by Jane Henry
Lexi and I exchange a hopeful glance. “Yes, Mom. He’s my friend. We’ve come to visit you.”
She ignores me, suddenly enthralled with the handsome young man beside her. Who can blame her? She pats his hand. “I have so many questions for you, young man.”
Gabriel tilts his chin, offering me a grin. “Why don’t you and Lexi go into the kitchen and catch up. Your mom and I would like to get to know one another better.”
Is this man perfect? An angel sent from heaven? How does he know exactly what I need? I want to believe he’s for real, but it seems too good to be true. And if something seems too good to be true... it usually is.
I kiss him, a long kiss of gratitude, which makes my mom let out a wolf whistle that has my face burning.
“Behave, Mom.” Lexi takes my hand, tugging me into the kitchen.
I slump down into a chair at the breakfast table. Lexi busies herself filling the teapot with water. I look around as she prepares us each an herbal tea. My sister brings me a steaming mug, sliding into the seat next to me.
“Lexi. Be honest with me. How bad is it?”
She won’t meet my eye, taking a sip of her tea.
I put my hand on hers, forcing her to look at me. “Lexi.”
Her gaze rises to meet mine. Unshed tears shine in her eyes. “It’s… bad.”
“How bad? I look around the room again. It’s not only tidy, it's sparkling. Like my sister keeps her own house. “How much time have you been spending here?”
“A lot. The past few weeks, the second Tom leaves for work, I come over. I spend all day here. I feed her an early dinner and then put her to bed early so I know she’s safe. Then, I hurry home and cook for Tom, making sure I’m there when he gets off of work.”
“Shit.”
“It was working… for a while. But then, she was forgetting more and more. There was that call from the neighbor when she was wandering the streets looking for the cat. I took away her car. It’s at my apartment, I didn’t want her driving.”
This is bad. This is really bad.
She continues, the words now flowing like a confession. “It’s been so hard, but I could handle it. But... then the thing with dad. It just broke my heart. I think that was the moment I realized how in over my head I was. How bad she’s gotten, and so quickly. I just don’t think she can live alone anymore.”
My heart aches for her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You know why. I have my days free. I was happy to do this for her, for us. With you working so hard and helping pay for the wedding, the very last thing I wanted to do was put one more thing on your plate.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “I just thought I could handle it. That I could do it on my own. But I can’t. I know that now.”
“I’m here, now.” My conscience pricks me. For now. Until I have to go back home, back to work. I wrap my arm around her shoulder. “You can take a break. You’ve earned it.”
She rests her head against me. “I’m so glad you’re here, Miranda. Everything just feels so much more possible when you’re around.”
“Even I need a little help sometimes.” I think of Gabriel’s support over the past few hours. “I wish you would have told me.”
She sits up. “Speaking of not telling you something—when the heck were you going to tell me that you were dating none other than Gabriel Lord?”
How does she know his name? “You know about his business?” I think back to the blinding lights of the photographers. “Sheesh, what is it with everyone going so crazy over a gym owner?”
Her brow furrows. “He owns a gym? I didn’t even know that.”
“Yeah. He owns a franchise. But if you didn’t know that, then how do you even know him?”
She stares at me as if I’ve grown a unicorn horn out of the center of my forehead.
I playfully slap her arm. “Lexi! Spill it.”
“He’s the Gabriel Lord. Honest to God, sis, I knew you lived under a rock, but are you for real?” She stands from her seat, rushing over to the bookcase in the corner. Grabs something. Returns, slapping a glossy magazine down on the table in front of me. “Turn a few pages of this bad boy.”
She sits down, picking up her mug, watching me with glee in her eyes. She’s enjoying this moment, way too much.
“Fine. I’ll play along.” I roll my eyes, flipping through the first few pages of The Spread, the celebrity gossip magazine she loves so much. I absolutely despise this kind of thing. I don’t have time for reading, and certainly not something like this trash—
Oh my freaking God.
I’m staring down at a black and white page. My eyes bug out of my head. My jaw hangs open like a trout fish.
Gabriel’s beautiful face stares right back at me.
He’s lying in the sand. His arms are behind him, his head resting in his hands. The white shirt he wears is halfway unbuttoned. Black slacks with his long legs crossed at the ankle as the foam of a wave laps at his bare feet. His sultry eyes beckoning the reader to join him.
A tiny bottle of perfume rests in the corner of the page. Escapade, for men. The crisp fragrance that will make her want to run away with you.
It can’t be. How did I not know this about him? The private jet, the penthouse suite at Vegas, Baby… of course, a gym owner couldn’t afford those things. But I just can’t wrap my mind around it. “There’s no way…”
I remember the photographers when we landed.
“Oh, there’s more!” She jumps up, running over to the bookcase once more. This time, when she returns, she drops a paperback book into my lap. “He’s the cover model for this incredible Mafia Romance I’m reading.”
I hold it in my hands, staring at the cover in disbelief. Gold swirling font dances across the front, proudly stating, Mafia Mania: An Enemies to Lovers Romance. And it's Gabriel’s freaking face on the cover. It’s another black and white shot. His arm is crooked behind his head, showing off his smooth bare chest with abs for days. Damn. Have I even seen him with his shirt off yet?
“This can’t be him.”
“Oh, it’s him. I almost peed my pants when I answered the door and saw you standing there with what is basically America’s current top male model. To think, my big sister dating Gabriel Lord.”
“Did someone say my name?” Gabriel’s face appears in the doorway. I shove the magazines to the seat beside me and flash him a grin.
I blink at the man in the doorway. In full color. Not in black and white. Not speckled with grains of sand or the words Mafia Mania written across his perfect forehead.
Just, Gabriel. The man who knew I needed to get home. The man who let my mother interview him so I could connect with my sister.
The man who stands here now, staring at me with such care, such concern that his gaze alone makes a warmth grow in my chest.
I need him. I need him by my side, to help me get through this.
He might be a playboy. This might be a one-time thing to him. Hell, he might even just be a means to an end, a paycheck I need to get my mother the help she wants. But I need his support to get through this—whatever amount he can offer me. I quickly gather the magazine, the book, sliding them to the floor.
I’m standing on the edge of a cliff and though every single fiber in my being tells me to back away, to run in the other direction... I don’t.
Instead, I jump.
I stare into his eyes. “Yes. I was just saying how grateful I am to have you.”
His smile warms me like the sun.
Lexi smirks, excusing herself. “I’ve made up the guest bed down here for you two. Thought it would give you a little more privacy. It’s getting late. I should get Mom settled. Then, I’ll head home.”
“Thank you, sis. Do you want help?”
She shakes her head. “No, that’s okay. She’s had a big day. It’s probably best if I put her to bed and you visit with her more tomorrow.”
“That makes sense. I’m proud of you, Lexi. You’ve been so strong.”
&nbs
p; We hug and she scurries from the kitchen. Leaving Gabriel and I alone. The magazine sticks out just a bit, begging for attention. I don’t know why I’m not ready to cross that bridge—to admit to him, to myself that I’m with such a famous man. I kick it further under the table.
Where are my manners? The man must be starving. “Can I make you something to eat?” I open the fridge. Thanks to Lexi, it's fully stocked.
He brushes past me, taking the handle of the fridge door. “Let me cook for you. I find it relaxing.”
Now he’s cooking for me. Okay, yeah. Too good to be true.
Shut up, Miranda. Just let yourself enjoy being taken care of for once. “Okay. Sounds good. Thank you.” I take a seat at the table, using the opportunity to shove the book and magazine even further into hiding.
He makes us omelets with veggies, a light sprinkle of cheese, perfectly seasoned with salt and pepper. We dine together at the little table, making small talk, getting to know one another better. By the end of the meal, I’ve discovered he has a baseball card collection, a pet tarantula, and a fear of clowns.
The conversation is light, silly, until he gets to a question I don’t see coming.
“So tell me, Miranda. What’s your biggest fear?” A clammy sweat dots my brow. My palms become damp. My hand goes to my side, hovering over my scar. The memory comes to my mind, as vivid as watching a movie screen; a flash of a wave, the false security of the strong board beneath my torso as I paddle through the water, the sound of my scream echoing in my ears.
“Sharks.” I give a little shrug and a laugh, but my throat is tight and it comes out sounding forced. I stand to gather the plates, clearing the table.
It isn’t true, though. That used to be my biggest fear, and I couldn’t sleep at night because of it. Now, though… now my fears have shifted. Now my greatest fear is falling for a drop-dead gorgeous man who’s too perfect to be real.
Never. Fall. In. Love.
I’m only in this for the help, right? No need for him to know every secret I keep.
Chapter Nine
Gabriel
I watch her eat with a combination of awe and wonder. The simplicity of this moment, sitting here with her, is something I’ve missed in recent years. Have I ever had it?
As we clear the dishes, both exhausted from the day’s events and how much has happened in such short a time, I think back about my time in Sancerre with my mother. Things were simple, then.
“What are you thinking about?” Miranda asks, loading the dishes into the dishwasher before she stifles a yawn.
“Just remembering back when I lived in France, when I was younger. Things were simpler then. Kind of like here.”
“Can you tell me about it?”
“Of course. It’s an older city. There are castles and gardens, but mostly vineyards. It overlooks the Loire river, and it’s where most of the world’s sauvignon blanc wine comes from.”
“Oooh. Do you still visit?”
I nod. “I do. I don’t have family there anymore, but I own several vineyards still. We’ve expanded down the Côte d'Azur. But I do have fond memories.”
She smiles, looking around the kitchen with a sort of wistfulness in her eyes. “Something about living in Vegas can sometimes make you forget the simpler part of life, huh?”
I smile. She has no idea. “You could say that.”
My eye catches the corner of something shiny on the corner of a seat, and I turn to see what it is. Miranda sees me taking a step toward the table and steps in front of me. “Cup of tea before bed?” she asks. She looks oddly frantic. Is she hiding something?
I shake my head. “All set, thanks. You?”
She yawns widely and reaches for my hand. “No, but I could use a little nightcap…”
She steers me out of the kitchen and into the living room. The lights are out save a little nightlight in one corner of the room, as she walks me over to a small cabinet. She giggles as she opens it. “My mom and dad never touched the stuff,” she says, reaching for a bottle of Jack Daniels. “My sister and I would sneak shots in high school and fill it back up with apple juice.”
I snort.
“I know. Juvenile, right? And my father one day pulled it out and told my mom the whiskey’d aged well with time. Gotten sweeter and less potent.” She giggles as she pulls it out.
I shake my head and cluck my tongue. “Naughty little girl.”
She gives me a fetching smile over her shoulder. “You like naughty little girls, don’t you?”
My belly tightens as I look at her, the soft glow of the nightlight behind her giving her hair the appearance of a halo. “I don’t like just any naughty girl,” I say, reaching to run my fingers through her soft, golden hair. “I like this one.”
She moves closer to me, leaning into my hand, her eyes closing. She sighs contentedly before she opens her eyes and looks back up at me. “You’re a flirt…” her voice drops. “Daddy.”
I lean in and kiss her cheek. “I’m just warming up.”
She flushes pink as I pull away, biting her bottom lip in that way she does that makes me want her even more. I’ve studied everything about her for so long, and knew I wanted her, but this… this is something altogether different. It’s like researching a vacation, the beaches and resorts, restaurants and landmarks. But when you finally arrive and you smell the salty air and feel the warm sand beneath your feet, is so much more fulfilling.
I’ve made her my obsession, and now I’m holding her in my arms. She’s my fantasy come true.
“Sometimes you look at me with this almost feral look,” she says thoughtfully, with a smile playing on her lips. “Like you want to eat me whole.”
I lean down and kiss her neck. “I do.”
“Like you want to secret me away to a private island, where no one else will ever interfere.”
“Now there’s an idea. Don’t tempt me.” I’m only half-joking.
She swallows hard. “Why? Why me?”
Her brow knits in that adorable way. I hold her chin between my fingers and hold her gaze with mine. I can’t tell her I’ve been watching her. I can’t tell her I know everything about her. How she got that scar that has her terrified of the ocean, how she nearly failed college bio because she refused to have anything to do with dissecting a baby shark.
And once she knows how much I know… she could run. Maybe even hide.
“I like everything about you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
Oh, but I do. And I’m telling her the full truth. “You don’t know how attractive you are to me. But I’ll show you, Miranda. You’ll see.”
She shakes her head disbelievingly. “I just don’t understand. It’s like you’re perfect.”
I snort. “No. Not perfect.”
She doesn’t know my past and she doesn’t quite know how obsessive I can be. When I want something… I get it.
“Let’s get some rest,” I say, changing the subject. “We’re both exhausted.”
She yawns as if on command and nods. “We are.”
I check the locks on the door automatically, and it makes her smile to herself. She leads me back to the kitchen to a door I didn’t notice before. I carry the bags and follow her.
I enter the room with her. “This is… okay, this is honestly more than I expected.”
There’s a large, four-poster king-sized bed, painted white, topped with a beautiful quilt. Either side of the bed is flanked with heavy, ornate wooden side tables. There’s a fireplace, a floor lamp on either side, a solid dresser that matches, and a large, footed oval mirror. It’s simple, but well-furnished.
She grins. “When I was a little girl, this was the master bedroom. Our bedrooms were upstairs. Over time, after my father died, my mom slept upstairs and this room became the guest room.” She steps out of her shoes and kicks them toward the closet while pulling off her clothes. She tosses her clothes in a heap on the floor.
I place the bags by the door, take her shoes and
arrange them neatly beside them. I pick up the clothes she discarded and place them in the little laundry basket just inside the closet, as I step out of my own shoes. I give her a chiding look while she flounces on the bed.
“You’re a bit of a neat freak, aren’t you?”
I smile, taking off my tie, and hanging my suit coat in the closet.
“Some call it perfectionism, some obsession.” I wish I hadn’t chosen that particular word. I push past it. “But yeah, babe. I’m what you might call type-A.”
“How type-A?” she asks, as I neatly fold my tie and place it on the shelf in the closet. “Like iron-your-underwear type-A?”
I chuckle. “Well, more like pay someone to iron my underwear type-A.”
I’m only partly joking.
“Are you serious?”
I turn and give her a wink. I’ll keep her guessing. “When I was little, I’d go around my mom’s house rearranging things. Books alphabetically. Food by expiration dates.” Boyfriends and dates in order of assholery.
“And have you… outgrown any of these tendencies?”
I unbutton my shirt and shrug out of that, then toss that in the basket with her clothes. “I’ve outgrown some, yes. I no longer line up my matchbox cars by color, no. But I like to be in control, and I definitely haven’t outgrown that.”
But she isn’t talking anymore.
I turn around to look at her. She’s gaping, openmouthed, at me.
“What?”
“Turn back around for a sec,” she says, twirling her finger. I give her a curious look but do what she says.
“My God,” she mutters, fanning herself with her hand when I turn back around. She pretends to pass straight out on her back on the bed. I grin. She’s so cute.
“That back looks like it’s chiseled by the hand of a God-sculptor, and your chest… you’re all…” she waves her hand at me, and her voice comes out in a breathy whisper. “Sculpted.”
I shrug. “I try.”
“Well, honey, whatever you’re doing, keep it up.” She nods approvingly, clucking her tongue as she unabashedly lets her eyes take in every detail. She’s so obviously impressed, I almost feel embarrassed, or a little shy. As a model, I show off my body for a living and have for a while. I thought I was used to being appraised, admired, and ogled.
