by Gina LaManna
“And you?” I asked, giving the elderly butler a nudge with my elbow. “You love me, too?”
“Especially me,” he said, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Oh, Anthony, don’t look at me like that – she’s half my age.”
“Less than half,” I corrected. “I’m thirty.”
“Dear, you’re twenty-nine,” Harold said.
“What?” I spun around, glancing at Anthony, who shrugged.
“I remember the day your mother left. It was twenty-nine years ago.” he said.
“Why would she have lied to me?” I asked.
Harold shrugged. “Paperwork reasons? Maybe she wanted to send you to pre-school a year earlier so she didn’t have to pay a babysitter. Who knows, I’m sure she had a good reason.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“I remember the day like it was yesterday,” he said. “You can’t possibly be thirty. She was probably pregnant with you when she ran away, and we just didn’t know it at the time.”
I spun around to Anthony. “I have another year in my twenties,” I said slowly. My voice sounded astonished, even to me. “My goodness! Let’s go celebrate.”
The two men exchanged glances as I processed my real age.
“I have so many things I want to do before I turn thirty,” I said, starting to walk down the hallway towards the guest bedroom where I knew there’d be a shower and some array of fresh clothes I could borrow. “I could buy a house. Maybe a new car…I could update my resume and apply for a job…” I turned to Anthony, who was following a step behind me. “The possibilities are endless!”
“Your best birthday yet?” Anthony asked, with a shrug.
“Nice try, buddy,” I said, waiting for him to catch up. “I didn’t forget about the fake assignments, yet. You still owe me for that.”
“I do,” Anthony said. “And I always pay my debts.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you have a plan in mind.”
“Maybe I do,” he said.
“What did I say about surprises?” I stepped inside the guest bedroom, leaning one arm against the doorway, daring Anthony to step nearer.
He accepted the challenge and, standing inches away, rested his arm against the other side of the doorframe. “I like to break rules.”
I blushed. “You know, you don’t owe me anything. But I owe you an apology.”
“For?” Anthony crooked an eyebrow.
“At Meg’s bar the other day. On the phone. I stupidly didn’t think before saying that whole thing about you not being part of the Family. And then at the warehouse, when you were just trying to—”
“You didn’t know any better,” Anthony said. “It was admirable. Carlos is lucky to have someone as dedicated as you working on his side.” Anthony reached to where my arm rested on the doorframe, blocking his entry into the room. With painstaking patience, he slowly peeled my fingers from the frame and grasped my hands in his. “Lace, I should have told you it was all fake at the warehouse. That’s my only regret. I got caught up in wanting to surprise you, to give you the best birthday we could – I got carried away.”
“I didn’t mean what I said about the Family. The third party thing,” I said. “You’re as much a part of this family as anyone else, if not more.” I hesitated. “Except for that one Indian guy with the turban out front. I’m not sure who that is.”
Anthony broke into a grin. “There’s my girl.” He pulled my hands in close until they rested on his rock solid torso. “I know you’re feeling better once your humor is restored.”
The next moment, he wrapped his arms around my waist and put one hand behind my head, nestling my chin against his shoulder. His firm, expansive chest comforted my racing heart, and in that moment, I knew I was exactly where I should be.
He held me tight for a moment, his fingers stroking my rat’s nest of a hairdo with one hand, his other arm holding my lower back as close to him as possible. Cuddled up tight, it hit me that this just might be one of my best birthdays ever. A few surprises too many, but nonetheless a winner.
Chapter 15
My best birthday present to date was waiting for me as I finished up my shower.
A steaming mug of hot coffee prepared perfectly sat on my dresser. The ingredients of said cup included a ridiculous amount of little white marshmallows, so sticky they clung to my molars and rimmed my lips in a layer of sugary goodness. On top of the marshmallows sat a dollop of whipped cream still fresh from the can, placed precisely over a mound of steamed milk. The entire collection was complete with a single splash of blueberry coffee.
Anthony, I thought, as I took a sip of the scalding liquid. He’d made fun of me for the concoction more times than I could count – going so far as to call it my diabetes drink – and I took the beverage as a sign of his apology for stressing me out over the past few days. As my former gym trainer, he didn’t exactly approve of the sugar content in my coffee concoctions.
I toweled off my hair, basking in the feeling of cleanliness. I’d washed, rinsed, and repeated my shampoo routine more times than I could count. The bathroom doubled as a steam room at the moment, and I’d slathered so much lotion on my body that my skin glistened with a slippery sheen.
The whole combination was a small slice of heaven.
Slipping on an over-sized white sweater and a pair of leggings I’d stashed at Nora’s in case of an emergency, I took a moment to add a brush of lipstick and a swipe of mascara. Scrunching my hair with my fingers, I gave up the attempt at the latter. Two out of three ain’t bad. My hair wouldn’t poof properly for the rest of my life, but the lipstick and eye makeup worked wonders.
I shifted so the sweater hung slightly off my shoulder in a shabby-chic sort of vibe, and though I didn’t quite manage to pull off the outfit like the models in the fall magazines, I looked presentable. At least presentable enough, considering the short notice. Giving a quick squirt of the least-expired-perfume I could find in the bathroom, I deemed myself ready to go. I dished up my coffee, took one last look in the mirror, and left the room feeling a different person than when I’d gone inside.
“Hi Harold,” I said, running into the butler as I crossed through the Great Hall. The sun was setting behind the stained glass window, and I took a moment to look up the marbled staircase as the glow from the sunset sparkled through the windows, which may or may not have once called the Vatican home.
The room dazzled its occupants under most circumstances, but today it was a magical experience. Even Harold, who’d lived in this house for years, took a moment to savor the ethereal feel of the room.
“Beautiful,” he said.
“I know,” I whispered. “It feels almost…” I paused, searching for the correct word. To name the feeling would be to ruin it.
“No,” Harold said, stepping forward. “I mean you.”
I glanced up at him, his aging face crinkling down at me. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” he said, his eyes soft and full of life. “Quite stunning.”
“Wow, I—” I cleared my throat. “Harold, thank you.”
“Happy birthday, darling,” he said, leaning in and giving me a kiss on both cheeks. “They’re waiting for you in the kitchen.”
“They?” I asked.
Harold didn’t respond, simply gestured down the Hallway of Infamy towards the comfy room where Nora pretended to cook while refilling her wine glass.
“Oh, and one thing,” Harold said, as I took a few steps past the arrest records, mug shots, and my spelling bee certificate lining the wall. “Carlos asked me to give you a message: not a word.”
“Not a word to whom?” I asked, confused.
Harold cleared his throat and gestured once again, a clear sign of a dismissal.
“Okay, thanks,” I said, wondering what the message could mean. On a similar note, I needed to talk with Carlos. The cryptic messages of late needed to stop, or the misunderstandings would only get worse. A chat with my grandfather about honesty was defini
tely on the agenda.
I gave a little knock on the swinging door at the end of the hallway. The sound of chattering voices paused for a moment before the calls of Come in filtered through. I pushed the heavy wooden door open and let it close behind me with a swoosh of air.
At the huge, picnic style table pressed against one of the cheerful yellow walls sat the majority of my closest friends and trusted confidants.
Carlos held his place at the head of the table, his eyes staring brutally at me, as if reiterating the warning Harold had passed my way in the hall. Clay and Meg shared a bench on the far side of the table, while Anthony took up half of the bench closest to me.
Next to him was an open spot, and without realizing when it happened, I found myself wishing the place setting next to him was meant for me. Though I’d only seen him thirty minutes before, it hadn’t taken long to begin missing his close warmth, the security of his touch, the enjoyableness of his smile.
Nora rushed over to me, just as I noticed Oleg sitting sullenly in a rocking chair placed in the far corner of the room. His hands and feet were tied, and Anthony’s sharp eyes kept him in a watchful gaze. At least, when Anthony’s eyes weren’t trained on me.
“Hello, dear,” Nora said. “Can you believe it? I told Carlos again and again that he had to warn me twenty minutes before you arrived, and not a moment later.” She tsked, looking at her husband. “And now look. You’re here already, and I missed the surprise party.”
“Oh,” I said, suddenly realizing what Carlos had meant. He’d purposely omitted notifying his wife of my arrival once he’d been alerted that something was wrong. And he wanted to protect her from the nitty gritty details of my entrance to the party. I smiled. “Don’t worry, I was surprised – and I appreciate all of the effort you put into planning the party.”
Nora gave a glowing smile, her fire engine red hair spiked up as high as it could possibly reach. She had childish, light-blue sunglasses perched on her nose. The frames were made from cheap plastic and formed in the shape of stars. The dark lenses were completely unnecessary indoors, but that didn’t stop my grandmother.
And her festive spirit didn’t stop with the shades; her lacquered nails boasted patriotic colors in the form of the American flag, and she had little diamonds stuck to the sides of her eyes, just beside the well-worn laugh lines.
If she wasn’t the picture of youth, I didn’t know who was. I caught myself hoping for half the spunk of my grandmother when I really turned thirty. She was something else.
“Of course, darling,” she said. “It was nothing; I’d do anything for you. Now – I have red wine, blue jello shots and white, well – more wine. Help yourself.”
“Thank you, Auntie Nora,” I said, leaning in and kissing both of her cheeks. “You’re the best.”
Flushing, she gestured towards the table. I took that as my cue to claim the only open space, next to Anthony. Nora bustled around for a moment, making sure everyone had full drinks.
“Can I get you anything, dear?” she asked Oleg.
“How am I supposed to drink it if I’m tied to the chair?” he asked.
“No need to be snippy,” Nora said, standing in front of my capture with a hand on her hip. “Please and thank you go a long way, you know. Try this: Please, Carlos, may I be untied so I can drink some wine?”
“Please, Carlos, may I be untied so I can drink some wine?” Oleg said, the sweetness in his voice so contrived it grinded on my ears.
“No,” my grandfather said bluntly.
“Well, it was worth a shot,” Nora said. “The worst he could’ve said was no.”
“He did say no,” Oleg retorted.
“Well, maybe next time you should mind your attitude,” Nora said, turning her nose up and punching her glasses higher on her face. “Pleases and thank yous must be genuine, dear.”
The simple act of sitting next to Anthony had a calming effect on me. Whether it was his own calm demeanor, or the way his hand brushed subtly against my leg, or the fact that he looked like he might punch anyone who said a mean word in my direction, I couldn’t say. All I could say was that I liked it.
“So, can I get some answers?” I asked. “I have a few pending questions.”
“How about some meatballs?” Nora piped up.
“Answers first,” I said. “Please.”
“See?” Nora waved the ladle at Oleg. “See what happens when this beautiful young woman uses her manners correctly? Of course, dear. I’ll just pour you some wine. Though I wish you wouldn’t discuss business at dinner on your birthday.”
I shugged. “Business doesn’t wait.”
“Fine, fine,” Nora said, pouring drinks all around. “Well, I’ll leave you all to chat. I have to put on my sparkly tinsel eyelashes before the next surprise.”
“Oh, goodness me,” I murmured. “More surprises. Lovely.”
“You’ll love it,” Nora said, her eyes twinkling so much she didn’t need even a stitch of help from tinsel. “Trust me.”
I turned to Carlos as my grandmother left the room. “So, who’d like to start talking?”
“Me,” Meg said, to my surprise. “It was my idea and my fault. I told you in the car – all of that was true.”
“Right. So the general gist is that you threatened everyone so that nobody would wish me a happy birthday or say a word to spoil the surprise,” I said.
“Yes,” she said, wincing. “I didn’t realize how much it would hurt you when you thought everyone had forgotten your birthday. You seemed so adamant you didn’t want a party, I just thought…I just wish your birthday was July 5th because this would never have happened.”
“It’s all right,” I said. “So you talked to Carlos and Anthony?”
“And me,” Clay piped in, as Meg nodded. Clay leaned on his elbows. “I helped. I made the website for the food critic, got the address for Dave’s Special Sauce from Anthony, and helped execute the plan. Carlos didn’t have a huge part in it, except to give you the assignment. That’s something nobody else could do.”
“I didn’t want to,” Carlos said. “I wanted to wish you a happy birthday like a normal person, but your friends didn’t believe that would be enough. They wanted to make it the best birthday ever.”
“So why did you go along with it?” I asked.
Carlos shifted from one side of his chair to the other, taking a long drag of limoncello. “It’s your first birthday with the Family. I wanted you to be pleased.”
That was the closest Carlos had ever come to saying he loved and cared about me; I was incredibly, deeply touched. Thankfully, I managed to hold my tears back by taking a long, deep swig of wine. The tasty cabernet warmed my throat and started a small burn in my stomach, and I took another swig to keep the sensation coming. My confidence level – and brashness level – rose considerably.
“So you agreed to the fake assignments,” I said. “And the plan was to pretend as if I’d solved them.”
“That way you’d be able to relax on your real birthday,” Anthony said. “You would’ve solved the cases, we would’ve told you to forget about Dave’s Special Sauce, and nobody would’ve been the wiser. But when a real issue came up at the warehouse, I…” Anthony shook his head. “I froze. I wanted to tell you the truth, but I—”
“I threatened—” Meg jumped in.
“I know what you threatened,” I said. “And it wasn’t pleasant.”
“Not at all,” Meg said shaking her head, a pleased expression on her face. “And I would’ve carried it out, too.”
The noise Anthony made to my right resembled a growl, but I pressed on. “What else am I missing?”
“I faked the food critic,” Clay said. “But you’re too good at your job. You called my bluff, so I had to quickly create a website. And when you called him in front of me I knew that clearly wasn’t enough. I contacted the critic you looked up and politely asked if he’d call you. I asked him to tell you he’d forgotten about his encounter with Dave.”
&
nbsp; “By ‘politely asked,’ I assume you mean strong-armed and threatened intensely,” I said sarcastically. “I feel overwhelmed by the amount of threats needed to make sure my surprise birthday party went off without a hitch.”
“You’re a special woman,” Anthony murmured.
I wanted to ask what he meant by that, but I wasn’t done piecing together parts of the puzzle. I tilted my head towards Oleg. “What about him? What’s he got to do with it?”
“He was…unplanned,” Anthony said.
“An accident,” Meg added.
“Unexpected,” Clay contributed.
“Wow, I feel so special,” Oleg said.
“Then help us understand what your deal is,” I said, tapping my fingers on the table.
Anthony held up a finger, however. Voices sounded in the hallway, and conversation ceased as Anthony stood up from the table, his posture not quite threatening, but calculated and alert. His hand hovered near his gun, and his shoulders stiffened with attention.
The swinging door jumped open as Nora appeared, followed closely by Horatio.
“They’re in here,” Nora was saying. “Do you want something to drink, dear? You said you’re a friend of Clay’s?”
Horatio, however, stopped dead in his tracks as he made eye contact with Oleg. “You,” Horatio said, the venom apparent in his voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Family ties,” Meg said, shaking her head. “The darndest thing.”
All eyes in the room swiveled to look at Meg, then just as quickly swiveled back towards the set of brothers. The two men stared at each other, equally enraged. They were oblivious to the rest of us.
“Someone?” I asked. “Anyone? Explain, please.” There was a silence as the brothers argued silently over who would talk first.
Finally they both spoke at once.
Though when they spoke, they both uttered the same word. “Traitor.”
I eyed Clay. “You have got to stop making such controversial friends. I don’t enjoy your friends taking me hostage on my birthday.”
“You should watch who you date, then,” Clay shot back. “If you can date bad guys, I can be friends with one or two. Plus, Horatio’s not a bad guy – it’s his brother.”
