Game of Shadows

by Amanda K. Byrne

  After a detour by the grocery store that I drag out as long as possible, insisting we needed things we don’t actually need, Nick rolls into a quiet neighborhood several blocks from the beach.

  It couldn’t be farther from what I pictured.

  The houses aren’t huge, but they’re definitely multi-bedroomed, the lots big enough for entertaining yet small enough you could hang over your fence and chat with your neighbor. Nick’s house is in the middle of the block, like he said, facing east. The most prominent feature is the front windows, floor to ceiling, the main part of the roof pitched steeply.

  All that glass…

  I trail him up the flagstone path to the front door and duck under his arm to watch him put in the alarm code. We haul the groceries into the house, and I go back for my bags. “Bedroom?” I ask.

  He takes my bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Come on.”

  His bedroom is huge. Walls the color of the Pacific in a storm, California king-size bed, the furniture some dark wood that makes me want to stroke it to see if it’s as smooth as it looks. A set of French doors opens onto a small flagstone patio, leading to a sprawling deck looking over the backyard.

  I’m tempted to hide in here. I haven’t played meet the parents since high school, and I’m strung out enough as it is. This fake relationship is becoming far too real, and I’m not programmed to handle it. One more thing to thank Turner for. My chest squeezes at the thought of my father, how fucked I’ve become because I spent years begging for him to love me. “How far is the beach?”

  “Couple blocks. You’re staying for dinner.” Once again, he pins me, this time to the bed, halting my struggles with a glare. “Cassidy.”

  Nausea bubbles in my stomach, and I break out in a cold sweat. “Don’t make me do this,” I whisper. His parents will ask questions, and I’m tired of lying.

  The doorbell rings, and I wince. “Please. I’ll stay in here. I’m not hungry anyway.”

  His hand comes up, and he rubs his thumb over my lips. “You need to eat,” he says quietly. “Lia’s coming. So’s Con. Stick with them. You’ll probably have to talk to my parents at some point, but I can tell them you’re nervous. It’ll excuse you for tonight.” He straightens and pulls me to my feet. “Ready to play house?”

  Tonight? Only for tonight? Will I have to repeat this performance? Jesus. Someone save me from myself.

  Chapter 23

  The evening goes sideways almost immediately.

  The first people to arrive are George and her family, followed quickly by Shelly, the second oldest daughter, and her husband. After introductions, I retreat to the kitchen and the alcohol, dawdling as I open a bottle of red and poke through drawers, searching for a bottle opener for my beer.

  Constantine rushes into the kitchen. “Hey. Have you seen the yard yet? Let’s go look at the yard.” He rounds the counter and practically shoves me through the kitchen door. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out something’s up, but since it gets me out of the house and away from all the people in it, I’m okay with putting aside my doubts to hang out with him.

  What I can see of the yard is nice. Dusk has rolled in and blanketed the coast, turning the edges of bushes and trees fuzzy. Constantine flips a switch, and the lights surrounding the deck turn on. I lie on one of the lounge chairs and stare up at the sky. No stars. This close to the city with the pollution, the stars get blotted out. “Thanks. I didn’t want to be in there.”

  He chuckles. “Anything to help a damsel in distress.”

  “If you really wanted to help, you’d find a way to sneak me out of here.” And get me someplace where it’s marginally warmer. The temperature is falling rapidly, and I’m not wearing a coat.

  “Not a fan of family dinners?”

  “Not a fan of being surrounded by people who would likely kill me first chance they got.” I roll my head to the side, meeting his gaze. “Plus, it’s hard to remember who knows what, what lies I’ve told, what ones I haven’t.”

  “True,” he agrees. His gaze slides past me and his eyes widen. His lips turn up in a charming smile. “Tell me a story.”

  There are more people outside, talking quietly, too soft for me to hear more than a suggestion of words. I twist around to see what he’s looking at, but I can’t find the source of the voices. Now my curiosity’s roused. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Story first.” He moves his hand in a get on with it motion.

  Fine. I’ll play his way. “Once upon a time, some stuff happened. Then more stuff happened. A unicorn pooped rainbows across the sky, and the world was blown to hell in a fiery ball of fire. The end. Now will you tell me what’s going on?”

  His answer is cut off by Liana stomping onto the deck, leaving the sliding door to the dining room open at her back. “Con! Why did you let your mother bring her?” She drops onto my lounge chair and scrunches her face in sympathy. “Cass, I’m sorry, and I’d like to apologize for my family.”

  Oookay. “Um, thanks? I think? Why are you apologizing?”

  She narrows her eyes and swings her head to Constantine. “You didn’t even tell her? Shit.” She shifts so her back is to her cousin. “Cecelie’s here. Nicky’s ex. Aunt Gina thinks they’re absolutely perfect together and ignores everyone’s protests and keeps trying to push them back together. Cece’s not helping by still being hung up on him, even though she’s the one who dumped him. She did it over a year ago too.”

  I hold up a hand to halt the flow of words, my brain scrambling to keep up. “Nick’s ex is here? And she’s trying to get him to take her back.”

  “Yup.”

  “Why is your aunt the one pushing? That’s a mom thing.” Well, normal moms would. Mine just pretends she’s an ostrich.

  Constantine shrugs. “My mother is a nosy woman who demands babies. Grandnieces or grandnephews are just as good as grandchildren in her mind. She’s not getting it out of me, so when Dom stayed with Cece for, what, how long were they together?” He looks at Lia for confirmation.

  “A year.” She reaches behind her head and tightens her ponytail. “A year, then Cece broke up with him. Gina’s been after them both ever since.”

  My head hurts. An honest to God headache’s brewing, a dull knot of pain forming at the base of my skull. “I need more beer,” I announce. Beer will see me through this family dinner debacle.

  I stand just as Nick’s walking over to the deck, a woman about his age at his side. In the dim lighting I get an impression of lush curves and wavy brown hair, but the closer they get, the better I can see the naked pain on her face.

  I make a beeline for the sliding door and safety. That look is on her face because of this stupid charade. That look is there because of me.

  In the kitchen, I mumble vague greetings to Shelly and George, dumping my empty bottle in the trash and pulling a fresh one from the fridge. They start asking about my classes, and I decide the kitchen’s probably a safer place to stay, so I hide in plain sight, ignoring the sympathetic glances they exchange.

  Nick shows up shortly after they start telling me about their kids and slips an arm around my shoulders. It’s heavy and wrong, all kinds of wrong, the weight of it uncomfortable. I’d shrug it off except he’s using it to steer me out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bedroom.

  He shuts the door and wanders over to the bed. I remain standing, hands clamped on my beer bottle. “I’m sorry about that. About Cecelie showing up,” he says.

  I shrug. “It’s not your fault. I’m probably the one who should be apologizing.”

  He frowns. “Apologize for what?”

  I place the beer on the dresser and sit next to him, a careful foot of space between us. “I saw the look on her face, Nick. Unless she’s completely delusional, there had to be some real hope that you’d get back together.”

  His silence grows as heavy as his arm was, and I paste on a smile. “See? You and I, and Constantine, we know there’
s nothing here. Some good times and amazing sex. But we had to lie to too many of your family members, and now we don’t have a choice but to see this through.” And I’m hurting someone whose only mistake was realizing she’d made one in the first place. “So I’m sorry.” I rub my palms on my thighs and retrieve my beer.

  “I’m not.”

  The bottle slips in my hands and I bobble it, droplets of beer flinging themselves onto my hand. “You’re not,” I say slowly.

  He stands and takes a step toward me. Then another and another, coming to a stop when he’s well inside my personal space. “You remember you told me why you had a hard time relating to guys your own age? Same goes, Cass, only it’s thanks to you I realized it.”

  I frown. “I don’t understand.”

  “I don’t have to hide from you. I don’t have to lie. There may be things I won’t tell you, but at least you’ll know why. The women I’ve dated before didn’t even have that luxury. I was never certain they’d understand.”

  I tip my head down before he can kiss me, confusion upping the pounding in my head. This is not part of the plan, although if I’m being honest, the plan was screwed once Nick started with his whole cuddling thing.

  He cups my face and tilts it up, a small smile on his lips. “You haven’t met my parents yet, and I got sidetracked. Come on.” Lacing our fingers together, he leads me out of the bedroom and into the main part of the house.

  It’s a simple thing, hand holding, yet all it does is add to my confusion. The rumbling tangle of emotions comes to a dead halt when he leads me to a couple seated in the living room. “Mom, Dad, this is Cass. Cass, these are my parents, Andreas and Marina.”

  His mother is gorgeous with brown hair and bright blue eyes, startling in a sea of dark ones. His dad, on the other hand, has my heart lurching in my chest.

  It’s Turner.

  Not my actual father, but he’s there in the way Andreas carries himself, in his silence, in the impersonal way he studies me.

  Marina holds out her hand, and I go through the motions, smile politely, shake hands, answer her questions, all the while conscious I’m being evaluated and found lacking.

  Andreas shakes my hand as well and thankfully allows his wife to do all the talking. My tongue’s tied in enough knots as it is.

  My discomfort lessens somewhat with the arrival of Isaiah and his parents. “Zeke had to work, and Serena’s staying home with a sick kid,” he says after greeting his aunt and uncle. He grins and grabs me in a bear hug, jostling my beer. “Dom, I’m stealing your girl.” He ushers me out to the deck, and I think of the dossier I compiled earlier today. It can’t be him. Isaiah doesn’t want my head on a platter.

  Constantine and Lia are sitting on the chairs, talking, so I take a seat opposite Lia, sitting sideways on the chaise. “Did you talk to Nicky?” she asks.

  “Yeah.” I’m not sure what to make of the conversation, and his family dynamics make absolutely no sense. I turn to Constantine. “Dude, what’s with your mother?”

  He grimaces. “If I knew she’d asked Cecelie to come tonight, I would have told her about you.”

  “Shit, man, Cece was here?” Isaiah scowls at his cousin as he sits beside me, throwing his arm around my shoulder. “Babe, this is one fire you should not have been thrown into.”

  My muscles knot up, one by one, tiny fibers locking and holding. Stomach a block of cement, lungs barely functioning, I force a smile. “It’s fine.”

  An older woman steps onto the deck, and Constantine jumps up and hurries over, Isaiah’s hand tightening on my shoulder. I lean into him, wishing I could rest my aching head somewhere. Nick’s shoulder, maybe. Or bed. A bed would be good, too, along with a dark room. “Aunt Gina?” I murmur.

  “Jesus. Is everyone trying to steal Cass from me?” Nick walks around his aunt and ousts Isaiah from his spot, fulfilling my wish for a place to rest my head. “You okay?” The words whisper over my temple, his lips soft.

  I huddle closer. One dinner. A few hours. I’m strong enough to make it through an evening with his family. “Could use some aspirin.”

  “Hey, Lia, could you grab the bottle of Aleve from the bathroom?” Nick’s question rumbles through me, the pleasant vibrations easing some of the stiffness. She grumbles something about not being his Sherpa as Isaiah points out he told Nick he was stealing me away, and, more to the point, I didn’t protest. Nick just maneuvers us so we’re sprawled on the lounge chair, me cradled in the vee of his legs, his chest a warm, solid wall at my back.

  Dinner isn’t as bad as it could have been. Food arrives from a local pasta bar, giant bowls of salad, steaming aluminum containers of pasta, easy food to push around to conceal the fact my stomach’s locked up like a safe. I’m seated between Nick and Lia on the couch, away from the meddling Gina and the damning silence of Andreas. Cecelie must have chosen to leave because I haven’t seen her.

  The family is all over. Some are at the dining room table, a few are in the kitchen, and the rest are in the living room, balancing plates on laps. Conversations overlap and interrupt themselves. Thank God for Lia. Even with Nick’s hip pressed to mine, I spend most of dinner talking to her, and the end result is I’m enjoying myself far more than I anticipated when the evening began. With the distraction, I manage a little more than half my meal, and it’s not threatening to reappear. Progress.

  Lia glances wistfully at my plate. “You’ve got way better control. How can you not scarf it down?”

  I give her a wry smile. “Willpower. Lots and lots of willpower.” Or a case of anxiety fast descending into a starvation diet. I rise, plate in hand. “Did I see cake? I have no willpower against cake.” My stomach cheers at the thought of cake.

  There is cake. Rich chocolate frosting screams deliciousness. I rinse off my plate and stick it in the dishwasher, refill my water glass, and find the silverware drawer. I suppose I ought to be polite and cut up the cake so whoever wants a piece can just wander in and take some.

  “Cassidy.”

  I don’t drop the knife, though it’s a near miss with his low, calm voice knocking up against my foundations and shaking them hard. Andreas is in the doorway, a glass half-full with amber liquid in his hand. Whiskey, probably. “Mr. Kosta. Would you like some cake?” He’s like Turner. Treat him with the same detached deference, and it’ll be okay.

  His eyes never leave mine. “Would you join me outside for a moment?”

  Saying “no thanks” isn’t an option. He opens the kitchen door and waits for me to pass through first. The small patio is connected by a path—more flagstones—to the main deck off the dining room, but he remains where he is, the light from the deck not quite reaching us.

  He doesn’t bother building up to his topic. He jumps right in. “You’re the Ghost’s daughter.”

  I no longer want cake. “Yes.”

  “I’ve done business with your father on several occasions.”

  This doesn’t surprise me, though it should on some level, given how often organized crime people prefer to handle their own problems. “And?”

  Andreas flicks his eyes to me. “And I’m wondering how my son managed to become involved with an assassin.”

  A man like Andreas Kosta demands the truth, or a part of it, because what does surprise me is he doesn’t see through the lies we’ve told. “I was hired to kill him.”

  Ice clinks in his glass. “I gathered as much.” A deliberate sip, light catching on his wedding ring. “What reason do I have for not killing you in return?”

  Sliding into this discussion is like putting on my favorite jeans, it’s so familiar. “Two reasons. The first is someone else is already trying, and your concern should be eliminating that person. But the bigger reason is, it’s just business. It was a job. It doesn’t matter that it was your family.”

  He takes his time responding, sipping his drink, staring out into the darkened yard. “Someone has attempted to kill you as well.”

 
The bandage should come off soon. I hope. “Yes.” Either he knows it was Josef or he doesn’t. I’m not about to volunteer the information.

  “Someone in my family.” The full force of his coolly assessing gaze rests on me, and I want to squirm.

  “It’s a possibility.” It’s pretty fucking likely. “I don’t have many clues to work with so tracking the person responsible has been hard.”

  He nods once. “We have used you as well. It’s business, though sometimes when it’s family, it’s difficult to separate the two. We paid you to complete a job, and you succeeded. Rewarding you with your own death is counterintuitive.”

  Tell me something I don’t know.

  He dips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a card, hands it to me. “Contact me if there’s anything you need.”

  My nose tingles and burns. As much as I want to believe Turner wouldn’t leave me twisting in the wind, I understand my father well enough to know he’d expect me to find my own way out of this disaster. Andreas’s offer of help is the hand I wish Turner would extend.

  Ice rattling in his empty glass, Andreas leaves me on the patio wondering if an olive branch would go unnoticed.

  Chapter 24

  Andreas’s offer strengthens some of my tethers and frays others. I’m able to eat cake and joke with Constantine, make plans for lunch with Lia the next day, and engage in polite conversation with Aunt Gina without wanting to stab her in the eye with my fork.

  Nick shuts the door after the last relative stumbles out and gives me a look. It’s a bedroom now and get naked look. I’m a fan of this look; it’s one he’s used before. But tonight I need some distance. Too many objects poking through my armor: his ex, his meddling aunt, his dad, the constant lies about who I am and why I’m here and what we’re doing. I need the distraction of sex but none of the connection.

  We race down the hall, anticipation simmering under my skin. Our mouths come together as the bedroom door clicks home. Tongues slipping and sliding, my hands desperate for any part of him I can touch, he lifts me and tumbles me onto the bed.