the front. “I had this bought as soon as you and Tennyson moved in.” I raise a brow and point my spatula at her. “Don’t let this fool you. I’m a master chef.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to eat then,” she teases me. “It’s too bad Tenny is missing it.”
“We have a whole year.” Those words hit me like a ton of bricks. My mind can’t even process the thought of having to spend nights cooking for Clementine and her son, but it kind of excites me a little.
She doesn’t say anything, just stares at me.
I open the small fridge in my cooking space and pull out the platter with two filets and get to work seasoning the marbled cuts of beef with sea salt and cracked black pepper. Chin in hand, Clementine watches my every move.
“Now, I just need to let my meat rest.” Her eyes shoot up to mine and I grin, bracing my palms on the counter. “You’ve got a dirty mind, Clem.”
“Well...no...I,” she fumbles around, before finding her words, “well, who wouldn’t think that?”
This is all so domesticated. I’ve never had a woman around. And I’ve never cooked for one. It’s something I’ve never experienced before, and I’ll be honest, it’s not horrible. I’m enjoying this—a lot.
“Would you like some wine?”
She nods and I uncork a bottle of red and fill a glass for her. She sips it as I season stalks of asparagus and place them on the upper level of the grill.
The beef sizzles when I set it on the grate, and the heady aroma makes me wonder why I haven’t done this more often.
“It really is beautiful here,” Clementine says, looking at the streaks of pinks in the sky from the setting sun over the mountains. “Makes me wonder if your grandfather appreciated the beauty or if he was focused on building a house to rival it.”
“My grandfather had this house built for my grandmother.”
She turns her attention back to me with wide honeyed eyes. “I can’t picture Joseph Prince in love.”
I laugh. “The Prince men don’t fall in love often, but when they do, apparently, they fall hard.”
She twirls her hair between her fingers. “Have you ever been in love?”
I shake my head. “No. Have you?”
She stares downward. “No.”
“Not even with Tennyson’s father?”
She doesn’t answer for half a heartbeat. “I have something to tell you…” her words fall away and I glance up to give her my full attention.
“Ok, shoot.” I wait for whatever it is Clementine needs to say to me, but she doesn’t say a word. “Change your mind?” I ask as I flip over the steaks on the grill, making sure not to press the spatula down on the meat so it doesn’t lose its juices.
“Maybe later. Tell me about your grandmother.”
I want her to open up to me, but grant her wish as I tell her about my grandmother. “Her name was Rose Marie, and she was a nurse. She loved to bake, just like you. I barely remember her, she died when I was very young.”
She takes a drink of wine, and I continue, “She loved planting roses. She had those rose bushes put in.” I point to the rose bushes lining the garden back gate. “She and my mother would take care of them together.”
Clementine cups her chin in her hand, leaning her elbow on the countertop. “I love roses too. It’s something about their bloom, so big and bright. It lights up a room.”
I stare at her, wondering if she realizes it’s her that lights up any room. “Yeah, I guess.” Our conversation falls into a comfortable lull as I finish cooking. “Hope you’re hungry.”
“Starved.” She peers over her shoulder, back to the roses. “Would it be ok if I tended to the roses sometimes?”
“Seriously?”
She smiles. “Yes, I’d love to.”
“I’ll make sure the groundskeeper knows you’ll be out there.” I turn off the heat and plate the meal. “Ready to eat?”
She nods. “Looks delicious.”
I can’t stop staring at her lips. And I don’t know how I’ll be able to handle a whole meal with this woman sitting across from me. Every time I’ve seen her eat it’s like watching porn. She makes me hard with just a soft moan from her lips.
We move over to the patio table. “Bon appetit,” I tell her.
“Can I ask you something?” she says, taking a seat.<
br />
“Sure.”
“You’ll keep me and Tennyson safe, won’t you?”
I stare into her worried eyes. “Of course, I will.”
The tension in her shoulders eases and she relaxes a bit. “Thank you.” She takes a bite. “Mmm, this is delicious.”
I could say the same thing about her lips. And I want to find out if the rest of her tastes just as sweet.
SIX
Clementine
* * *
“I’M SO happy to be away from work,” Erin says, rifling through a rack of expensive bridesmaids dresses. “Oh, I like this.” She holds up a long pink dress.
I park a hand on my hip. “Really? I’d never peg you for a pink dress kinda girl.”
I’ve lost her. She doesn’t answer me, and her eyes lock on something by the entrance of the store.
I follow her gaze and spot Jordan walking in, holding a clear bag with a peach dress inside.
“Oh no, why’s he here?” she whispers, still holding onto the pink dress like she can’t believe her very own eyes.
“I’m sure it’s some wedding detail.”
Jordan gives a half-smile when he sees us, and makes his way through the store to us. “Hey, ladies,” he says.
Erin must pick up on some body cue, and immediately asks him, “What’s wrong?”
“The wedding is off.” He rubs his hand across the five-o’clock shadow that’s more of a past midnight beard. “It’s a mess.”
I grab the dress from Erin’s hand and put it back on the rack. “I’m so sorry.”
Erin rubs Jordan’s shoulder with a comforting caress. “I’m really sorry, too. If you ever need to talk, or anything.”
“Thanks, I’m just returning my sister’s bridesmaid dress.”
I step away, letting Erin console her friend, and wander to the front of the store while they discuss Jordan’s wedding, or lack thereof.
Outside of the glass store front, people amble by, and I watch for a minute, wondering if they’re doing things they want to do or have to do. Like me. Across the street, a man in a ball cap stands, shoulder propped against the brick corner of a coffee shop, staring right at me. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I can’t make out his face, so I inch a little closer to the window.
Is he watching me?
He turns away, and slips into the shadows of the alley.
“What are you doing?” Erin asks and I nearly jump out of my skin. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah.” I wipe a few strands of hair off my forehead. “You just scared me.”
Erin looks me up and down before turning to gaze out the window. “You sure?”
I nod, trying to convince myself that he was just a stranger standing there for any other reason but me. “I’m sure.” I turn my attention to a long, silky lavender dress hanging on the rack. “How about this?”
“Oh, I love that,” she says, removing it.
As Erin tries on the gown in the dressing room, my phone beeps. I pull it out and nearly drop it when I read the text from an unknown number— “I see you.”
“MOMMY, CAN YOU READ ME A STORY,” Tennyson says after his bath later in the evening. After I left the dress shop, I headed straight to Tenny’s daycare to grab him early. I’ve felt scatterbrained since the text came through. And I want nothing more than to just lay with Tennyson and forget about all of this madness.
“Of course.”
I do a quick brush of his hair, and make sure he brushes his teeth before we head off to his bedroom. It’s strange being here. I constantly find myself looking over my shoulder wondering where Gabriel is. Almost as if his eyes are on me all the time. Most nights I spy on him out in the courtyard, flying his drone in silence. All alone, controlling the scraps of metal and plastic, flying them higher and higher into the summer night sky.
It’s almost soothing watching him, alone in my room, making sure he can’t see me spying.
But, now after the meeting with Ronin and everything else going on, I feel like a whole new set of eyes are on me—Bishop’s. And I don’t know what to do about it.
Part of me just wants to tell Gabriel everything. Let him in on the burden that has plagued me for years. He said he’d protect me. It would be so easy to let him take care of everything.
But, I don’t know if I can.
“One story,” I say, sitting on the bed with him after I tuck him under his Batman covers.
“Two, please?” His big brown eyes stare up at me, and how can you say no to this face?
“Ok, two.”
I grab his favorite books and start on the first page, feeling the stress of the day empty as I lay my head next to his. I’m out before I even make it to the second book, all the excitement and mayhem of the afternoon finally catching up to me.
“Clementine? You awake?” Gabriel’s voice calls from my dreams. “Clementine.”
I feel his hand touch my cheek and I no longer know if I’m dreaming or fully awake. I jerk upright in the bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Gabriel, what time is it?”
“It’s still early, not even nine.”
I glance over at a sleeping Tennyson. “I must have fallen asleep reading him his story.”
“I have something to show you,” Gabriel says. “It just arrived today.”
I stand, doing a little stretch, before I follow him out of the room and down the staircase.
Gabriel walks with long, easy strides into the living room. “Now, I didn’t know where you’d want this.”
My eyes widen at the sight of the painting resting against the couch. It’s the painting I stared at all night long at the benefit Gabriel and I attended. The same one where I met one of Bishop’s men with the cowboy hat.
“Is that for me?” I ask, stepping closer to it.
“Yeah, I bought it.” His usually hard demeanor softens. “I knew you liked it and I wanted you to have it.”
I gaze back at the painting, finding my favorite soft pink strokes on the canvas, letting it calm my nerves. The same way it soothed me as Bishop’s man tried to throw me for a loop.
“You really bought this for me?” I step even closer wanting to make sure it’s really here and not a dream.
He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but to me it’s the biggest. “Yes.”
I want to hug him, and normally, I probably would, but I need to get some of this weight off my shoulders. “Can we talk?” I ask, moving to sit on the couch. I don’t really know who to trust anymore.
“Sure.” He crosses his arms, crossing the room to join me.
“Are there people trying to stop our wedding?” I already know the answer, but I want to know what Gabriel has planned to keep Bishop away and anyone else who may have an issue with it.
“Did someone tell you that?” His eyes don’t waver from mine, and the intense stare he’s throwing my way makes me uneasy about whether to trust him. He’s suspicious and I fear I may have taken this all too far.
I shake my head.
“Then why do you ask?”
“Just answer the question.”
“Sit down,” he says. “I need to tell you something I should have told you before. There’s a man, Bishop Blackstone, and let’s just say he’s very involved.”
“Involved how?”
“He doesn’t want us to get married. He wants to see me vulnerable.”
“Is he dangerous?” Once again, I already know the answer. I’ve known the answer since the first moment I stared into the dark eyes of Bishop Blackstone. I’ve known since the first time he hurt my family. But I want to know Gabriel isn’t afraid of him.
“No. Yes, but he’s nothing I can’t handle.”
Gabriel actually believes the words he says, and it makes me want to believe it too. He’s already told me more than I could have ever expected.
“Are you sure?”
“You have nothing to worry about. I told you I would keep you safe and I meant it,” Gabriel assures me.
“I j
ust know mafia…” My voice falters. I messed up and we both know it. “I mean…”
“Who told you Bishop was mafia?”
I shake my head, trying my best to get myself out of the corner I’ve trapped myself in. “I..uhh…” I don’t know how to answer his question. How do I tell him that I’ve known Bishop for years, maybe even better than Gabriel knows him?
“Ok, look, I’m not going to lie to you. Yes, Bishop Blackstone is head of an organized crime family in the South Seas. They’re into some pretty bad things, but I have a feeling you already know this.”
“Are you in the mafia?” I cut him off, remembering all the men always close by, hoping he’ll forget my mess up.
He levels me with two words, “Define mafia?”
That’s not what I expected him to say. “You know, bad guys, murderers. Fuhgeddaboudit.”
His brow raises. “Fuhgeddaboudit?”
“Yeah, like wiseguys and such.”
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Clementine, I’m not the type of mafia you think I am.”
“But you are...mafia?” There’s no pounding heart in my chest anymore—it stops.
“It’s complicated. Let me explain.”
I bound from the couch. “I can’t believe this.” I can’t breathe. “My son is here. You said we were safe.” I seriously can’t breathe. Call a doctor.
Gabriel stands from the couch in one fluid motion, like a man with grace, or like a mob boss would do. “Clementine, if you’d let me explain.”
“I don’t want to hear it.” I’m going to be sick, my stomach clenches tightly. “Have you killed people?”
“No,” he says so loudly I swear it rumbles the house a bit. “I’ve never killed anyone. Clementine.” He lightly touches my arm. “Let me explain.”
I’m afraid of what he might say. What have I gotten myself into? What has Joseph Prince gotten me into? “You’ve never killed anyone?” I reiterate, needing to hear it again to calm my overactive nerves.
“No, Clementine. I’ve never killed anyone. When you think mafia, you think Godfather and Scarface. I’m not even Italian. I’m not a made man, or anything like that.”
“Ronin said we needed to be careful with Bishop Blackstone,” I accidentally blurt out. Gah, Gabriel has me so turned around, not knowing which way is up or down, and I mess up again.
