“Answer it, sweetie,” Marco said gently.
“No!” she hissed.
“This will still be here once you’re done,” he said, indicating the potent heat flowing between them.
She let out an exasperated growl and flicked the connect button. “What?” she snapped.
“Gia?” came Carol’s polished voice. “I’ve been trying to reach you for weeks.”
“What is it now?” Gia said, fully aware she sounded like the worst bitch imaginable.
“I...” Carol began. “It’s about your father.”
“It’s always about my father. What is it now? Acute colitis?” Gia said, gripping the phone. Silence met her ear. “Carol? Did I lose you?” This must be my lucky day. She pulled the phone away from her ear, about to disconnect when she heard Carol speak. “What? Sorry, I missed what you said about the latest crisis.”
“He’s dead, Gia. Your father is dead. He died of a massive heart attack. His health had been failing and he...” Carol’s voice cracked. “He’s been asking about you. He said he needed to apologize to you. That he did some things to you, he wasn’t proud of. Both you and your sister.”
Gia stood, numb, listening. She realized she checked out at the words “he’s dead.” Something else followed...something about an apology or some shit, but she couldn’t trust her ears.
“You okay, sweetie? What is it? Tell me,” Marco said, his dark eyes boring into her soul.
“I don’t think so,” she said, weakly. “I…I have to go to a funeral. My father’s dead. Please tell me you’ll come with me. I don’t think I want to face this alone.”
She suddenly wanted a drink more than life itself.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Marco folded his arms across his chest.
“I think it’s a great idea. This is awful. I need support.” Gia dragged her hand through her hair.
“I hear you. I can support you from afar. Dante and I didn’t exactly part on good terms, remember?” Marco’s expression mirrored the conflict she felt.
“I might start drinking if you don’t come with,” she said, plucking at straws.
“Nice try, but manipulation won’t work.”
Gia huffed out a huge sigh. “Okay, okay, okay. I’ll check with the lead dog. But you’re coming.”
Both of them stared at one another, blinking at the implication.
“To the funeral. You’re coming with me,” Gia said, feeling a sudden need to clarify herself. “And then, maybe, yeah…” She laughed.
“Maybe yeah what?” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders and gazing earnestly into her eyes.
She looked at him through her lashes. “Maybe, just maybe, we’ll get to start a fire in some other cave somewhere…and come to our heart’s content.”
Chapter 18
Before she could lose her nerve, Gia jammed her key into Dante’s luxury penthouse front door and flung it open. She whirled through the foyer, and rounded the corner into his front room like her hair was on fire. “Marco is coming with,” she said.
“Whoa, what?” Dante looked up from his seat on the sofa. He set his guitar on the floor next to him. “I’m so glad I let you keep your key so you could barge in on me like this.”
Gia waved her hand in the air. “I don’t usually barge. I only come in for practice. And I did call you on the way over.”
Kennedy came out from the kitchen, a look of surprise on her face. “Calm down, Gia. You told us your father had died, that’s it. What’s this about Marco?” She tracked to where Dante sat and settled next to him on the leather couch.
“I want him to come. I need the support, now, more than ever.” She tracked back and forth across Dante’s penthouse living room, arms flying, barely glancing at the sweeping vista of the city from his wall-high windows. “My life, my decision.”
“Have you been seeing him all this time? How did he get invited to your father’s funeral?” Dante said, getting to his feet.
“No, we…” Gia paused her pacing, searching for the right thing to say. “He stopped by to apologize. We got to a good place. We were together when I found out the news. I want him with me.”
“It’s a bad idea,” Dante said. He stood, stonily insistent, leaning against the door frame between his massive kitchen and the front room, his arms crossing his chest. “Haven’t you learned anything?” He ruffled his hair with an agitated gesture, spoiling his usual glossy, shiny, rock star perfection styling.
They exchanged a few more heated remarks, each one trying to convince the other of their impeccable logic.
Kennedy sat quietly through most of the argument. Finally, she stood from Dante’s leather sofa, put her hands on her hips and said, “If you two don’t shut up, I’m going to flatten both of you. Don’t think I won’t or can’t do it. I deal with tigers, remember?”
They both turned to stare at her with gaping mouths.
“Marco is no longer Gia’s sober companion,” Kennedy reasoned with Dante. “You’re doing great with sobriety,” she said to Gia. She turned back to Dante. “They like each other, love. They deserve a shot at happiness. Cut Gia a break. You’re a vicious big brother.”
Dante looked sheepish as he regarded his wife. “Yeah, I'm kind of a dick. You’re right. Okay, he comes,” he said, stepping away from his position against the door frame. “We all come. We’ll all pay our respects to your family.”
“Really?” Gia brightened.
“Really.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I got so riled. I care about you. You finally got me back in your life as a steady friend. You asked for this, you know.” His mouth curved into a smile.
Gia relaxed, letting her own rigid posture soften. “Oh, this is my fault?” she said, letting a smile form on her face. “As long as I won this round, I’m cool with that.” Her smile turned into a saucy grin. “Group hug. Let’s get it over with.” She sauntered toward Dante and wrapped her arms around him.
Kennedy strode toward them and enveloped them both in her embrace.
When they released one another, Kennedy said, “You’re both a couple of stubborn idiots at times. You know that, right?”
“Got it,” Gia said, already onto the next task. She hurried toward Dante’s foyer, fished in her coat hanging on the wooden coat rack, and retrieved her trusty phone, opening the text window. Meet us at the airport in two hours. Dante and the crew are coming. Private jet. She waited for Marco’s response, hoping she hadn’t interrupted his nighttime slumber. Her hours were always crazy. She couldn’t fathom the normal sleep cycles most humans adhered to.
A few seconds later, her phone chimed.
Cool. I’ll be there.
She smiled, typing, Did I wake you?
Nah. Still up. Thinking of you and your…sorry, can’t spell...let’s leave it at thinking of you.
His simple words touched her heart in ways no man had ever done.
What were you going to say? She typed. Tell me.
Trying to spell infuriating...infuriatingly sexy ways. I had a wicked hard time keeping my hands off you today.
What stopped you? It couldn’t have been my latest crisis, right? Guess I’m a drama queen, she typed.
Nah. You’re a beautiful girl going through shit.
She grinned and lifted her head to see Dante, watching her. “What?” she said.
“Nothing,” he said.
“No. What? Why are you staring at me?” she said, automatically defensive.
“I’ve never seen you happy like this. It’s...” He paused. “It’s good to see, G. I hope something great comes out of your Marco connection.”
“Thanks,” she said. She brushed past him, embarrassed to have been caught mooning over a guy. She headed back to the living room. “Me, too,” she called.
Three hours later, they all sat on the plane reserved for Marked Love, Gia snuggled into Marco.
In the afternoon, having arrived in California and checked into their latest luxury hotel, the entire crew—Dante, Ke
ys, Heat, Kennedy, Marco, and Gia rode to the funeral in a private limo. They all dressed in black, save for Gia.
“A gray shirt with a green and yellow X on the front?” Dante said when he first saw her step out of her hotel suite. “High-top neon green tennis shoes?”
“Yeah? So? Who said you have to wear black when someone dies?” Her hackles bristled, and she eyed him defiantly.
Dante and Marco exchanged a raised eyebrow look but wisely said no more.
In the limo, Keys and Heat fell asleep instantly. Kennedy and Dante huddled near the front, quietly talking.
Gia and Marco sat in the back of the limo. Gia kept tapping her foot...fidgeting...shifting in her seat.
Marco pulled her close and whispered in her ear, stroking her neck with his fingertips. “How can I help?”
She shook her head back and forth. “You can’t. I keep...I keep thinking about my sister.”
“What about her? Will she be at the funeral?” Marco asked. “I’d like to meet her. It’s not the best circumstances, but...”
“No. She died. In a car crash. With me by her side.” Gia refused to give any more details, afraid she’d lose it in the same way she’d lost it with Kennedy.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Marco kissed the top of her head. “That’s rough. So we share a similar heartbreak. I didn’t know.”
“Yeah,” Gia said, giving him a sidelong glance. She chewed on her lip, then, touched the diamond stud sparkling in her nose like it might yield luck. Restlessly, she tugged at her short bleached locks. She shifted her gaze and glanced nervously out the window at the streets, abundant trees and rolling hills of Marin County, as the car slid silently past.
“Want to tell me more?” Marco asked, his warm eyes penetrating her to the core.
She shook her head. “Only that I...I never went to her Celebration of Life or whatever bullshit name they called it. The whole thing seemed so sad. It was all my fault. I would have been...shunned...judged...stared at, you know?”
Marco stiffened. “Why so? Were you driving drunk?”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” She pressed into his solid warmth, grateful for the connection.
“Okay,” he said, his eyes scanning her face with concern. “Sounds like you’re taking more than your fair share of responsibility for...”
“Drop it,” Gia snapped. “Please?” she added, in her new “I hope I can be more than a bitch to him” voice.
“Dropped,” he said, squeezing her hand. “But I hope you share it with me sometime. I know what you must feel. I didn’t go to my fiancée’s memorial. I was in combat. By the time I got back, she’d already been cremated.” His face grew bleak.
“So you know what I’m talking about, right?” Gia said, hoping the shared experience would soften his opinion of her. Then, she chided herself.
Since when do I care what someone thinks about me, especially a guy?
“Big time. I already told you—I’d give my left arm to have one more talk with her.” His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Hell, I never even met her family. We met and fell in love with London. She was vacationing. I was stationed near there. She came out two more times. Never got around to talking about life beyond the moment. We had a whole bunch of life and family to look forward to.” He blew out his breath. “But...it is what it is. I need to let go and move on. You’re helping.”
Gia’s heart clenched. “Yeah,” she said. “You, too. I hate that it’s a tragedy between us, but it’s nice to know you can relate.”
The funeral was this freakish open-casket affair held at some muckety-muck social club in Larkspur, a pretty little town north of San Francisco. Her dad only stepped inside a church bi-annually, to confess his sins and gain absolution so he could start over, hence, the choice of locale made perfect sense.
Sweeping bouquets in crystal vases were set about the area in homage to the funereal vibe. Mourners made their rounds into a smaller space, to pay their respects. They then eagerly entered the adjoining room where libations—die Leiche versaufen, or “boozing the corpse,”—could commence to the tune of a fully stocked bar.
In the adjoining room lay her dead dad, tucked in satin and mahogany. Gia stayed as far away from the gaudy casket room as she could, preferring the comfort of the party space.
“Not going to look,” she told Marco.
She stuck close to the gleaming, polished bar-top, huddled with Dante, Marco, and crew. She leaned on the bar, her fingers drumming. Sighing at not being able to order anything, she pivoted, placing her back against the unyielding wood.
As wait staff made their rounds, her fingers itched to grab a glass of champagne and down it, then go for bourbon. Hell, even a shot of tequila would suffice. She contented herself with sparkling cider instead, a paltry substitute. Longing filled her throat as she watched Keys and Heat freely partake. They’d probably find a woman or two who needed “consolation” between the sheets following the event.
Dante kept his arm around Kennedy like she was his touchstone. He and the others conversed while Gia stayed glued to her own world, sorting, observing, wondering how long she had to remain. The room was packed with the so-called grieving, most of them Marin county’s elite. She bristled at seeing Carol dressed to the nines in some model-worthy attire.
Carol’s red-soled Louboutin heels click, click, clicked across the parquet floor in Gia’s direction.
Gia looked right and left for an escape route. No such luck. Marco and Dante trapped her on either side, standing like sentinels, chatting with one another.
“Gia, I’m so glad you could make it,” Carol said, air kissing each of Gia’s cheeks.
“Uh huh,” Gia said. The whole kissy-kissy thing seemed so fake.
“He wanted you to know how sorry he was for his mistakes,” Carol said, dabbing at her eyes with a linen handkerchief she’d retrieved from her clutch.
“He had plenty of time to tell me in person,” Gia retorted, her hands balling into fists.
Carol’s face blanched. She looked like she’d been hit. She even lifted her hand to her cheek.
The ridiculous gesture made Gia snap inside. “Do you even know what his so-called mistakes were? Or the scars they left?” she said before she could edit her words. “Want to see my back? There are still a few reminders. Do you have any idea how fucked up his little mistakes made me and my sister?”
Carol’s eyes grew wide.
A few onlookers silenced their conversations and stared at them.
“I didn’t think so.” Gia spat the words out, vehemence rising in her throat. Her posture stiffened.
Marco touched her arm, like a warning to a dog about to clamp her fangs around a throat.
“This isn’t the time or place,” Carol hissed, dropping her elegant veneer.
“It never is,” Gia said. Her whole body began to shake.
Carol sniffed, resumed her ballerina-like posture, and glided away like the queen herself, to be honored as the wife of the dearly departed.
Gia glared at all the mourners as they made their rotations toward Carol. No doubt they wanted to console her after being outrageously confronted by Dr. Jake Swain’s rebellious daughter. She silently defied any one of them to say something, look at her in a particular way, or even breathe in her direction.
They all seemed to avert their eyes and resume whispered conversation, reaching to enfold Carol in their comforting embrace. They dressed in bleak, elegant clothing, talked in solemn tones, and held themselves in high regard, Gia felt certain. Pretentious fucks. Do any of them have any idea what a bastard he was to me and my sister? She clung to Marco’s hand, wanting nothing more than a few stiff drinks.
“You okay?” he asked her.
“Don’t think so,” she answered. “Can I break sobriety for one day?”
His eyes reflected understanding. “It’s always your choice, but you know with an alcoholic, the one day can turn into two, and then...”
“I know, I know, I know. Forge
t it. This whole thing is such a sham,” she said, stepping away from the crowd. “It’s a game of ‘let’s pretend Dad was a good man.’ He wasn’t, Marco, he wasn’t.”
“I know, sweetheart. I got it. He lived a dual life. I’ve met people like him before. They appear all good and upstanding, and then, behind closed doors, they’re rat bastards.” He placed his arm around her shoulders and gave her a solid, comforting embrace.
Dante strode toward her, his expression appearing grim. “Ready?” He held out his hand.
“What for?” She stepped away from him.
“Let’s get this over with. The viewing, I mean. Let’s go up together.” He looked like he might be facing his own execution. Clearly, he had no desire to go look at her dead father, either.
“Nuh-uh. I’m not going to look.” Gia felt certain the color drained from her face.
“Sweetie,” Marco said. “Remember how I spoke of closure? Say what’s in your heart.”
“I don’t know, guys...I don’t know if I’m ready for this.” Her eyes slid toward the door.
“Two seconds, and then you’re done. We can go,” Dante said, his hand still extended.
She let out a garbled groan. She straightened her body and said. “Let me go it alone. I only need one second with the bastard, and then, we’re out of here, capiche?”
“Done and done,” Dante said, nodding.
“Good girl,” Marco said. “You can do this.”
But can I do it sober? She marched resolutely across the room, with a sea of temptation all around.
Chapter 19
Gia considered it a small miracle that she made it out of the booze room without grabbing two glasses of champagne, tossing her head back, and pouring them simultaneously down her throat. Or, simply grabbing the entire bottle and draining.
She paused at the doorway between die Leiche versaufen and the space containing her father’s remains. She numbly stared at the open casket at the far end of the room.
Huge glass vases of pink and white lilies sat near his corpse. White candles in polished silver burned brightly. A memorial table, complete with a large gilded framed photo of her dad and Carol, smiling like zombies, stood on a stand in the center of the table. Smaller photos were placed nearby, but she couldn’t make them out.
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