by Maya Blake
His heart sank a little at the distinct slur in her words. The affectionate but meaningless term she threw out stuck in his craw, too.
“I mean it, Ana.”
“Ana? When are you going to start calling me Mom?”
When hell freezes over.
“Do you really want to me to call you that when you’ve done nothing to earn it?” he tossed out. Then sighed under his breath when her eyes grew shiny with unshed tears.
“I will earn it very soon, Gabe,” she muttered fiercely, then stood, swaying in her six-inch heels before steadying herself. “But until then, I’m going to find someone else to cheer me up. You’re bringing me down big time.”
She walked off, smiled and waved at a few strangers who warily waved back. She gave an almost childlike giggle, then headed around the dining table. She stopped to chat with Luc and Rachel before sitting down in the vacant seat next to Rafe. Gabe told himself he wasn’t bothered that his birth mother seemed to have gotten close to Rafe in the past few weeks. Whatever Ana was up to, he would find out sooner or later.
He always did.
* * *
Thom glanced at his wife and bit his tongue against voicing another concerned query. Elana’s sullen silences were getting to him, but for the life of him he couldn’t fathom a way to get through to her other than asking if she was okay. So far, all he’d received were her sometimes subdued, sometimes snapped responses that she was fine.
He wanted to think that she was adjusting to married life, but what the hell did he know? His own learning curve was so steep sometimes he wondered how he was holding on. Sometimes the urge to just let go, free-fall onto his ass, was more than tempting.
But he’d made a vow to her. One he intended to stick to. At all costs. No matter how agonizingly impossible it seemed at times.
He sipped his wine, glanced at his wife again. Her pinched face told him she wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He took a deep breath, looked past her to where Rafe sat next to her.
He too was staring into his drink. A quick glance around the table showed that the only member of the Santiago-Marshall family genuinely having a good time was Ana. And she was busy flirting with the maître d’.
Great.
He propped his arm on the back of Elana’s chair and spoke across her. “So, Rafe, how’s work going?”
Rafe jerked in surprise, glanced at him, then leaned back with a shrug. “Business is great.” He paused for moment, then flicked a glance at Thom. “You?”
Thom smiled. “Everyone wants bigger and better. Square footage, that is.”
Rafe grinned, and his face transformed from handsome to heartthrob. Thom’s gut clenched tight with feelings he refused to acknowledge. “Yeah, I bet,” Rafe sniggered.
“Excuse me,” Elana muttered, grabbed her purse and left the table before Thom could ask her, yet again, if she was okay.
“I’m thinking it’s probably time to invest in real estate. Got any recommendations?” Rafe asked, turning in his seat to face Thom.
Thom, his wife temporarily forgotten, drained his glass before he answered. “Santa Barbara’s a good place to start if you’re inclined toward urban living. Our projections for property appreciation are sound for the next five years. Of course there are no guarantees, but I don’t think you can go wrong. If that’s not what you’re looking for, then the usual suspects apply. Stay away from Malibu, though, unless you have your heart dead set on it. Prices there are fucking ridiculous, unless your last name is Midas.”
Rafe’s grin widened. “Got it.” He stared into his glass for a moment before his gaze connected with Thom’s. “If you’re not too busy, maybe we can get talk about it some more when we get back home?”
Thom shrugged and moved into Elana’s seat. “Pass me that bottle of wine you’re hogging and I’ll be happy to get the ball rolling right now.”
“Damn, you’re not even hired and you’re already costing me big,” Rafe ribbed as he handed over the bottle of Lafite Rothschild he’d ordered. Thom leaned forward and reached for it just as Ana laughed at a joke at the far end of the table.
His fingers closed on the cold bottle. And Rafe’s warm fingers. Electricity jolted up his fingers, along his palm and arm. The deeply unsettling sensation froze him in place for a charged second before he jerked the bottle out of Rafe’s grasp.
He watched his brother-in-law’s eyes widen before his brows clenched in a deep, forbidding frown. Thom opened his mouth, to say who the fuck knew what. No words emerged, probably because the electricity had traveled to his brain and was busy frying his every thought.
“Um, can I have my seat back, Thom?”
He jerked back at the sound of Elana’s voice.
Elana. His wife.
Fuck.
How could he sit there, staring at another man—at his brother-in-law, for fuck’s sake—with sensations tumbling through him that were spreading decisively toward his groin?
He twisted in his seat, away from Rafe. Setting the bottle on the table in front of him, he made a show of pulling back Elana’s chair, then taking her hand to help her sit down. When he was sure she was settled, he risked a glance at Rafe.
The look on his face shriveled Thom’s insides. He recognized the bewilderment just as clearly as he recognized the guilt that flitted across his brother-in-law’s features a second later. They hadn’t done anything wrong, but if Rafe had felt that wild frisson, too, then...hell. Had he? He searched his expression, then his heart dropped as Rafe’s countenance turned carefully neutral. And since there was fuck all he could do about it, now or ever, he too turned away and carried on with his night.
* * *
Fucking hell.
Rafe clenched his jaw and sucked in a deep breath.
When the hell was he going to learn not to let his guard down? Had he given himself away? Damn, did Thom think he was hitting on him? He hadn’t meant to. They’d just been having a tension-free conversation. For once. Hadn’t they?
It’d been going so well.
Right up until that contact. He’d seen Thom’s face, knew he’d felt that same charge when they’d touched.
Under the table, Rafe flexed his fingers on his thigh. The spark hadn’t been only on his part. Maybe it was wrong, and yes, he felt a little guilty, but shit, it’d felt so right! But that didn’t mean he’d intended to do anything about it.
Thom was his sister’s husband, for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t very well voice his thoughts here and now, but maybe he could transmit his thoughts to Thom, tell him it was no big deal.
He turned with that intention in mind. Except Thom had lost all interest in him. His sole focus was on his wife.
This was going to be a long fucking dinner.
* * *
Luc was having as good a time as he could in the grand scheme of things. He didn’t doubt his merry state of mind was aided by the endless shots of Jägermeister he’d instructed the waiter to keep sending his way. Luckily, having gotten them all here, and with the requisite exposure to the media achieved, his mother had mellowed and was no longer barking orders at all of them. Rachel, too, for that matter had suspended talk of wedding planners, venues, seating charts and, holy hell, babies for the time being.
This evening could be salvaged after all. The thought had barely formed when a familiar figure walked into the restaurant. “Fuck. What the hell is he doing here?”
“Who?” Rachel asked.
“Joe,” he snapped, then glanced sharply at his mother when her head whiplashed toward the new—unwanted—comer.
Luc watched his father’s right-hand man approach, his smile cordial until it reached his mother. Whereupon it turned into something...more.
A slow well of anger pulsed in his belly. At first he’d refused to believe what Vanessa had told him ab
out his mother and Joe. Then he’d assumed the ostrich position, aided by other unfolding crises within his family. Now he couldn’t deny that whatever was going between them was still happening. The only person he’d seen his mother’s face light up for that way was his father. The father she was betraying by sleeping with his best friend while he lay in a coma. Fuck, could his family be any more messed up?
“Joe, we weren’t expecting you. What are you doing here?”
Luc was glad Gabe had asked the question. He wasn’t sure he would’ve phrased it as politely.
Joe spread his arms. “I thought as Harrison’s business partner, I could make myself useful to you for the nightclub opening. In case there are any last-minute hiccups—not that I’m expecting any, of course.”
Luc swore under his breath. His mother was seated at the far end of the table, but she still sent him a withering warning glance. This time, Luc couldn’t summon enough emotion to care.
“That’s very good of you, old man,” he said loudly. Then he pulled out the empty chair next to his. “Here, have a seat. I have a few business questions you might be able to help me with.”
“Yes, Joe, come over to the fun part of the table. We won’t bite,” his tía added cheekily, patting the same seat Luc had pulled out.
Joe eyed the seat next to Mariella for a moment. Then, with the same cordial nod Luc was beginning to detest, he walked around the table and sat down.
* * *
Ana bit the inside of her lower lip to keep from bursting with laughter. Seriously, did her sister think she was doing a good job of hiding the fact that she had a very big thing going on with Joe? She’d all but jumped out of her skin with girlish excitement when the man had walked in.
On the one hand, Ana was proud of her sister for getting some while the getting was good. And the glances these two were flicking at each other when they thought they weren’t being observed announced that loud and clear. Ana knew good sex.
But on the other hand, it sucked that Mariella once again had a man eating out of her hand. For God’s sake, it seemed her older sister only needed to blink in a man’s direction to have him falling all over her.
It was getting a little old to be relegated to second best once again. And quite nauseating to watch. But there was no reason not to get some entertainment out of this.
She slicked her tongue over her lips as Joe sat down next to her. Although he smiled at her, it was clear his attention was straining toward the far end of the table. She leaned in closer, made sure her cleavage was on full show.
“What can my gorgeous waiter get you, Joe? You look like a whiskey neat guy. Are you?” she inquired.
“Yeah, sure, why not?”
“Why not indeed.” She snapped her fingers, and the waiter sprang forward. “A whiskey for darling Joe, and another cocktail for me, Angus.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“I told you, it’s Ana.”
The young waiter blushed and nodded. “Of course, Ana.”
As he went off to get their drinks, she sighed and leaned closer to Joe. “These young ones. So much training required for the smallest thing, don’t you agree?”
“Hmm,” he responded noncommittally. His gaze started to stray toward Mariella.
Ana crossed her legs under the table, kicked off one heel and slid it up his calf. He visibly jerked in his seat.
Then he began to sweat.
She bit her lip again, hard, to stop from spluttering with laughter. He tried to withdraw his leg. She followed.
He made a pained noise under his breath.
“Are you all right, Joe?”
He jerked out a nod. “Yes. Fine.”
“Great. Here are our drinks now.”
She patted Angus the waiter on his beefy bicep and let her touch linger for another moment while she enjoyed his profuse blushing. Aware she was attracting disapproving looks, she finally glanced down to the head of the table and winked at her sister. Mariella’s eyes screamed bloody murder, but Ana knew the last thing her sister wanted was for her perfect evening to be spoiled. Smug that she wouldn’t receive any lip from that direction, she turned back to the man she was willing to bet her last diamond ring was Mariella’s lover. “So, what shall we drink to, Joe?” She batted her eyes at him.
“Since we’re all here for one thing—to have a successful opening tonight, and a great ball tomorrow—I propose we drink to that.”
She curled her leg around his and smiled wide. “I couldn’t agree more.” She clinked her glass to his and raised her cocktail high. “Salud!”
* * *
“Oh my God, did you see that?”
“Yeah, I’m live tweeting it right now!”
“My Insta followers are loving it.”
“This is gah-mazing!”
Mariella silently lapped up the gasped accolades from the crowd gathered on the red carpet as the cast of Cirque du Soleil leaped and twisted through the air. When she got back to Santa Barbara, she would ensure her publicist received a nice little bonus for pulling off this brilliant piece of entertainment. The first act had gone down well, but it looked like acrobats were the in thing with the A-listers these days.
She clapped and smiled as the fireworks marking the denouement of the performance ripped through the air. Beside her, her children followed suit. They’d thankfully dialed down their bickering at Opus Marshall in favor of presenting a united front for the ribbon-cutting ceremony at Club Elana.
The media was dutifully recording every action and smile. With any luck, they would be splashed across the papers come morning.
She heard a tinkling laugh behind her and fought not to grit her teeth.
Ana was drunk. Very, very drunk. Mariella knew the only reason her sister hadn’t face-planted on the red carpet was because Joe and Gabe were taking turns propping her up. Although Ana seemed to be leaning more on Joe than on Gabe. Or was Joe’s assistance by choice rather than necessity? They’d certainly had a lot to whisper about back at the restaurant.
She tried to stem the anger and jealousy twisting through her. What business had she to be jealous when she was being unfaithful herself? But hell, she couldn’t stand watching her sister sink her claws into yet another man who...what? Belonged to her?
What right did she have to Joe when she was still married to Harrison? When her life was threatening to unravel before her eyes?
The performance came to a rousing end. Keeping the smile pinned on her face was the worst form of torture, but somehow she managed to pull it off.
With Luc and Rafe on either side of her and Elana and Thom completing the supportive line, they posed for the row of cameras stationed before them and cut the wide black satin ribbon that officially opened Club Elana.
Mariella exchanged hugs and kisses with her family, taking care to avoid Ana’s shifty gaze as she air-kissed her sister. She offered Joe her cheek when he moved close, then hurriedly moved away.
Together, they all headed inside the nightclub. Although she’d been there during the week for a final inspection, Mariella’s breath still caught at what Rafe and Harrison’s architects had managed to pull off.
Giant crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting stunning light on the large gold and burgundy space. Sumptuous club seats invited patrons to linger and indulge in the wide array of expensive drinks in close proximity to the bar that took up the entire south wall of the nightclub. On the opposite end of the room, the VIP lounges offered even more decadent luxury, with roped-off cubicles available for those with cash to burn.
The dance floor was large and inviting and sparkling with silver-studded black tiles, which caught and drew the eye under a set of strobe lights. And against the backdrop of the dance floor, a world-renowned DJ specially flown in from Iceland was suspended in his cubicle halfway up t
he wall, busy putting the finishing touches on his setup.
“Congratulations, Mariella. The place looks amazing!” Rachel gushed.
“Thank you.” She smiled at her future daughter-in-law before excusing herself to head to the middle of the dance floor, where a stage had been set up. Her hand shook slightly as she picked up the mic. Suddenly, the words she’d practiced feverishly for days evaporated from her brain.
The gathering crowd gave her another minute of respite as she fought to gather her thoughts. So much had happened to bring her to this point. Maybe too much? Had she bitten off more than she could chew?
Her gaze swept over the crowd, over Joe and Ana, Thom and Rachel. It swept over her children. She read the silent support in their faces. Then she locked eyes with Gabe.
His solid, solemn nod firmed her spine.
Her hand tightened around the mic. “Welcome, everyone, to Club Elana. When Harrison and I had the idea to open a string of nightclubs across the country, everyone thought we were crazy. Our chief financial officer certainly thought we ought to be committed.” She paused for the obligatory round of laughter. “But like every venture my husband and I set our minds to undertake, we were fiercely passionate and determined to make it a success. That has been the cornerstone upon which we’ve built the Marshall legacy. It’s a legacy we’re extremely proud of and intend to protect regardless of what life throws at us. And as you all probably know, life has thrown a few things at us these past few weeks. Harrison may not be here with us tonight, but I know for a fact that he wouldn’t want us to dwell on the challenges that are sent to test us. I have no words to describe how badly we miss him, but at the same time, I know exactly what he would say if he were here. He’d look around this room, at old friends and new acquaintances, and he’d smile and say, ‘Look, darling. We did it.’ I would tell him not to be so smug. And he would reply that it wasn’t smugness if it we’d poured our hearts and souls and our hard work into making it happen. He would tell me to be proud. And he would be right, because—” she spread her arms wide and smiled even wider “—we certainly did it. We’re here. We’re strong. And nothing will bring us down.”
