It's Not Over

by Grahame Claire

  “I need to go,” I said, standing abruptly.

  Donato stood with me. “Stay for dinner. Teresa is coming over and bringing the kids.” She was his youngest daughter. The “kids” he referred to were his grown grandchildren.

  “Enjoy your time with them.” The man made it difficult to say no to him, so I avoided uttering the actual words as often as possible.

  “Daniel.” The way he said my name made me uncomfortable. We stood at the top of the stairs that led to the interior of his apartment. “I can tell something other than Vinny is eating at you. I’m guessing it’s Vivian. I don’t know her, but I’ve had a lot of experience with relationships. I’d be more than happy to discuss how to fix the mistake you’re making. Because I’m sure I’ve made it. At least twice.” He said it lightly, so I could tolerate it. Before I could answer, he held up both hands. “I know. I know. Just reminding you I’m here.”

  “Thanks,” I said tersely. No amount of advice could fix my problems. I preferred to spend valuable time getting answers about a subject we’d been avoiding for days. “How much time have we got?”

  He narrowed his gaze as if I’d insulted him. “I’m not sure,” he bit out, knowing exactly what I was referring to.

  “Any idea who’s stirred up this shit again?”

  “Not yet.” The unspoken in that statement was that he would find out. And when he did find out who was framing him, I almost pitied the person. Almost. Except they were dredging up my shit too.

  I shifted the tennis racquet from one hand to the other. “I’m at a dead end. I haven’t heard from them again.” I looked toward the sky. “All the fucked up shit my dear old dad was into is really coming back to bite us.” I swallowed thickly and cleared my throat as I tried to clear my mind. “This would be a lot less complicated if the feds had let NYPD keep the case.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “It’s my problem too.”

  Donato’s brows rose. Arguing with the man was useless, but I wouldn’t back down on this. He placed his hands on my shoulders. “You will leave this alone. Stay away from it.”

  “I shouldn’t have told you.” I clenched my fists at my sides.

  He squeezed my shoulders. “Yes, you absolutely should have. Stop fretting over things we can’t control.”

  I couldn’t stop worrying, but I knew I wouldn’t dissuade him, so I let it go. I unballed my fists and released a long breath. “I’ll speak to you soon.”

  He nodded, disappointed I wouldn’t relent to his demand I stay away from the most pressing fire we had burning. Disappointed I wouldn’t stay for dinner. He’d be pissed when I took matters into my own hands, but that’s where this was headed. And as much as I didn’t like it, I’d already accepted the reality of the past finally catching up.

  A pit formed in my stomach as I rolled into the garage at the apartment. I had no idea what to expect. Each day, the pile of Vivian’s belongings in the foyer remained in place, barely touched.

  My heart pumped a little faster as I rode the elevator to the top floor. Will she be here? I’d wondered on more than one occasion if she would really leave.

  When the elevator doors slid open to our private lobby, I stepped out and stopped, craning my neck. What is that? It sounded as if someone were having a party. There was music at a high volume coming muffled through the walls.

  Madonna blasted me in the face when I opened the door, and I had my answer. Vivian had physically left, but she was still very much here, along with the mountain of her things. It stung like a motherfucker that she didn’t want them, but deep down, I knew keeping them was too painful for her.

  I stormed to the study, found the source of the music, and punched the off button on the stereo. The silence was far worse. I felt lost—a feeling I hadn’t had in a very, very long time. Vivian should be here. I rounded my desk and sank into my chair, feeling another blow when my eyes landed on the picture that had been there for nearly eight years.

  I picked up the frame, caressing her happy face, remembering that day like it was yesterday. Looking at myself in the picture, it was clear I’d been in love with her then, though I’d have never admitted it to anyone. I pulled out my phone, tempted to call her, but we both had to quit cold turkey. So I settled for second best and tracked her cell to that sushi place Muriella had been wanting to try. Now’s as good a time as any. I confirmed that Muriella was there too, and then I threw myself into action.

  “Giselle,” I said tersely when she answered the phone.

  “Daniel. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.”

  “When can you be ready?” I asked, skipping the pleasantries.

  “Now,” she replied hesitantly.

  “Meet me in twenty minutes. I’ll text the address to you.”

  I hung up before she could protest and scrolled through my playlist, selecting “Trouble” by Cage The Elephant. I blasted it through the speakers in the apartment. I had to get Madonna out of my head before I went through with this. Once I did it, there would be no turning back.

  Chapter Eleven

  Vivian

  Present

  I was on my third sake bomb by the time our first rolls of sushi appeared. The alcohol was already going to my head, but that was the idea. Home was gone. Daniel had thrown us away. I never thought he’d make it an entire week without changing his mind. This was the longest we’d ever spent apart, and the hole inside me got bigger with every passing second.

  I’d thought our souls were tied together, fused as one, and that he’d struggle the way I had been; that he’d have to come home because he couldn’t stay away. The more time that separated us, though, the more I began to wonder if our love had been one-sided. Oh hell.

  “Here.” I shoved a shot of sake toward Muriella as I downed mine. She eyed it warily, but took it down in one fluid gulp. “I haven’t heard from Stone lately. Have you?” I asked her, desperately needing a distraction.

  She scowled and reached for another drink, slamming it back. “No.” She pointed at me. “And don’t start.”

  “Don’t start what?” I asked, feigning innocence. I knew exactly what I was bringing up.

  “Apparently, he’s too busy for us,” she snapped.

  I shoved a piece of sushi into my mouth to keep from smiling. “Let’s just call him now,” I said as I reached for my phone.

  “No, ” she responded emphatically, grabbing my arm.

  I rarely pushed when it came to Stone Jacobs. And maybe it was a mistake now, but what was happening with Daniel only pressed the issue that I wanted my friend to have happiness. I tried another approach.

  “Have you seen this?” I fished the latest issue of Rolling Stone out of my bag and tossed it on the table.

  Muriella’s cheeks reddened. She shrugged noncommittally. She’d seen it all right. “Ruby might have sent me an early copy.”

  I slapped her in the arm. “When?”

  “Couple of days ago.” Muriella shoved back-to-back pieces of California roll into her mouth to avoid an interrogation.

  “How often do you talk to his grandmama?”

  “Pretty regularly. You know we only communicate by mail.” She stirred wasabi into her dish of soy sauce with way too much interest.

  I held up the magazine and let out a low whistle. “He just looks better with age.”

  Stone was a cowboy first and foremost. He’d stumbled into acting, and it turned out he was pretty good at it. Like two Academy Awards good. This certainly wasn’t his first magazine cover. Last week he was the Sexiest Man Alive—again —on one of them.

  Since Daniel had met him at a business function six years ago, the four of us had become fast friends, though over the years his career had kept him busy, so we didn’t see him as often as I would’ve liked. I had a feeling Muriella wasn’t too happy about that either. Nothing had ever happened between the two of them, and she’d take the Lord’s name in vain before she admitted she had feelings for him beyond friendship.

 
She snatched the magazine out of my hands. I pretended not to notice her quick look at his gorgeous photo before she leaned over me and shoved it back into my bag.

  “Enjoying yourself?” she asked, wrinkling her nose.

  “M, I’m just—”

  “I know what you’re doing,” she interrupted. “Meddling.”

  I pointed to the center of my chest. “Me? Would I do something like that?”

  “Yes. Now can we enjoy our meal?” She gripped her chopsticks a little too tightly.

  “I thought we were.”

  A growl escaped her, but I knew she wasn’t mad when she snagged a piece of sushi off my plate. I sucked down more sake and let the subject drop. I had something else on my mind anyway.

  “Has Daniel ever mentioned that his father’s death might not have been a suicide?” I asked, picking up a piece of shrimp tempura roll with my chopsticks.

  “No,” Muriella said, shock and incredulity in her voice. “What brought that up? Did he say something to you?”

  I told her about finding the autopsy report, and creases formed between her eyebrows.

  “How does trouble always seem to find you?” Beneath her exasperation, I heard concern. Muriella worried her lip between her teeth. “Forget about it. I don’t know what the report means or if it’s legitimate, but it doesn’t matter.”

  She reached for one of my remaining sake bombs and tossed it back, shuddering as the alcohol went down. Her lips pressed together when she looked at me, all the worry, fear, and confusion I felt reflected back at me.

  I sagged back into my seat. “I miss him so much, M.”

  Her hand went to my knee. “I know you do. I’m worried about him.”

  “Me too.”

  We stared at our half-empty plates of sushi for a minute before I picked up my chopsticks again.

  “I like the music they play here,” Muriella said, pointing at the ceiling as Madonna sang to us. Just like that, we were off somber ground.

  “The food isn’t half bad either.” I took a piece of the dragon roll and dunked it in soy sauce-wasabi mixture. “We should have tried this place sooner.”

  “I tried to tell you that. Nobody listens to me,” Muriella lamented, and for about two whole seconds, I felt normal, even halfway smiled. A real one, not the forced kind that I’d been sporting for a week.

  That screeched to an abrupt halt when Billy Vera’s voice came over the speaker, introducing the song “At This Moment.” It was a good one but not what I needed to hear in the fragile state I was in. I signaled the waitress for another drink and waited for Muriella’s disapproving look.

  It didn’t come, and normalcy went right out the window.

  The waitress delivered my sake and refilled our water glasses, M thanking her for the both of us. When she stepped away, unblocking my view of the rest of the restaurant, my heart stopped.

  Weaving through the tables behind a hostess was Daniel, and he wasn’t alone.

  I gripped Muriella’s thigh as he touched the woman’s back and whispered something in her ear. A laugh escaped her before she dug her fingers into his arm.

  I burned from the inside out. It had been a week. That was all. I saw this for exactly what it was. This was a date. Not business. Not a friendly dinner. A fucking date.

  And fuck him for being a sight for sore eyes. Daniel was devastating as always in his three-piece suit, this one charcoal gray. The tie was one I’d bought for him, the black silk shimmering in the light. He’d used it to bind my hands while he deliciously tortured me. Now he was wearing it with this underage Barbie doll.

  The hostess led them to the vacant table right beside us. I was staring, but I couldn’t stop. I should have been graceful, polite, the bigger person. Instead my mouth hung open. When Daniel’s eyes locked with mine, a little gasp of pain escaped me. I barely felt it when Muriella took my fingers in hers. My attention was solely on the man I loved more than anything and the fact that he was looking at me as though I were a stranger.

  A week ago, his eyes would have lit up on seeing me. There would have been a warmth in them that radiated to my soul. If I was lucky, I would have gotten a smile. But Little Miss Perfect had stolen his attention. She’d gotten my smile. I hated her.

  “Daniel, what are you doing?” Muriella hissed.

  “Trying out this place. Is it any good?” he asked casually, like we were all old friends bumping into one another.

  “Stop it,” M replied, her eyes scolding him for pretending to be something he wasn’t.

  “Muriella, I’d like you to meet Giselle Larsen.” I caught the slight. Muriella was more important than me. That was fine. I didn’t want to be forced into introductions with someone I cared nothing about knowing.

  Giselle’s face lit up. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Muriella. I’ve heard so much about you.” She extended her hand, which Muriella ignored, but Giselle wasn’t discouraged. “I’m looking forward to getting to know you. Rumor has it you’re an amazing cook.”

  The girl, who was half Daniel’s age, was nice. Really fucking nice. I hated her even more. Hated that she knew anything about my family at all.

  Muriella grunted some sort of unintelligible response. I tightened my hand on hers when the attention turned to me. “Giselle, this is Vivian DeGraw,” Daniel said, another slight by introducing me to her. “Vivian, this is Giselle.”

  “Lovely to meet you, Vivian,” Giselle said with a bright smile while I sat there like a bump on a log. It was rude, but I didn’t say a word in response. My throat was literally frozen.

  She blinked up at Daniel with big doe eyes, and his actually softened when she ran a finger down his cheek. “I know we’re doing romance tonight, but we can join your friends if you like.”

  Daniel tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, and this time my whimper of pain was audible. They all looked at me, but I was locked on Daniel, biting my lip to keep from crying out again as agony ripped through my chest. His eyes cooled when his attention shifted to me. I couldn’t take any more.

  I fumbled out of my seat, yanking my hand out of Muriella’s, and barreled past Daniel and Giselle, stumbling out of the restaurant onto the sidewalk. I made it all of a block before I doubled over, leaning against a brick building for support. My lungs constricted, refusing air. It felt like my entire body had gone into lockdown, my legs finally giving way so I collapsed on the sidewalk.

  He’d meant it. We were over. Daniel had moved on, and so fast. I saw the way he’d looked at her. I squeezed my eyes shut and beat a palm against my forehead to expel the memory of him tucking her hair behind her ear.

  “Vivian,” Muriella called, dropping the suitcase I’d carried to the restaurant so I wouldn’t risk the chance of seeing him if I left it at M’s. She sank to the sidewalk beside me, her arm going around my shoulders.

  We sat there so long, a couple of people actually threw money at us. With the front of the restaurant still in view, we witnessed Daniel and Giselle leaving, her arm looped through his, her body pressed to his side. I whimpered, and Daniel turned to look as if he’d heard me, but we were shrouded in darkness, so he kept going in the opposite direction. My heart went right along with him, leaving the hollow shell of my remains on the Manhattan sidewalk.

  Chapter Twelve

  Vivian

  Eight Years Earlier

  Thanksgiving. A day traditionally spent around the table with family and friends, eating turkey and dressing and sweet potato casserole—with marshmallows on top—and pecan pie. Or an excuse to start boozing it up early in honor of a national holiday, increasing the likelihood of passing out before the afternoon meal. Did it count as watching the Cowboys play football if you were comatose on the sofa in front of the television? It did for my mother no doubt.

  But I wasn’t in Dallas, and I wasn’t with my parents. Wasn’t even invited home, my plans never brought up when I spoke with my mother two days ago. Apparently it didn’t matter if I was spending it alone, and I clearly wasn’t
welcome at the house I’d grown up in any longer.

  This year, I was setting up tables at Paths of Purpose in preparation for the feast to come. We were expecting several hundred people, but the way the catering company kept bringing in food, it seemed like we were ready for a few thousand.

  It troubled me greatly that there were places like this all over the country serving meals for folks who had nowhere else to go, didn’t have the means for a good Thanksgiving meal, or were simply alone. But I was encouraged by the energetic vibe generated by the Paths of Purpose volunteers.

  When Daniel showed up around eleven, it was all I could do to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. I hadn’t shared my plans to be here today, so this wasn’t some move to impress me into going out with him. Surprise registered on his face when he spotted me. He looked like he’d been caught doing something good that might tarnish that tough guy exterior he had going for him.

  He still had that bad boy look about him, even without the suit. Graphite gray slacks hung perfectly from his hips, the black cashmere V-neck sweater revealed just a peek at his chest. He was a damn tease, that little taste only serving to spark my desire for more. What was it about Daniel that stopped me in my tracks? I knew I wasn’t the only woman he had that effect on, but it was extraordinary for me. Men rarely registered on my radar because I was so centered on my career, and they wouldn’t now because Daniel was the whole damn radar.

  My focus on him was so intense, I didn’t notice he wasn’t alone until I saw this petite little spitfire of a woman touch his arm. Her silky top reminded me of tiger lilies. The dark brown boots over her skinny jeans added nothing to her height. She barely came up to Daniel’s chest, and though they had the same tanned complexion, her hair was a rich hickory compared to his jet black. There was little resemblance in their appearance, though both of them were youthful with eyes that showed experience beyond their years. They weren’t siblings, but I could tell they were close.