by Jane Henry
Dashing back to the living room, I curl up beside my sister. I grab the oversized chunky knit blanket from the back of the couch, throwing it over the both of us. The movie she picked is Danger Zone Zombies. Mindless, predictable, impossible plot, and terrible acting. It’s perfect.
Soon we’re alternating laughing at the characters stupidity with screaming in terror, When the doorbell rings with our orders, we scream and jump out of our skins. Once all the food’s here, we spread it out over the coffee table.
We stuff ourselves and laugh till our sides hurt. This is the best. This is exactly what I needed. And yet... I miss him. Like, miss him miss him deep down in my soul.
The truth is, I am falling for Gabriel. And is he perfect? No. And you know what, I’m glad. Because when I first met him, I thought he was perfect. Which would make him too good to be true.
Imperfect is real.
Is he a little possessive? Obsessive? Invasive? Yes.
But I have my flaws, too. And that’s just fine. We’re just two flawed humans who make one another happy.
I’ll call him after Lexi falls asleep. Talking to him will be the icing on the cake of this day.
When the movie ends, we tuck the food in the fridge. Then we decide to pick another terrible movie, hoping to find one even worse than the last. “Oh, God. Celebrity gossip. Are you obsessed, Lexi?” I go to grab the remote from her. “I don’t know why you love this trash.”
“Wait.” She puts her hand over mine, stopping me. Her eyes are wide as she stares at the screen. “Isn’t that…” She pales. “Okay, you’re right, let’s shut this off.”
The panic on her face makes me look to the screen.
“Is that... Gabriel? And who’s that woman he’s with?”
I can’t look away. It’s an enlarged photograph.
Gabriel stands tall, staring at the camera, a look of intense pride shining on his face. He’s wearing a black tux, looking even ten times more handsome than he does in his posed model ads.
Because his face is filled with pure and utter joy.
Beside him stands a beautiful woman—too beautiful, so stunning it almost hurts to look at her. Big, almond-shaped brown eyes that you can’t tear your gaze from. A heart shaped face with full, red rosebud lips.
She’s smiling, too.
Pain rips through my chest. I can’t breathe.
It’s not her beauty, or the joy in his eyes that kills me. We’ve all had exes. It’s something else that makes my heart detach from my body and rip into shreds.
She’s wearing an all-white dress. A wedding dress. She holds a bouquet of red roses in her hands. She wears a sparkly diamond large enough to ice skate on.
On the ring finger of her left hand.
They are married. He is married.
Or was? It has to be was.
My eyes go big when I read the caption, though. Gabriel Lord and wife Phoebe.
“Lexi. How did you get into my apartment today?” My voice is light, floating like a ghost. I feel cold and hot all at once.
She turns to me and stares. “Shane let me in. He said you gave him a key.”
Chapter Seventeen
Gabriel
I pace back and forth in the suite, staring at my phone as if I can somehow will it to ding with a text or call from Miranda. I call the shots. I get what I want. And I pay people—generously—to make it happen. Even so… there are some things you can’t fucking control.
This is one of them.
“Come on, dammit,” I mutter, gripping the phone so hard my fingers hurt. “Where are you?”
Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I’m going to find her. I grab my wallet and keys and head for the door, and as I do, my phone rings. I scowl at it.
Shane, not Miranda.
“Yeah?”
“Where are you?”
“Suite. Just going to get my car and go to Miranda’s.”
He sighs. The kind of sigh that makes a guy wanna shake another guy by the collar. The kind of sigh that tells me he knows something I don’t. He’d better spill it.
“Shane.” There’s warning in my tone, as I’m trying to keep myself calm. “What is it?”
“Fucking news, man,” he says. He covers the phone, talks to someone, his voice clipped and hard like it gets when he’s commanding people to get shit done.
“What about the news?”
“They did a fucking exposé about your marriage to Phoebe.”
Jesus. I run a hand through my hair.
“You mean former marriage to Phoebe, don’t you?”
He blows out a breath on the other line. “That’s not how they framed it. She’s decided she’s going to sue you, says you’re still married.”
I grit my teeth. “We were married in France, and that marriage is no longer valid.” Six months to the day after taking vows to the woman I thought I loved, I found out the marriage was invalid. She’d been married three times before she was “married” to me. She was a goddamn con artist who only married me for my money. She would’ve been perfect for Lexi’s Tom.”
“Tell me about it,” he says. “I know that. You know that. But the news definitely didn’t cast it in that light, and Lexi said—”
“Lexi? You talked to Lexi?”
“Yeah. I called her cell to see if I could get in touch with Miranda.”
Jesus.
“And?”
“Lexi says… well, she says Miranda doesn’t want to talk to you.”
“She said it? Just like that?”
“Dude, you don’t wanna know what she actually said. Made this whole ‘daddy’ thing you like a lot more appealing to me, because if that little Lexi girl were mine, I’d have—”
“What did she say?”
He speaks in a high-pitched falsetto, mimicking Lexi. “The Montague sisters are done with your philandering ways. Lose this number, lose her key, and if Gabriel Lord ever comes near my sister again, we’re calling the police.”
Shit. This is worse than I thought. I feel as if someone’s dumped a bucket of ice water over my head.
“Gabe? You still there, man?”
I nod, swallow hard, and get my shit together. “I’m here. What the hell is she talking about, a key?”
“Well…”
His voice trails off.
“Shane.”
“Well, her sister got here, and Miranda wasn’t home yet, so I… let her in.”
“Let her in? Where? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Into Miranda’s apartment.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? How did you get a key?”
“Had one made, remember? You told me to get a copy in case of an emergency.”
Yeah, I’ve crossed some fucking lines. And with Shane’s natural tendencies to overstep, he made it easy for me. I groan, running a hand through my hair, and shake my head.
“I’m going to her. There’s no way around it. I have to talk to her, confess to everything, and make it right again.”
“You do that.”
“You don’t sound too confident,” I mutter, opening the door to the suite and heading to the elevator.
“Well, I… I dunno, man. Lexi sounded like she was ready to castrate me, never mind you.” He pauses. “Though honest to God, the way she got all worked up and angry was so fucking hot, I seriously—”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“Okay, okay,” he mutters. “Sorry, boss. I’ll have your car brought around right away.”
Jesus, I’ve fucked this up. I need to make it right again. I call her again, but of course it goes straight to her voicemail.
“Where to, sir?”
I give him her address, the same address I’ve had memorized for months. I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose. My phone rings again, and I reach for it. This time, my heart soars in my chest.
Miranda.
“Hello?”
“Don’t even think about coming over here.”
&nb
sp; It’s uncanny how well she knows me.
“We need to talk.”
“I need some space right now, Gabriel.”
Gabriel, not daddy. I hate that.
“And I have a few things to say.”
“Not now. I want you to just give me some space and time to process everything.”
“You don’t even have the full truth!”
“I know enough.” Her voice is pained and ragged, and it tears my heart in two. “And I need you to leave me alone.” Her tone shifts to her professional business owner one. “I apologize for negating the terms of our contract. You’ll be paid back in full.”
“Miranda, I—”
The phone goes dead. I stare at it for a moment as if that conversation didn’t just happen. I want to throw this goddamn thing out a window.
My driver looks in the rearview mirror. “Same plans, sir?”
I speak through gritted teeth. “Same. Plans.”
I shoot Miranda a text.
You maybe saw the news about my “wife.” I have no wife. I was married before in France, but that wedding was deemed invalid in France, and sure as hell isn’t valid in America. It was only on the French news, and I covered it up in America because I wanted a fresh start.
No response.
And I know you know Shane had a key to your apartment, but I can explain everything.
Can I? How do you tell a woman you love her when she won’t even answer her phone?
We arrive at her apartment, just as dusk settles.
I take in a deep breath and square my shoulders when I get out of the car. I know exactly which number to press, and just how the concrete’s broken a few paces outside the door. I know the mail comes at noon, and there’s a woman on the bottom floor who owns a chihuahua that no one “knows” about because it’s against policy to have pets here.
Maybe I’ve taken things too far.
Ok, I definitely have.
I buzz her number, but there’s no answer. I’d bet anything she’s home, though. I want to go all caveman and pound this door down, yell for her. Instead, I take in a deep breath and pull my phone out again.
I send her a text.
Open the door. We need to talk.
A few seconds later, I get a response.
No.
She’s making me angrier. I want to take her by the shoulders and shake her, then spank her ass good and hard.
Is this how you handle things? You make up your mind ahead of time about what’s true and don’t bother to listen to the other side? Real mature, Miranda.
Her text is quick and succinct.
Fuck. Off.
I feel my eyes narrow and my pulse quicken.
When I get ahold of you, I’m going to turn you over my knee and spank your ass till you can’t sit.
You lost that privilege.
I’m fuming, pacing on the front step. A mailman comes and places a box on the step beside me, and I want to kick it down the damn stairs. He watches me, eyebrows slightly raised, as he takes out a key ring and puts the mail in the correct boxes.
“Everything alright?” he says.
“Locked myself out,” I mutter. Will he be able to get me in? Just then a door opens and a mother and her children come out.
I give him a forced smile. “Looks like I’m in luck.”
I sidle into the building like I live here. Someone protests behind me, but I walk with purpose, until I get to her stairwell. I take the steps two at a time and finally get to her door.
I’m tempted to break the door down, but I make myself have a little more composure than that.
I knock three times.
No answer.
“Miranda. Open the door!” I knock again.
No answer.
My phone buzzes and I glance down.
If you don’t leave, I’ll call the cops. You shouldn’t be in here.
My response is quick. And you should have the decency to answer the door so we can at least talk.
There’s a pause. I hear hushed whispers and raised voices but can’t tell what they’re saying.
I press on.
Jesus, I’ve fucked up.
I’ve fucked up bad.
This woman means the world to me. I will devote my everything to her, if only she’ll give me a chance to make things right again. She has to.
I swallow hard, overcome with the need to make things right again. My fingers fly over the keys.
Miranda. Babygirl. Please give me the benefit of telling you everything. There’s nothing I won’t tell you. I have nothing to hide. I pause, and swallow again. You’re everything to me.
The voices are closer. “My God.” I think it’s her sister. “Let him grovel, babe.”
“He’s not the groveling type.”
I bang the door again. “I will totally fucking grovel!” This girl’s got me ready to beg on my fucking knees.
An older woman walks by, looking at me with wide-eyed curiosity. I try to give her what I think is a smile, but I think I actually bear my teeth or something, because she takes off at a near run.
Jesus.
I hear the click of locks, the slide of a bolt, and the door swings open. It isn’t Miranda, but Lexi on the other side.
“Mr. Lord,” she says with cool dignity, giving me an ice cold look from her baby blues that promises she’s prepared to make good on the threat she made when we first met.
“Hey. Can I come in?”
She nods and opens the door. Miranda’s standing in the kitchen. Just the sight of her makes my breath catch in my throat, my chest tight.
I have to win her back.
Her arms are crossed over her chest. Her jaw is tight, her eyes cold and distant, and I hate it. This isn’t the girl I’ve come to know and love.
Love.
“Listen, girls, I need you to at least give me the opportunity to tell you the truth. Okay?”
Lexi nods. “Have a seat.” She looks to Miranda and mutters, “Forgot how hot he is.” Her brow furrows. “Jerk. How dare you come in here looking all runway-tousled?”
Runway-tousled?
Miranda rolls her eyes. “Lexi, please.” She faces me. “Okay, then. Let’s hear it. Talk.”
I face her with my palms raised in surrender. I’ve never been more determined in my life to make something right, to speak the truth, to make sure she knows everything.
“Let’s start at the beginning,” I say, trying to stay as calm as I can.
She nods, and wraps her arms around herself as if to protect herself from me. I want to reach for her, pull her to me, and hold her. I want to tell her that no one is going to hurt her. Even me. Jesus, especially me.
“You came into the gym for the first time last February. And as soon as I saw you, I…” my voice trails off. “I was just taken with you.”
I hold her gaze as I continue. “There was something about you that drew me to you immediately. Something… I can’t explain. But I’m a public figure, and I have a past, and I… I don’t do relationships long-term.”
“Oh, really?” she says, eyes blazing. “You don’t consider marriage a long-term relationship?”
Sass—the kind I’d like to spank right out of her. Anger surges in me, but I shove it down so I can keep myself calm. I draw in a deep, cleansing breath. “I’m not married.”
“You were, and you never told me.”
My voice is tight when I reply. “There are lots of things about me you don’t know. But we’ve only been together for a short time. You can’t possibly expect to know everything about me in such short a time.”
“And yet somehow, mysteriously, you know everything about me?”
I don’t deny it. I hold her gaze and nod. “I know many things about you. I won’t pretend I haven’t researched. I have. I looked into your background. I wanted to know everything about you. So yes, I do.”
She blows out a breath. “It’s an invasion of my privacy.”
“And for that I apologize. I ove
rstepped.”
“Overstepped? You have a key to my apartment!”
I nod, still holding her gaze. “I do.”
She shakes her head. “Were you… in here? Snooping?”
“Never.”
She gives her head a shake. “Gabriel, it’s too much. It’s all too much. You ask me to trust you, then you do the very thing that makes me not trust you.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” I can’t stand the pain in her eyes. She looks betrayed. Hell, I don’t blame her at all.
“I was going to tell you today, I swear. At lunch, my plan was to tell you everything.”
“Ha!” Lexi’s cackling like a lunatic. “Suuuuuure, hot guy. That was your plan. But then I conveniently showed up, thus getting you out of your planned confession?”
I decide it’s best to ignore her.
“I was going to tell you that I’d looked into your background. Once I started, I couldn’t stop. I wanted to know everything about you. I wanted to prepare myself so when I finally had my chance with you, I’d give you what you needed.”
Her voice wavers, and her face tells me she’s halfway between weirded out and intrigued. “Tell me about the wife.”
I take in a deep breath and let it out again, slowly. “As I said in my text, the marriage is invalid. We met ten years ago. We were young and I was naïve. She was a con artist. I thought we fell in love. We got married in France, at my family home, and it wasn’t until she cleared out my bank account and took off with everything that I knew she’d been married four times to four other men.”
Lexi sneers. “Just like what happened to me with Tom? Well, minus the money part. Still, I don’t think so.” She’s written me off, but Miranda holds my gaze, giving me hope. I press on. “Our marriage wasn’t valid even in France, let alone America. I did everything I could to hide it, since I wanted to start fresh in America.”
Miranda’s eyes soften a tiny fraction. “How do I know this to be true?”
“Look it up. It’s on record. Anyone who claims I’m still married is going on hearsay and not documented fact.”
“That’s what they all say,” Lexi mutters, but again I choose to ignore her.
