“This is my uncle, Gabe. He lives with us now.” Chloe took Gabe’s hand. The little girl beamed. “Uncle Gabe, this is my Mimi. Her real name is Nadine.”
I prayed to God for a lightning bolt to strike me dead. This cannot be happening.
He cleared his throat. “Nadine, nice to see you again.”
She paled beneath her expertly applied makeup.
I set my hand on my mother’s shoulder to draw her attention away from him. “You remember Gabe? He’s Joe’s brother.”
“Oh, yes.” She forced a smile. “What brings you to Algiers Point?”
“I’m staying here while some work is done on my house in the Quarter,” he said without hesitation.
I forced my shoulders to relax. Gabe had lied so smoothly. I wondered if he actually planned to renovate his place. “Mom, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Isn’t today Chloe’s recital?”
“No, it’s next weekend.” I motioned for her to sit.
“Mary Margaret, I’m quite sure you told me it was today. You need to get yourself together. Buy a planner.”
“Mimi, can I spend the night with you?” Chloe pressed her hands together in front of her chest. “Please.”
“Of course, darling. Go pack a bag for you and Ryan.” Nadine smiled as if the matter had been settled regardless of my thoughts.
“I’ll go help them pack.” Gabe lifted Ryan and followed Chloe out of the room.
“Nice to see you again.” Nadine called after him, then turned her gaze on me. Her lips pursed and she shook her head ever-so-slightly. “Please tell me that man isn’t staying here.”
“It’s Joe and Rebecca’s house,” I whispered.
“That doesn’t give him the right to stay here. You know how I feel about the Marchionni family. They’re responsible for your sister’s death.”
“Joe and Rebecca had an accident.” I hated that she’d never accepted the truth. “Besides, it’s only for a short while, and he’ll be on his way.”
“Good. The last thing you need to do is get a crush on someone like him.” Nadine sniffed and turned her head.
“He’s not my type, mother.” I sighed, remembering the year Gabe had been exactly my type.
Nadine patted my hand. “No, he isn’t. A man like that dates women like Rebecca. He’d never be happy with you.”
“I know.” I smiled to reassure my mother, but something fragile inside me curled into a tight ball and died.
11
Gabe
I hadn’t seen Maggie since the debacle with her mother that morning. And I thought I had it bad? Nadine made my mom look like Mary-Fucking-Poppins.
I listened at her door for signs of life and knocked. “Mags? What time are you heading out?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she called from inside the room.
“Why?” I frowned and set my hand on the knob. “Can I come in?”
“No. I don’t feel well.” Her voice sounded nasally like she’d spent the afternoon crying.
“I’m coming in.” Ignoring her puffy eyes, I sat on the edge of the bed. “What happened to girls’ night?”
“I cancelled.” She blew her nose into a tissue, then set it with a pile of others on the nightstand.
I pressed my hand to her forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”
“That’s good, I guess.
“Come on, get up.” I stood and tugged her hand. I refused to let her wallow. She needed cheering up, and I needed dinner. A win-win in my book.
“Why?” She sank deeper into the covers.
“We’re going out.” I released her, flipped the light on, and opened her closet. “You’ll feel better once you’re out of the house.”
“What? No. What are you doing? Get out of there.”
“I didn’t hear a rule about not going into each other’s stuff. Get in the shower. I’m starving.”
“I’m not hungry.” She hopped out of bed and positioned herself between me and her clothes.
Score one for me. She’s out of bed. I stared into her blue eyes and grinned. “Please? I hate eating alone.”
“Where’s Ella?”
“My mother came for her and Zach a couple of hours ago. I may need the National Guard to get her back, but Zach will call if she tries to take Ella out of the country.”
Maggie hung her head. “Fine. Where are we going?”
“Don’t know yet.” I knew exactly where I’d take her.
She glanced between me and the bed. “Give me fifteen minutes to get dressed.”
No way would I give her to the chance to crawl back under the blankets. “I’m not leaving you until you’re in the shower.”
“Fine.” She gave me an eye roll that put Chloe to shame and shambled to the bathroom.
“You’re adorable when you pout.”
“Go to hell.” She slammed the door.
My father was right. There were definitely worse things than marrying Maggie Guthrie.
My phone rang, and I answered without looking at the screen. “Marchionni.”
“Gabe, its Chantal. I need to talk to you.”
I glanced at the bathroom door and walked into the living room. “Talk.”
“I got a call from your lawyer.”
“I know.”
“I’ll sign the papers, but I need something from you.”
I stared at the ceiling. My attorney had told me to expect a cash grab. “Go on.”
“Your family ruined my life. I lost everything. I want what’s owed to me.”
“I told you I would set you up in a place close by so you could be a part of Ella’s life.”
“No. I can’t see… I can’t… No.”
“Right. You can’t be a mother, but you expect me to buy my daughter? How much?”
“Five-Hundred Thousand”
“Sign the papers, Chantal.” I disconnected the call and slid the phone into my pocket. I could get the money, but it would mean dipping into the savings I’d set aside to buy my bar from the Marchionni Corporation. My only other choice was to go to my father, but Satan would build an igloo before that happened.
Maggie walked into the hall. “Everything okay?”
One look at her and my frustration melted. Even in jeans and a T-shirt, with almost no makeup, she stole my breath. “It is now.”
“Yeah, okay.” She gave me side-eye.
Until that morning, I’d never understood why she couldn’t take a compliment. When I’d overheard the tail end of the conversation between her and her mother, it’d taken all of my restraint not to tell the woman to go to hell—no mother should speak to their daughter like that. But I’d recently learned it took more than giving birth to make a woman a mother.
No wonder my ending our relationship the way I did had hurt her so deeply. She had to know I was lying about my reasons and had filled in the blanks with God knows what.
I decided then and there to make it my mission to make her see her beauty. “You look nice.”
Maggie shrugged. “It’s as good as it’s going to get.”
I opened the front door for her. “Looks good to me.”
She ignored my remark. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
Maggie’s shoulders tensed, but she got into my car.
I kept my mouth shut during the drive. She glanced in my direction when we went over the Crescent City Bridge and exited on Camp Street, but didn’t say a word.
The woman needed to let loose and have fun, and there was no better place to do it than the French Quarter.
“It’s late, most kitchens close at ten…” She sounded like she wanted to bolt.
“I know a place that stays open late. The food’s great, but the owner’s a dick.”
Maggie shot me a dubious look.
“I’m kidding. Trust me.” I pulled into a parking spot behind the building.
“This is reserved for owner. There’s a sign.”
“I won’t get towed.”
“You’re going to have to learn to trust me.” I ducked into the service entrance.
“Uh huh.” She glanced around the busy kitchen and smiled.
“Gabe!” Enzo embraced me, something he hadn’t done since our brother’s funeral. I didn’t trust it. “How are you, man? I heard you’re a dad. Congrats.”
I slapped him on the back harder than necessary and pulled out of the hug. “Thanks. Ma called the entire family?”
“Yeah, you could say that.” Enzo smirked. “As for the other half of the news, good luck. I’ll believe it when I see it.”
My mouth went dry. Had my mother told people I was engaged, too?
Recognition dawned on my brother’s face. “Maggie Guthrie? My God, it is you. It’s been a while. How are you doing with all this?”
Maggie’s smile faded. “I’m all right. You should stop in and visit the kids.”
“I’ve been meaning too. I’m sorry, without Joe…” He drew her into a tight hug and kissed her cheek. “You’re a good woman. What are you doing with this loser? I never would have guessed he’d be shacking up with you.”
“Why don’t you quit hitting on my date and get us a table, will you?” I laced my fingers with hers.
Much to my surprise, Maggie didn’t pull her hand free.
Enzo considered the two of us for a moment and shook his head. “We’re standing room only. Let me see what I can do.”
“You do that. Technically, I’m the owner of this fine establishment, and I have the parking place to prove it.” I couldn’t resist giving him a hard time.
My brother nodded toward Maggie as if daring me to push my luck.
I winked, and he stormed away. He might play the role of perfect host, but I knew better. Beneath that chef coat beat the heart of a man who put his ambitions above all else.
She furrowed her brow. “What was that about?”
“Parking here’s a bitch.”
“Uh huh.” She opened her mouth to speak, but a waitress came to show us to our table.
Maggie ordered a drink as soon as we sat. Between her knee bobbing under the table and her fidgeting with her phone, her anxiety began to rub off on me.
I clasped my hands to keep from reaching for her bouncing leg. “Everything’s good here, but the steak Florentine is off the charts.”
She glanced at me and sighed. “I’ll have a salad and the gumbo.”
Not only had she decided on the fastest items on the menu, I recognized the look in her eyes—she wanted to leave. I had to do something, so I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I like your hair down.”
“Thanks.”
The server delivered our cocktails. “The usual, Gabe?”
“Not tonight. We’ll both have the house salad and a bowl of gumbo.” I latched onto the glass like a drowning man gripped a life preserver.
Maggie took a large drink and seemed to look everywhere except at me.
This is ridiculous. I leaned closer. “Are you still pissed at me?”
“No, why?”
“You haven’t said much since we got in the car.”
“I’m sorry. I have a lot on my mind. Enzo looks good though. This is his place?”
Her question surprised me. Enzo’s was one of the hottest restaurants in the Quarter. “Yeah. You’ve never been here?”
“No. I don’t come to this part of town often.” She turned her attention to her drink.
“You used to love the Quarter. What changed?”
“I don’t know, Gabe. Maybe it had something to do with not wanting to run into you after we broke up?”
The verbal bitch-slap left me reeling. I’d never get anywhere with her if I didn’t tell her the truth. “I’m sorry. If it’s any consolation, I couldn’t walk a block without passing a place that reminded me of you…of us.”
She stared at me for a long moment before glancing away. “I can’t talk about this. Not tonight. Not here.”
“I understand but listen. I’ve been thinking a lot about our situation.”
“We have a situation?” She sat back and folded her arms.
I’d never been so grateful for a meal to arrive. It gave me something else to put in my mouth besides my foot. “Another time then. Let’s eat.”
The woman was killing me one sharp word at a time. I wasn’t stupid back then. I knew breaking things off would hurt her, but I’d done it for her own good. She deserved so much better than me. Hell, she still did, but things were different now. I was finally in a position to break free of the Cosa Nostra and be a better man.
We remained quiet during dinner—uncomfortable, but not unbearable thanks to the noise from the bar crowd in the adjacent room.
By the time the server cleared our plates, Maggie had finished her second drink. Her mood had improved. “Okay, you can say it.”
“What?” I thought I knew she’d say I told you so, but I didn’t want to risk missing the mark and pissing her off.
“I told you so. I needed to get out of the house.”
My freaking stomach fluttered. Whether she cared to admit it or not, I knew her inside and out. I leaned across the table and cupped my ear. “What? Are you saying I was right?”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”
“Come on.” I threw some cash on the table and pulled her to her feet.
“Where are we going now?”
“Already skeptical?” I made a tsking sound, set my hand on the small of her back, and led her to the bar in the next room.
“What’s that noise? It sounds like someone strangling a raccoon with a cat.”
“That would be karaoke.”
Maggie slid onto a stool.
I snaked my arm around her and ordered another round of drinks—whiskey on the rocks for her, water for me. After working in a bar for years, I knew the drill. If I didn’t make it obvious I had a date, the women would circle. I refused to risk sending her fragile self-confidence into the toilet.
She leaned close, still half shouting, “Why are we here?”
Rubbing my cheek against hers, I spoke into her ear. “To dance our cares away.”
“Dance to karaoke? No way.” She turned her attention to the half-dressed woman on the stage singing “Don’t Stop Believin.’”
“Come on, Mags. It’ll be fun.”
“You do remember that I can’t dance, don’t you?”
I laughed knowing good and well the woman had moves. “Then you leave me no choice. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
“Where are you going?”
I winked and walked to the edge of the stage.
The older woman queuing the next song glanced up at me and smiled.
A little flirting, name dropping, and a well-placed compliment later, she agreed to let me cut in line.
Maggie shifted her weight on the stool and chewed her lip. She seemed uneasy, but I doubted she’d run away before I finished the song.
Mic in hand, I made my way on stage. Three notes into the song, Maggie’s spine stiffened, and her gorgeous blue eyes widened. Not surprising, considering I’d chosen to sing “When I Was Your Man” by Bruno Mars. Not only was he one of her favorite artists, the lyrics expressed my feelings better than I ever could—except for the part about wishing her new guy would buy her flowers and hold her hand. Fuck that.
I loved singing in front of a crowd. I’d sung and played guitar or piano at my father’s clubs, including my bar, since high school. Getting the right pitch and rasp to pull off Bruno Mars presented a challenge. The smoky air, along with the growing tension in my chest, helped roughen my voice. Not to mention, Maggie’s flaming-red cheeks and the glisten in her eyes urged me on.
How is it possible she’s more beautiful now than when we were together?
Women swarmed the stage, but I kept my eyes on my girl. Halfway
through the song, I wished I’d chosen a shorter tune. I wanted nothing more than to kiss away every tear she’d ever, or would ever, shed.
As if he had a bad timing detector, Enzo came out of the kitchen and sidled next to Maggie. The bastard took her attention off me by draping Mardi Gras beads over her head. My heart skipped a beat. If Enzo told her about my father’s mandate, I’d never get her to trust me.
Thank Christ, the song ended. I fought my way back to Maggie and took her chin between my thumb and forefinger. She met my eyes and licked her lips, sending a bolt of electricity through me. I leaned in and brushed my lips across hers before she had time to argue. She tasted like peaches and whiskey—intoxicating.
Enzo smirked and turned to speak to the woman at his right.
Maggie, on the other hand, gave me a look that promised pain.
I needed to get her out of there before she laid into me in front of my brother. “Let’s go home.”
She tugged her purse on her shoulder and marched for the door like a woman on a mission.
I took advantage of the situation and winked at Enzo, who looked as stunned as if I’d groped the Virgin Mary herself. So what if he’d misread the situation? If it kept his damned mouth shut, I’d take it.
Outside, Maggie rounded on me. “I can’t go home with you, and don’t kiss me again without permission.”
“I’m staying at your house. It’s a no-brainer you’re going home with me. And I’ll be sure to ask next time my lips come in contact with your body.” I used my bedroom voice on the last bit. I liked her drunk, but she was fun as hell when she was angry.
“Don’t you dare speak to me in that tone. You don’t know me anymore. We’re practically strangers. Things are complicated enough without adding physical stuff in the mix.”
Strangers who know every square inch of each other’s bodies.
“You’re right.” As much as I wanted to rekindle things with Maggie, I knew better than to push her. Not yet anyway. “How about a walk? I should check in with my staff.”
“Sure, why not.” She folded and unfolded her arms before stuffing her hands in her pockets. The woman had something to say and from the looks of it, something I wouldn’t like.
Absinthe Minded: A Mafia Romantic Comedy (Bourbon Street Bad Boys' Club Book 1) Page 7