I just didn't like to be rushed. Even as a journalist, when my boss, Peter, would be on my case to submit a story earlier than agreed on, or pushing for it when I had yet to finish just before deadline, it irritated me to no end. I liked to do a good job on things, not just rush from one thing to the next.
Getting out of the taxi, I made my way back into my hotel. There, in the lobby, were more people milling about. They all seemed to look at me and know; my days were numbered.
God, I was getting morbid. I needed to stop watching political intrigues and reading thrillers where the secondary characters were always killed off in particularly gruesome ways.
Was I the secondary character in this? Would my death spark some handsome constable, or rogue police chief, into an investigation that would fully expose Peter Khan's corruption?
In my hotel room, I feasted on a bag of Lays that I'd stashed beside my bed the other day. There were only a few chips left, but they were enough to make me feel good enough to call my parents.
"Kandice!" My mother cried as soon as she picked up the phone. "We've been trying to get ahold of you. How are you doing? How is Jin doing? Did he turn up?"
I took a breath. You can do this. "Sorry," I said. "I've just been feeling a bit crappy. Jin still hasn't turned up. There's even an article in the newspaper about it. I went to the police, but..."
"They were no help, the fools," mother said vehemently. That was one of the many reasons they had left China: the corruption.
Here, it was a matter of course that if you wanted something done, you would probably have to pay off the police or have some other important connection.
"You should be coming home," Mom said fiercely. "No job. No boyfriend. What’s tying you to Shanghai now, Kandice?"
Her voice rang accusingly in my ears. Mom was right; I knew she was.
Damn it, I should have left months ago when I felt a strange, pointless pull to go to England.
Right now, I didn't want to go to England. I just wanted to go home.
But not home with Mom and Dad.
"Your father and I can make up your room," she continued. "And I know it's not much, but you could work at the plaza your father owns. There's a lovely drugstore there..."
I zoned out at that point. I had nothing against working minimum wage, entry level jobs. But after you've gone to university and spent your life building a career that you were sure was going somewhere, going back to work at the same job you did when you were 16 just felt unbelievably shitty.
Then again, maybe I was being a snob. It wasn't like I was in a position to argue. The one thing I just knew I wouldn’t be able to do, be able to stand, beyond having a crappy job—was living with Mom and Dad.
Their inquiring after my whereabouts at every second, to commenting on my food choices—"Cookies again, dear?" was one of Mom's favorite lines when I tucked into the Oreos for the second time in a week—yeah, count me out. I knew they meant well, but the only time they had really backed down was when I moved out. No way did I want to go back to ground zero of parental interference again.
"Kandice?" Mom asked insistently.
"I’m thinking about coming back," I admitted. "But I'll have to see."
My phone buzzed and I exhaled with relief. Saved by the best friend. It was Jen.
"Anyway, I just wanted to call to let you know that I'm fine. I'll be in touch in a few days when I decide what to do."
"Okay," Mom said, clearly unsatisfied. "Just know that we love you, and just be safe out there, Kandice. You know it's not like over here."
"I know," I said, refraining from sarcastically mentioning that I’d only been living here almost ten years. "Bye, Mom."
I called Jen back right away.
"Thought you might be a while since the line was busy," she said.
"No," I said. "It was just my Mom. I was reassuring her that I'm still alive."
"But are you?" Jen said.
A pause. This was the part where I was supposed to reassure the both of us, her and myself, that things really were okay. That I had figured things out. But the truth was I had no fucking clue.
"No," I admitted. "I'm freaking out. I'm getting paranoid and it feels like things are closing in. My credit card isn't even being accepted."
"Shit," Jen said. "Do you need me to send you money or something?"
"No," I said quickly. I hated borrowing money from friends, being beholden to anyone. Even though I knew Jen was just trying to help. "I'm supposed to get the last check from my job in a few days, although I don't know if it’ll ever arrive."
"Screw those bastards!" Jen said. "Come on, Kandice. You can't tell me you're actually going to stay in Shanghai."
"I can't," I agreed. "I don't know... Something just happened."
"Something good?" She asked.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I met this guy, and—"
"You see?" She said triumphantly. "What did I tell you? As soon as you got rid of Jin, you meet a great guy and..." She trailed off. "I'm sorry. That was such a dick thing to say, especially since Jin might be..."
"It's not like that anyway," I said, trying to reroute the conversation. I felt bad enough as it was. "I mean, we did hook up. And he is insanely attractive, and maybe kind of cool. But the thing is, I might be able to get out of Shanghai with him."
"How?" Jen asked. "It's not like you're..." Her voice dropped. "Kandice, you are not."
"We're not eloping," I protested. "I told you, it's not like that. There was just this thing that happened with his father's will, and he needs to marry someone or his entire family business is going to his younger brother who parties all the time and will lose it all. We need each other. If we marry, then I get out of Shanghai, go back to Miami with him—"
"No way," Jen said, the smile obvious in her voice. "He lives in Miami?"
"I know, right? Anyway, if we did get married, it would solve everything for both of us."
A thoughtful pause. "Yeah. I think you should go for it."
"What, really?"
"Yeah," she said. "I mean, Kandice, get real. This could save your life. I don't know how overdramatic you're being about all this danger, but Jin is gone. Disappeared—poof. You need to do whatever it takes to save your skin."
"I know," I said. "That's not all. Giovanni, he wants this to seem real for his family. He wants us to live together, and he says that one of the stipulations of the will is that he can't get divorced for the first five years."
"Damn," Jen sounded impressed. "That guy's father sure was methodical."
"Unfortunately," I said dryly. "It's one thing to get married and then say ‘sayonara’ once everyone forgets it all, but it's another if I'm stuck with this guy for five years when I hardly know a thing about him."
"You know he's great in bed," Jen piped in.
"How did you—"
"Come on, Kandice. We've been best friends since we were what, seven? I know you, and I know how you sound. This guy, by the sounds of it, was a god."
"He was," I admitted. "That doesn't mean living with him will be bearable. He seems nice enough, I guess."
"So? What's the hang up? If it's that bad, you can just tell him and his family to go screw themselves and stay married to satisfy his father's thing-a-ma-bob and then, yeah."
"I guess," I said. "I think I just need a bath."
Jen chuckled. "Oh, you and your baths."
"Yes, me and my baths," I said. "I've made many momentous decisions in them I'll have you know."
"Fine, whatever," Jen said. "Just, as soon as you get to Miami, you'll call me, right?"
"Call you?" I said. "Girl, I will show up on your doorstep."
"With your brand spanking new ring," Jen shot back.
"Goodbye," I said firmly.
"Love you!" Jen snuck in.
"Love you," I replied.
Hanging up, I got my bath ready. This place was nicer than I'd expected, they even had a bottle of bubble bath. So, pouring it in and sinking myself
into the citrus swells of hot relaxation, I simmered down.
There, everything stopped buzzing for a while. Just hot, warm. Doable.
This thing with Giovanni was happening at just the right time. I could, I would, do this. The difficulties... Well, they still beat being murdered in my sleep.
Maybe I was overreacting, but it was more than that, too. I'd been ready to leave Shanghai for years now.
I’d stayed put here because of my position at Rayli, because I thought I'd had a life here. With Jin. But I'd stopped waking up excited years ago. It was time for a change. Even if that change would more than likely be the most messed up thing I've ever done.
It didn't have to be exactly how Giovanni said, either. I could put my own spin on our agreement, too. Maybe I could add a condition that I could travel whenever I wanted. I smiled, thinking of all the places I'd always wanted to visit, but hadn't had the chance—there was Los Angeles, London, Paris, and yes, Australia, the whole freaking continent.
Just like that, as I rose from the bath a few minutes later, it occurred to me. I'd made my decision.
All that remained to be seen was whether it was the right one.
8
Giovanni
I took in my surroundings with distaste as I approached the building. Its walls were peeling paint, like the building had leprosy. The two disco balls that were positioned outside had long lost their sparkle. Even its sign, Disco Something, had been ravaged to the point of illegibility.
This was where I was to find Gino, apparently.
I guess I should have been happy that he was in Shanghai. No coincidence either; his friend Marley had told me that he'd planned to meet up with us a week or so ago, the whole family. Despite having initially refused to come along. Of course, as soon as he was off the plane, he'd fallen into partying, putting off all the things he'd had planned. The family, or calling me, and now... Here he was.
On a beautiful Sunday morning, my brother was housed in some dark basement of a forgotten disco-tech.
What happened in the basement of disco-techs in the morning? Nothing good.
No matter. I am Giovanni. I’ll figure this out.
I suppose I should have been grateful that there was at least one responsible person in the bunch. Even if they were all staggering their way from one bar, party, or rave to the next. Marley, at least, may drink and party as hard as the others, but she took breaks. Responsible breaks, in which she’d answer her phone, return calls, and would faithfully recount where Gino was, if not what he was doing.
This time, there had been a careful edge to her voice, which meant that he was in a state where he’d not be happy to see me.
I told her I would be there in fifteen. Then, at least, he had some time to get himself together.
If it wasn't enough time, well that was too damn bad. Our father was dead. I needed to know where Gino stood. Maybe if I could get through to him this time...
As I stopped at the door, I shook my head. I had lost track of how many times I'd had this conversation with myself. That Gino could be saved. That all I needed to do was say the right thing to get through to him. That I owed it to him after what I’d done. That it was my fault he was this way. That he could change.
Gino wasn't like that. People weren't. They only changed when they wanted to, and if the past five years had shown anything, it was that Gino had no intention, motivation, or interest in changing.
I reached for the handle of the white paint-smeared door and tugged. It creaked, as if the whole door might collapse, but it stood firm. I peered at the door a bit more closely. At the handle there was a fist-sized hole, evidently the result of someone as fed up as I was already feeling. Shoving my hand through, I felt around and unlocked the door from the inside.
I exhaled the breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Lord knew what was waiting for me inside.
I found out quickly. There was a mysterious sticky, sudsy substance on the floor. A man was milling around, obviously unimpressed with my arrival.
"What be you?" He asked in broken English.
"I'm here to get my brother," I said in slow, enunciated words. "No trouble."
I meant as much from him as from me. At any rate, the man seemed to understand and jerked his head off to the side. From there, I followed a long, dingy, rank stairwell down into the darkness. I flicked a light on and, as the fluorescent bulbs began to buzz, I heard grumbles and groans.
They were assembled on a long couch. No sign of Marley, though. The others were half conscious, with bottles still slumped against their chests. I had no doubt that Gino had paid the bar owner whatever it took for them to be allowed to sleep in these shitty accommodations.
There, positioned between two half-clothed, smeared-makeup women, his mouth placed thoughtfully on a beer bottle, was my brother.
Gino Bruno. The youngest son of Antonio Francesco Bruno. Here he was.
I looked away in disgust. "Gino," I said sharply.
Gino gargled, blinking at me stupidly. "Wha?" He grumbled. I wasn’t sure if he registered that it was me yet.
I didn't have time for this. I had dinner with Kandice planned for less than an hour from now. I wasn't intending on being late just because I'd made one last ditch effort at getting through to my brother.
I shook him. "Gino, it's important. Wake up."
He glared at me as I loomed over him. "Fine," he slurred.
He staggered off the couch and quickly found a spot to sit on the floor. He heaved a sigh, yawned, and blinked his eyes wide open. They were bloodshot red, but awake. More sober than I’d expected, too. He'd been more tired than drunk. At least I'd caught him in a rare, somewhat sober moment.
"I have to talk to you," I said.
"Marley got you," he said conclusively. "She told you. She told you, when I was going to call you guys myself and—"
"We were going to leave for home tomorrow," I said. "You would have been too late."
"Really?" Then he shrugged, as if he didn't care anyway. "I would have seen you guys at home eventually."
"You mean I would have had to come and find you after months of no contact," I corrected him. "Anyway, this is more important than that. This is about Papa."
Gino said nothing.
Perhaps a part of him knew already. But he didn't look at me. He kept his gaze fixated on a stain on the couch.
"Papa is dead," I said quietly.
Still, nothing.
I raised my voice. "You hear me, Gino?"
Nothing, though a small muscle spasmed in his jaw, amidst the mess of stubble.
"I heard you," he said quietly.
"That's it?" I asked. "You don't want to know how, when? When the funeral is? Where Mama is?"
Gino's gaze snapped to meet mine. "You don't want me there."
"You're his son," I said fiercely.
Gino's gaze had returned to the couch stain. "I'm his embarrassment."
Different words mashed together in my head, all pointless. Yes, I'd known going to Gino was a toss-up at best, that you could never really expect him to be in a reasonable state.
But this? No, I couldn't take this.
"If you would just take a second to stop feeling sorry for yourself and realize that our father—"
"Our father, who kicked me to the curb," Gino snarled back. "Our father, who disowned me. Our father, who, if he were here now, wouldn't even want me at his funeral."
"He came around to you in the end, more than you'd know," I said.
"What?" Gino sneered. "Said he was sorry? For raising such a failure of a boy, was that it?"
He tried to stand, then thought better of it, slumping back onto the couch. "Well, I'm not sorry. Only sorry that I have you lot constantly interfering with my life."
I spoke out of clenched teeth, "Interfering with your life. Is that what you call the handouts Mama and Papa kept giving you? Or how they saved you from doing jail time by forcing you into rehab after you crashed your car into a tree? Is that the i
nterference you're referring to?"
"Forget it."
"No, I'm not going to forget it. Neither are you. This isn't just about you anymore."
"I can go to the funeral, if it would please you." His voice was laced with scorn.
I had to laugh at that one. "If it would please me? What would please me is having my brother back from this self-pitying piece of shit that's sitting in front of me, who hasn't changed since he was 16. That's what would please me."
A long silence, where I seriously considered just leaving. Saying “fuck it.” I'd known Gino was far gone, but this? I couldn't take it.
"You know what I saw," he said quietly. "It was all a sham, all a bunch of bullshit."
"Everyone makes mistakes," I said quietly. I knew what Gino was trying to do. He was trying to draw me into a specific, unwanted conversation. He wanted me to talk about what I'd sworn never to. No. I would not go down that road with him. Gino had ruined enough already, he wasn't going to ruin this, too.
I decided to get to the point. "You're in his will."
If that interested Gino, he showed no sign of it. His long lashes kept beating methodically, like a lazy, dying moth.
"The business may go to you," I added. Again, no reaction.
Maybe Gino had drank away his emotions, along with everything else he'd lost.
"There's one condition, though," I said. "If I get married, I'll get it."
"Then what's the issue?" Gino looked at me full-on, the dark circles under his eyes failing to hide his derisiveness. "Go find yourself a pretty wife and live happily ever after. Forget about me."
"It isn't that easy," I retorted. "You can't just find a wife on every street corner."
Gino gave me a one shouldered shrug. "Not my problem."
"So, you're saying," I said. "If you get the business—"
Ugly laughter escaped his lips. One of the women beside him stirred slightly, then fell back asleep with a contented snore.
"Fine," I said. "So, you'll hand it over to me?"
Maybe this meeting wouldn't be a total bust after all. If Gino handed over the business, everyone would be saved a lot of trouble.
Playing Pretend Box Set Page 21