“I more than like you.” Then, coward that I was, I ran from the room.
The doorbell rang. Lincoln growled and sat up from where he’d been building a tower with my brother. “Better not be my family. Don’t they understand they can wear out their welcome?”
I took his spot next to Altin. “Be nice.”
He winked and left the room.
Altin and I added another level to his creation. The three of us had passed a wonderful morning exploring the playroom. Altin had been in heaven. Lincoln had given him a childhood, the kind I’d never been capable of granting him. My heart would break when I had to leave my little brother, but there was no one better I could leave him with than Lincoln.
“Look who the cat dragged in,” Lincoln said as two rambunctious boys raced in and overtook the room like Thing One and Thing Two from The Cat in the Hat.
Joe appeared behind them. “Gemma, how’s my second favorite girl?”
A cute blond woman followed. She must be his wife, the number one girl.
I hugged Joe and was caught off guard when his wife embraced me as well.
“Hi. I’m Janey. Joe has told me all about you. We wanted to check in and see how you both were doing.”
“She brought a casserole,” Lincoln said. “A total Mormon thing to do.”
“Don’t pretend you’re not excited,” Joe said.
“I’m ecstatic,” Lincoln said. “I love Janey’s cooking.”
Joe’s twins were a force of nature. I was used to my sweet, orderly brother, but the twins quickly emptied puzzles, blocks and other toys from the neat and tidy shelves Lincoln had worked on setting up all night.
Joe caught me staring. “The monsters are Smyth and Sutter. Don’t worry. Janey and I will clean up their mess before we leave.”
“Hey monsters!” Lincoln called.
Smyth and Sutter perked up and each clobbered one of his legs, beating their tiny fists against him. Lincoln made distress noises and fell to his knees. The boys jumped on top of him, whooping as he made real distress sounds.
“I got ya, Uncle Link,” one said.
“Give me a horsie ride,” the other hollered, jumping up and down on him.
I winced and looked at Joe. “He has two broken ribs.”
He quickly shooed his sons away. “Uncle Sausage Link’s hurt. Ride him another time.”
The boys took off to cause more destruction as Lincoln climbed slowly to his feet. He joined Altin, who stood frozen in front of his building.
“Smyth. Sutter.” Lincoln waved. “Come here and meet Altin.”
They ran over, the one eyeing Altin’s building with a devious glint.
“Don’t think about it, Sutter,” Lincoln said. “You won’t get a treat if you do.”
The boy pouted, but he didn’t break Altin’s building. Thank goodness.
“Say hi to Altin.”
I watched in awe as Joe’s boys transformed into tiny gentlemen and said hello to my brother. Lincoln turned to Altin. “Can you say hi to Smyth and Sutter?”
Altin did a fair job repeating their names. Lincoln enticed the boys to work on Altin’s building and another tower next to it.
Joe grinned. “My boys love Uncle Link. They have eight other real uncles between Janey’s family and mine, yet he’s their favorite.”
“Because the goofball plays with them,” Janey said.
I’d witnessed that silly side of him and loved it. Maybe too much. As I’d watched him with my brother, I’d imagined living out my life with him. Our own little family. Happy. Hopeful. Safe.
But I mustn’t be greedy. It was enough that Altin would have that life. He wouldn’t if I stuck around.
Joe joined the boys on the floor while Janey and I sat on beanbags in the corner and visited. Two hours passed like a snap of my fingers. After Joe and Janey cleaned up after their boys and Lincoln found treats for the twins, we walked them outside.
Janey hugged me. “It’s like I’ve known you forever. Thanks for letting us hang out with you this afternoon. I know my boys can be overwhelming.”
“I love them. Don’t be a stranger,” I said. “You’re always welcome here.”
She grinned. “Throw the casserole in the oven about forty-five minutes before you want to eat.”
“Thanks.”
Their rowdy, cute little family drove away, and Lincoln lifted Altin into his arms.
“He needs a nap.” I held my arms out to take him.
“I need one, too.” Lincoln carried Altin upstairs. “Can I join you guys?”
“I guess. Or you could nap with him, and I could go into work.” I needed to start mapping out new investors to call.
Lincoln tapped my nose. “Stop thinking about work. You and I are on forced leave.” He stepped closer. “Let me join your group nap.”
Those words sounded sort of naughty coming out of his mouth. My heart beat double-time as I stretched out beside Altin, turning my back to Lincoln. He crawled onto the bed and I was ultra-aware of him. His scent. His muscled body. The rhythm of his breathing. I went through my routine with Altin, changing the Albanian song I usually sang to just humming. Speaking of humming, my body soared to life as Lincoln caressed my arms.
So much for sleeping.
“Tell me the name of your Jeep,” I said softly, after my brother had conked out.
Lincoln’s rumbling chuckle made me want to purr. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“No. So you might as well fess up.”
He kept caressing my arms and back. “You’ll laugh at me.” His minty breath against my ear made goosebumps erupt along my neck.
“I won’t. I promise.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not telling you.” His tantalizing cologne made me long for more.
But it would be wrong to complicate our relationship. With secrets or with more intimacy. I didn’t deserve to know the name of his dumb Jeep. And I certainly didn’t need to turn around so I could kiss him.
Nope.
Today had been perfect. Whatever was happening between us right now would come to an end, but for now, I savored his tender touches to remember when I left this all behind.
39
Lincoln
Wilder and his wife sat across from Gemma and me in my living room. They’d come bearing gifts and goodwill, something I’d honestly tired of over the last few days.
“Your story in the paper caught the eye of the general manager of the St. Regis in Park City.” Wilder grinned. “He’s offered up his facilities next weekend for your wedding.”
I watched Gemma for a reaction. Ever since the attack, an underlying tension simmered below the surface. I knew she cared for me, but she hadn’t brought up the L word. And I hadn’t dared bring up the topic again. How did she feel about moving up the wedding date?
“That’s wonderful.” I took her hand.
“Your grandfather will be thrilled,” Wilder said.
But would Gemma?
We made idle chitchat until the Wilders left. Tina had put Altin to bed. So, ready or not, Gemma and I needed to discuss this new development.
“Want to go outside under the stars?” I said.
“Sure.” It wasn’t a super enthusiastic response, but I grabbed a blanket and led her into the backyard.
A slight breeze from the canyon made me shiver. I shook the blanket out and sat with her. Neither of us spoke. We just looked up through the pines at the stars, waiting for the other to start things rolling.
“So,” I said, “how are you feeling about the wedding plans?”
“Good,” she said. “I want EcoCore to get Mr. Wilder’s money.”
I reached for her hand. “I don’t care about the money. This was a game at first, but everything’s changed.” I waited for her to look at me. I needed her to look at me. “I love you, Gemma. I don’t know if you feel the same, but I can’t keep dancing around the truth. I need to know if you feel anything for me, or if I’m way out of line.”
Not love. And she’d led in with a positive, meaning a huge BUT of negative would follow.
“But we’re polar opposites. You’re rich and successful. I’m a ghetto brat. We both went through a traumatic experience, and your feelings transformed overnight. They’re not real. I mean, you don’t even trust me with the name of your Jeep. And I get that. Your feelings for me will fade with time.” She withdrew her hand.
“That’s not true. My feelings are real. I named my Jeep Princess Genevieve.” I felt my whole body warm in embarrassment. “It was Cora’s favorite Barbie movie, The Twelve Dancing Princesses. Cora called me Derek, the royal cobbler Genevieve is in love with. And she was Lacey, Genevieve’s younger sister. I called my Jeep Gen for short.”
Gemma blinked but didn’t laugh, for which I was grateful. This was something only Joe and Cora had known about, something I’d gone along with only for the sake of my sister.
“Look, I’m grateful for all you’ve done for Altin and me. I will marry you next weekend to make your grandpa happy and to secure Wilder’s funding. But we need to be careful and not do anything either of us will regret later. Face it. You’re going to want to annul this marriage when you realize what you imagined was love only stemmed from stress and fear.”
“Gemma, that’s not true.” I’d told her about Gen, for heaven’s sake.
She stood. “Let’s just keep this business only, as we originally agreed.” She grimaced. “I need to get to bed. My head’s killing me.”
She left me there—alone and cold. And humiliated.
She was wrong. I’d fallen for her long before the attack. That’d sped up my admission of the truth, sure. But my devotion was real. It wouldn’t change.
I loved Gemma Stone, damn it all.
But how could I convince her of that when she’d already made up her mind about me?
40
Saemira
Age 17 - Detroit, Michigan
CALAMITOUS: disastrous; marked by great loss and suffering.
Glass broke downstairs as Saemira shoved clothes into her suitcase. Nine-month-old Altin fussed on the bed. She walked over to pat his belly. “Don’t be scared, bro. You won’t have to put up with the witch after tonight. Baba has a place for us in north town. We’re moving out of this hell hole.”
Rosie kept screeching at Baba. Saemira didn’t understand why he’d given her so many chances. They should’ve moved out months ago. Rosie was unfit to be a mother. Unfit to be a human being.
She zipped her luggage and set the cases by the door. Baba would get them when he was ready. He’d told her to stay in the room with Altin until he gave the all-clear. Rosie was an ugly drunk.
A sharp explosion sounded downstairs, making her eardrums ring.
She turned to the door, unable to breathe. What was that? Had the gods come to punish her after all?
Saemira shoved pillows around her baby brother and raced downstairs to see if everything was all right. She froze on the bottom step when she saw Rosie standing over Baba with a gun. He was sprawled on the kitchen floor, chest bleeding.
Had Rosie shot him?
She wanted to scream at Rosie to get away from him, but she couldn’t move. She just watched, until adrenaline, shock, or anger yielded a pathetic whimper.
Rosie flinched and turned the gun on her.
Would she shoot her, too? The evil woman hated her.
“Stop looking at me like that, you filthy gypsy!” Rosie threw the gun down and ran to the door.
When the screen slammed, Saemira stumbled over to her dad. “Baba!”
His eyes slowly focused on her. “It’s okay…baby…girl.” He closed his eyes. “Call…9-1-1.”
She did as he asked, telling an operator through her tears that her baba had been shot by Rosie, who had run away. The operator told her to stay on the line but Altin’s screams from upstairs made her frantic. What if he rolled off the bed?
Saemira took the phone to Baba. “Help’s coming.” She caressed his forehead, but he didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His eyes were open, staring up at the ceiling. “Baba?” she put her head to his heart. No heartbeat. No up or down movement of his chest. “Baba!” she cried.
The baby’s frantic screaming pierced through her hazy shock, and she dropped Baba’s phone. Tears blinded her as she felt her way up to her bedroom to pick her brother up. She patted his back and shushed him as she dialed Engjell’s number.
“Hey, Sammy,” he said, teasing her with a new nickname. “What’s—”
“Shut up and listen,” she choked out. “Baba’s been shot. He’s dead.” She swiped her eyes and shushed her brother again. He was as upset as she was. “Rosie murdered him.” She wiped snot from her face, trying to erase Baba’s blank stare from her mind, the blood on his chest. “Rosie ran, but her gun’s downstairs. What should I do?”
“Calm down, Saemira.”
“What if the police take us away? I can’t lose my brother.”
“I won’t let you lose him.”
The lump in her throat burst. “You’re my only friend,” she sobbed. Nobody in America liked her. She was different. She wasn’t white. Now, she was an orphan.
“And you’re mine. I won’t leave you.”
“What if they put us in foster care?” She’d read a book about that.
“I’ll get you out.”
“How?”
The door burst open downstairs and she heard shouting. “Police! Get down on the ground with your hands above your head!”
“Get down, Gem,” Engjell said, having overheard.
She set Altin on the bed in the middle of the pillows and curled up on the floor.
“Hang up and put your phone in your pocket. Don’t lose it,” her friend said, sounding panicked.
She slipped the phone in her pocket and put her hands above her head. Altin screeched above her on the bed.
Please, God, don’t let him roll off.
Heavy footsteps stomped upstairs as she sobbed into the carpet.
For the second time that night, she waited to be shot.
Gemma
High-end, snobby store shopping didn’t appeal to me as much as thrift store treasure hunts. But Lucy had insisted that retail therapy would help me. So, I’d humored her. She understood my preferences now and had found several Bohemian shops for me to peruse.
“Could you drop me off at EcoCore?” I asked, after the required therapy had ended. “I have a few phone calls to make for Lincoln, but the files are at the office.” In truth, I needed time alone without him breathing down my neck. I’d hurt him by being honest, but distance and boundaries were needed. I couldn’t let him love me. That would endanger him.
“No problem, dear. I’ll wait for you in the lobby.”
“You’re sweet, but I’ll have Lincoln pick me up later.”
“Are you up to working? How’s your head?”
“It feels great. I’ve been dying to return to a normal routine, but Lincoln’s been a mother hen.”
It took more convincing, but Lucy eventually dropped me off at the office.
I switched the glass to privacy and pulled out several files. Leaning back in my chair, I propped my feet up to admire the new pumps Lucy had persuaded me to buy. I’d have to carve a cool pattern into the bottom to bring the soles to life.
For the next hour, I leafed through pages of research half-heartedly as I obsessed about Lincoln. By the gods, he’d told me the name of his Jeep. And had blushed like crazy in the process. It had been utterly adorable, and had taken all my willpower and more not to kiss him senseless right there on that blanket, under the stars. I had ached to reciprocate and tell him my real name, my real problems and fears. But if this all ended in annulment—and it would—I needed to stay silent. I didn’t have a lot of confidence that the police would find Duke. So, the less Lincoln knew about
me, the better.
Still, I was so tired of living a lie.
The door burst open, and I flinched as Lincoln marched in, appearing madder than a nest of hornets at a piñata party. He slammed the door.
“Is Altin okay?” I asked.
He scowled. “I’ve been calling and texting you for over an hour. Why haven’t you answered your phone?”
“I, uh…”
“Dammit, Gemma, you scared the shit out of me. I called Mom, and she said she dropped you off here over an hour ago. I’ve called and left messages, and nothing!”
“I, uh…”
He stalked around my desk, yanking me out of my chair. I cringed, but he pulled me into his arms and cradled my head. “Sorry.” He let out a long breath. “I didn’t mean to yell. I’ve just been scared out of my mind.”
“I didn’t mean to worry you. I lost my phone in the attack.” More lies. The dang things fed off each other. “I wasn’t purposely ignoring you.”
He brushed his lips over my forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me? I’ll get you another one ASAP.”
“No, you don’t need—”
“You’ll be my wife in a week, which means you will have the best phone money can buy, with a tracker. I don’t ever want to worry about where you are again.” He buried his head in my neck. “I feared the kidnappers had found you again.”
I shuddered. “I’m fine. And please, no tracker.” I didn’t want to have to ditch my phone when I ran someday.
He frowned. “Didn’t I tell you not to come into work? You’re recovering from major trauma. Besides,” he looped his fingers through my belt loops, tugging me closer, “you have an ‘in’ with the boss. Rumors say he really likes you.”
His lips found mine with an intensity that stunned me. Holy heavens, I loved kissing him. Fire spread through every cell in my body as I dug my fingers into his hair and kissed him back. Lincoln tasted of cinnamon, kindness, and passion, and I was starved for all of it.
Of Stone and Sky Page 20