Once Upon a Marriage

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Probably because she had enough quiet time to notice it there, all alone as she was.

  She didn’t, technically, have to call Elliott to let him know she was going out, either. But he’d asked. Insisted. And she didn’t want to be more of a pain in his backside than she’d already been.

  When his agreement to accompany her lit a burst of excitement inside her, she knew she had to start getting out more. To get a life.

  Living alone, being alone every evening, just didn’t agree with her. Maybe she should find someplace to volunteer in the evenings. And start looking for a new roommate.

  The fact that the weight had started to slowly lift from her heart as she walked down the huge aisles of floor-to-ceiling warehoused bulk sale items with Elliott walking quietly beside her, his hands in the pockets of his black chino pants, reiterated her earlier thought. She needed a roommate. To get out more.

  She...

  “Sorry about that.” His deep voice sounded beside her as he pushed the oversize cart that was getting heavy beneath the load she was piling in it. Cases of organically grown beans for salads. Toilet paper for downstairs and up. Paper towels. Trash bags for home and the shop.

  “Sorry about what?” With a frown she glanced over at him.

  “The stares. They can be off-putting the first few times.”

  He didn’t quite smile. But she liked the way his eyes had softened. She was also confused. “What stares?”

  With a movement of his shoulder he directed her gaze to the right. A teenager was looking at them. He turned away as soon as he saw them noticing him.

  And she glanced at Elliott. “Maybe he likes your sweater.”

  “Maybe.” He didn’t say anything else, and Marie turned down the aisle of professional-grade vacuum cleaners, smoke detectors and air purifiers. She read the specifics of the three models offered. Couldn’t decide between more BTUs or square footage estimates. Asking Elliott, as she’d have asked Gabrielle anytime in the past that she’d been purchasing a home appliance, she was relieved by his input and made what she was confident was the best choice.

  “Is this for the shop?” he asked as he lifted it into the cart for her.

  “Nope. It’s for home.” She told him about Ben, smoking in the hallway.

  “It’s against Arapahoe rules to smoke in any public places,” Elliott said.

  “I know.”

  “Did you serve him a notice?”

  “No.”

  “But you asked him to stop?”

  “No.”

  He didn’t say any more. Didn’t question her. But she felt as if he had.

  “Ben’s got cancer. He’s dying. His wife, Matilda, doesn’t want him to smoke, afraid that he’s shortening what time he has left. The man’s been a smoker since he was a kid working in his dad’s auto shop. It’s one of the few pleasures he has left. If he can have a few happy moments each day, sneaking his smokes out in the hall, and keep Matilda happy, too, thinking that he quit, then I’m sure not going to stand in his way.”

  Not waiting for Elliott’s response, she moved on to the next aisle. And noticed, as they rounded the corner, the shocked look on the face of the middle-aged woman who’d been standing in front of a display of pots and pans. She looked from Elliott to her and back to Elliott again. Eventually she turned back to the cookware, leaving Marie with a huge dose of defensiveness where Elliott was concerned.

  He didn’t say anything, so neither did she. And on they shopped. Not saying much. It was just past dinnertime and employees were out with little metal carts, serving samples of many of the food items the warehouse had for sale that week. As always, she passed them by. Elliott didn’t skip a single one of them—earning him another stare or two.

  She earned herself one—from him—when she made a stop at the candy aisle and added a ten-pound bag of little individually wrapped chocolate bars to the cart.

  “You serve all homemade food.”

  “I know.”

  “Surely you don’t go through that amount of candy at home.” She noticed him look at her figure.

  “It’s not for me,” she said. “You’ve met Janice Maynard and her mother, Clara.” Janice, a seventy-three-year-old spinster, who lived with her ninety-five-year-old mother, had been in the shop one of the days reporters had swarmed the place after news of Connelly Investments’ fraudulent activities hit the internet. Janice had been upset by the cacophony and Elliott had personally escorted the two women to the private elevator and up to their apartment.

  “Janice and her mother are almost as small as you are.”

  Maybe. Though Marie had never thought of herself as small. Gabrielle was small. Neither of them was overweight. They both had good figures. But Marie took two sizes bigger on top, which made it difficult to share clothes.

  “Janice’s mother has a penchant for snatching candy out of bowls or off from tables and hiding it in the seat of her walker,” Marie said. “I make it a habit to always have some on hand for her to snatch. It’s harmless.”

  It was only as they were waiting in line to pay that Marie realized how much of a kook she must look to him. And wondered why the idea bothered her so much.

  She’d never really cared before what other people thought of her. She liked herself, and that was what mattered. Or so her mother had always said.

  But as a little girl gave a bit of a yelp when they approached her in the parking lot on the way to the car, hiding behind her mother’s leg as she watched them walk past, Marie couldn’t help being bothered. “That’s why you were apologizing, earlier. You get this a lot, don’t you? People staring at you?”

  His shrug made her curious. More than curious. She wanted to know what it hid. Wanted to know everything he didn’t say to her.

  “I’m larger than what most people are used to,” he said with no inflection as he began to load her purchases into the back of his SUV. “I’m not only tall. I’m broad. I have to special-order my pants and shoes.”

  The words were personal. She wanted more. “What size shoe do you wear?”

  “Sixteen and a half.”

  Marie glanced at his feet. They were huge. She’d never really noticed before. Because they fit his body.

  And she’d made him feel uncomfortable. Which wasn’t her way at all.

  “Burton’s in love,” she blurted as soon as they were buckled into the SUV for the drive home. She hadn’t meant to tell him. It wasn’t as if Burton’s love life had anything to do with him.

  But the news had depressed the heck out of her.

  And she’d had to say something to get rid of the awkwardness that had arisen between her and Elliott.

  He looked over at her before he’d even started the vehicle. Tall, bright security lights popped on around them as dusk was turning to darkness.

  “That’s why he asked me to lunch today,” she babbled, to fill the silence. “He wanted to tell me that he won’t be able to accompany me to the theater anymore. He and Rebecca are getting season tickets together.”

  There. She’d told someone. She hadn’t even been able to keep a boring mama’s boy faithful to her.

  Not that she’d tried. She’d told Burton, quite emphatically, that she was not and was never going to be interested in a romantic relationship with him.

  “I’m happy for him,” she blurted next. Why didn’t he turn on the car? Get them home where she could take a hot bath and forget life’s little embarrassments?

  Or cry in a glass of wine?

  “The timing kind of sucks, though,” she added when he just sat there.

  “Why’s that?”

  He’d been listening to her. “You know, with Gabi and Liam all newlywed-like. At least I could count on Burton for a night out when I needed it.”

  She couldn’t believe how selfish t
hat sounded. Out loud. What about what Burton needed?

  “I really am happy for him,” she said, feeling better for no reason whatsoever. As evidenced by the smile she sent Elliott’s way. She’d just needed to talk the whole thing through. Would have done so with Gabi by now if her friend were around more.

  “I think you really mean that.”

  “Of course I do. He’s a nice man. A good man. He deserves to be happy.”

  He’d probably be faithful, too.

  Marie kept that last thought to herself.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LIAM, WHO’D GRADUATED with a degree in finance and business administration, but a minor in journalism so he could pursue his first love—writing—had a full day at the Connelly Building on Thursday. Jeb Williams, his father’s bodyguard and also a financier on the top floor, had Liam’s back while he was in the building, but Elliott insisted on seeing the man to and from the downtown high-rise. Gabrielle first, then Liam. Reverse on the return. With time in between to watch the neighborhood around the Arapahoe. To talk to people. Get a report from the security guard checking residents in at the back door. Something was amiss. He just didn’t know what.

  So there’d been a blue car with a stolen plate that had left when he approached. Didn’t mean it had anything to do with Liam Connelly. Or was any threat to Marie.

  His gut was telling him not to walk away from this one. Not to let go.

  Because there was something he hadn’t seen yet? Something he’d missed?

  Or because he needed to believe there was still danger so he’d be forced to stay on this job?

  Liam waited inside the employees’ private parking garage entrance to the Connelly Building until Elliott pulled up in the SUV. Finally. He’d been telling his client to take his safety more seriously since news of his father’s duplicity—and the company’s criminal activities—first broke.

  “Williams is going to be calling you,” the expensively suited man said as he settled casually into the seat. Before Elliott could ask why, his cell rang and Williams’s name popped up.

  “You got Connelly there with you?” The man, whom Elliott had first visited during his initial investigation of Liam on behalf of Barbara Bustamante, didn’t introduce himself.

  “Yes.”

  “Has he told you about the reporters?”

  “No.” He didn’t look at his charge.

  Pulling out of the darkened garage into bright sunshine, Elliott turned left, making another quick left to head toward the building that housed the public law offices where Gabrielle worked.

  “He sent me an email while I was out. While he assured me he was going to be lunching in, after which I kept the business lunch I’d scheduled, he instead skipped out to a corner deli apparently to meet with his editor to go over last-minute edits to the May installment of the series he’s writing on his father’s life...”

  The words earned Liam Connelly a sharp look from Elliott, but the financier didn’t seem to notice.

  Elliott knew better. Liam Connelly was a smart man. He knew he’d made a mistake. He’d emailed Williams.

  And warned Elliott.

  Liam was an honest man. He also was his own man. He did what he thought was right. To the point of stupidity, in Elliott’s opinion. Not that he blamed the guy. Liam’s adamant independence was a product of growing up under the abusively domineering hand of a father who’d been determined to control him at all costs.

  “Let me talk to him,” Elliott said now, breaking into whatever Williams had been about to tell him. “I’ll get back with you.”

  He didn’t work for Jeb Williams. Didn’t really even know the guy. Other than to know that his initial association with Williams had inadvertently allowed him to walk into the perfect cover for the job he’d been on. And while Liam Connelly was paying him—a nonnegotiable term on Liam’s part, one that Elliott had fought—even Liam was unaware that he’d come to them initially through Barbara Bustamante. And was still on her payroll, as well.

  “I screwed up,” Liam said as soon as Elliott slid his smartphone back into its holster.

  “How bad is it?”

  “That jerk reporter, Tarnished Truth...”

  Elliott recognized the name. The sleazy reporter who sold his work to sensationalistic independent internet news sources had gone after Liam and Gabrielle back in February, lying in wait and then infusing slimy innuendo into the stories he reported.

  “He must have followed me,” Liam said. “I can’t believe it was the coincidence he claimed that he happened to be there. He said that he thought he owed it to me, because of his unbecoming behavior earlier in the year, to let me know that there’s been some talk at a bar he hangs out at—some reporter hangout, according to him. Word is I’ve now taken over my father’s business.”

  “You’ve taken on a more active role,” Elliott said.

  “He claims that the rumor is that this whole scheme was prearranged, like Agent Menard and the FBI originally thought. That my father and I had some big plan to frame George so I could take over if the Ponzi scheme ever came to light.”

  “They have reams of proof that George Costas was behind the fraudulent investments.” Elliott tackled the obvious while his mind worked furiously on the real piece of news.

  The press—at least certain members of it—were still out to hang Liam. Probably because he was young, good-looking and recently married, making him of keener interest to their readers. He was good for drama to those who cared more about such things than about newsworthy facts. And a source of jealousy to a lot of people.

  “You and I know all about the evidence against George. Doesn’t mean the press knows.”

  “My understanding was that Costas could be close to a plea deal.” He’d heard that straight from Liam.

  “That’s what Gwen Menard told me when I spoke with her last week.” The FBI agent who’d originally questioned Liam.

  Talk of a plea deal was worth nothing until it actually happened. Could change in the space of a heartbeat—or a conversation. And until it was done, Liam and his father were going to be under attack.

  Even after it was done the suspicious-minded would probably still doubt them. Still wonder. Still tell the stories conjured up by their conspiracy-theory mind-sets.

  “I’m assuming you set him straight,” Elliott said, making the last turn that would allow him to pull up at the curb right outside Gabrielle’s building.

  “Of course I did. And he thanked me for allowing him to know the truth firsthand.”

  “He’s up to no good,” Elliott said aloud.

  “That’s a strong possibility.”

  He couldn’t stop a reporter from reporting—even when the news was false. The guy would just claim that he believed his story to be the truth. Liam could always sue for defamation of character, but not until after the damage was done.

  “So I’ll call and get some extra security for the front of the coffee shop just in case. And we stay on high alert,” Elliott said, sliding the vehicle into the curb as Gabrielle, in a navy pantsuit and with briefcase in hand, came outside.

  “I was afraid you’d say that,” Liam grumbled.

  But he didn’t argue.

  * * *

  MARIE WAS ALREADY UPSTAIRS, having left Eva and Nancy—another college student, a weekend employee who’d asked to pick up some extra hours—to close up the shop for the night, when Gabrielle got home. Gabi called her to invite her to share Chinese takeout in their apartment.

  Chinese takeout that had already been ordered and that would be delivered momentarily. Which meant one thing to Marie. Trouble was brewing.

  She hoped to God it wasn’t between Liam and Gabi.

  Anything but that.

  Putting the tuna she’d been mixing in a container and shoving it in t
he mostly empty fridge, she changed into a clean pair of jeans, a black tailored blouse and sandals before heading out. In the olden days, during most of the past thirteen years that Gabi had been living with her, Marie would have shown up to the table for Chinese takeout in the sweats she’d had on. But in the olden days, they’d never gone to Liam’s world. He’d always come to theirs.

  As soon as she stepped into the apartment, she was glad she’d changed. Elliott Tanner was there, his big body looming over the small cardboard cartons from his seat at the table. Liam was in the kitchen getting drinks. But it was clear from the table setting that she’d been left to sit next to the bodyguard.

  She wanted to be upset about that.

  Or at least unmoved.

  It would be their first dinner together.

  She pulled out her seat with such force it almost toppled. “How’d you know I’d be free for dinner?” was the first question she asked.

  And then, with a glance at Elliott, she answered her own questions. “Because you have my schedule.”

  He nodded. Offered her the honey walnut shrimp. “Gabrielle says this is for you.”

  They had more for her, too, she found out as they started to eat. With apology written all over his face, Liam confessed his actions of early in the day.

  Marie cared about the reporters. Didn’t want their residents or her customers harassed. She cared that Liam and Gabi could be dragged through the mud again socially.

  But what worried her most was that Liam had been caught out at an undisclosed lunch meeting with editor woman.

  * * *

  TARNISHED TRUTH’S THEORY made it onto two internet news sources Friday morning. Elliott had had to search three levels deep, but he’d found the proclamation that Liam and his father had concocted the entire rift in their relationship in an attempt to distance Liam—not to protect him. Liam was completely innocent, as Walter had publically confessed when he’d admitted to his own duplicity in hiding the Ponzi scheme he’d discovered in his company. He’d intended to protect his son from any kind of accountability so that he could take over his father’s business, keep it in the family, in the event that Walter ended up serving any kind of prison term for obstruction of justice. But Liam had not been in collusion with him.