Lies That Blind

by Diana Rose Wilson

  She crossed her arms over her chest, scowling at Christopher, but he didn’t wilt under her gaze either. A serene expression warmed his handsome features, before the grin curled the corners of his mouth.

  “Mambo? He’s named after a dance move?”

  That made him laugh.

  “He does have moves. I’m Christopher Harris-Wallace.” He held out his hand. “Welcome to Yountville.”

  Chapter 3

  Judgement

  It was like a dam breaking. With the introduction of Christopher and with him at her side, everyone else in the room wanted to meet her. It seemed perfectly normal for him. He knew everyone.

  Actually, he was family to most of them. He leaned in and murmured into her curls to give her names and their family connection. As though she’d ever untangle all those knotted lines.

  The crisp sandalwood and cedar scent and his casual serenity soothed the edge of her headache, and eased her frustration and anger. It had nothing to do with how good-looking he was.

  Nothing at all.

  God, she enjoyed how he towered over her. Unlike the only other man who ever touched her, he didn’t hesitate to get close, and backed off before she could tense.

  It was like getting caught in a river, pulled along with the only constant the huge, gentle man at her side. He did all the smiling and small talk for her. He filled what might have been awkward silence with cheerful banter.

  It dawned on her that she had never intimidated any of these people. They were not stopped by her glares, instead they had been waiting for her to relax before swarming her. Now they did, with an exuberance that left her breathless.

  They all wanted to hug her.

  Full body, neck embraces complete with cheek press. Sometimes with kisses. The first time she braced herself and held her breath, expecting the worst.

  Danger.

  She was conditioned to keep up her guard. Hands ready, feet moving, and never letting anyone into her bubble. These beautiful people had no concept of spatial restraint.

  Several times, Christopher deftly inserted himself when someone got too clingy. He eased his body close and put a hand on the small of her back to guide her to safety before releasing her.

  The huge wine stain she’d made on his white suit became a compliment to her. “Oh, my goodness, Christopher, what happened?” one of the grand-aunties asked.

  His expression melted into one of boyish shock and he looked down at his front, touching the curved Frankie-mark on his chest. “Amy said she would leave an impression on me. I didn’t expect it to be quite so literal.” And he would slide a shy smile at Frankie through dark lashes.

  The first time, she rolled her eyes, but as the long day continued, she felt a coal in her ribs warming.

  How in the hell did he do that?

  People were delighted that she had claimed him properly. Hell, her teeth still vibrated from the impact.

  “So, how do you know Amy?” she asked during a lull in introductions. The server, a cousin of his named Sean, stood with silver tray laden with food, most likely in an attempt to ply her.

  Christopher glanced up from the selection, shooting her a look through his lashes. “She was my second mother. Godmother sounds strange since we’re not Catholic. Here, try this?”

  It was an improbable little coil of salmon on a dainty cracker with something glistening poised on top. Her stomach lurched and she shook her head. “No. You’re the one who runs the bar?”

  His grin turned radiant. “Right. The Hooligan Hideout.”

  “I should have known. Hooligan.”

  He tried offering a skewer of some meat that smelled smoky and spicy, and she declined. She had not kept down anything solid since she found out Amy had died. The last thing she needed was getting sick with this much attention on her.

  “You should eat something,” he said, voice low and soothing.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I know you’re worried about insulting us if you don’t actually like the food, but…maybe just try it. I’ll cover if you turn green.” He tried the airplane move and she jerked her head away from him, drawing out of range with a scowl of warning.

  The cousin chuckled and then fell silent when she turned the glare on him. “I’m fine,” she said, dismissing him.

  “Hey, what about those cookies? You know what I mean?” Christopher suggested to Sean with a charming smile.

  “You’re a busy-body,” Frankie hissed when the server glided back through the crowd.

  “A’yup.” Christopher did not look the slightest bit apologetic. His lively green eyes scanned the crowd like he was scouting for trouble. “All part of the package and mostly Amy’s fault. She said, and I quote: ‘When you meet Frankie, I want you to be chivalrous like a proper—’”

  “You are so full of shit,” she cut him off.

  “No way. True story. Ask my brothers.” He grinned back at her, dimpling adorably as he towered over her. Suddenly, he noticed her lopsided stance and blinked. “Where did your shoe go?”

  The question made her glance down at her feet and a blush rushed to her cheeks. “When you…um—” Remembering the way he had picked her up and spun her made her heart flutter and her tongue tie.

  “Oh shit.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I should find it for you. I am so sorry. Why didn’t you say anything?” Reaching out, he lightly touched her chin with his knuckle, his gaze was soft. “Wait here for me? Please?”

  Her heartbeat tripped. “Yeah. Fine.”

  “Don’t you dare leave, Cinderella,” he said as he backed up a step.

  She waved him off and he grinned wider before turning to melt into the crowd of giants.

  Her heart was singing. An actual song with steel guitars riffing through her. It vibrated her ribs to the hole that once held her heart. Could she grow back a heart? A forbidden smile struggled at the corner of her mouth.

  “You certainly look like you are enjoying the party,” the man spoke close beside her. He had come into her personal space during her daydream. An oily sensation curled down her spine as she regarded the man.

  This wasn’t someone introduced to her earlier, but he had all the marks of Harris family. Olive-green eyes, his dark hair shot with gray. He wasn’t as huge as some of the others, but almost as tall as Frankie. Middle-aged, he was whip-cord thin, strong and handsome.

  “I wouldn’t call this a party,” Frankie answered.

  His lips curled into a wider smile, amused by her answer. “But we are celebrating,” he said, indicating her empty glass of wine.

  The way he said it made Frankie’s knuckles itch. He looked so self-satisfied, like he’d won some grand victory.

  “I’m Tom Harris.”

  “I’m—”

  “Frankie Welton. I know,” he drawled and held her gaze. She felt a strange prickle in the back of her head. It fanned the migraine back to life. “Ellen was a good friend of ours. And Frank. Such fine people. What a shame to lose them all.” The slippery smile curled wider as he seemed even more amused.

  “Yes, it’s been a rough few years.”

  He uttered a soft, “Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “And now you’re planning to stay and take over for Amy?” He seemed on the verge of a laugh, though Frankie couldn’t understand what he found so funny. “Do you have any idea what you’re walking into?”

  “I’ve managed a restaurant in New York. I can handle this.”

  “I’m not talking about the bar, peasant.”

  “Excuse me?” Frankie asked, unbalanced by the man’s unexpected anger.

  He got in her face, teeth bared as he growled, “You stupid pawn. If you know what’s good for you, you will get back on a plane and return to your city and leave this to your betters. You’re going to go crazy, just like your mother.”

  Ellen’s warnings screamed to the front of her mind, ‘Don’t ever go back there. They will kill you. They will do anything to end the line. You’re only safe if you stay here. Please, Frankie, promise
me you will—’

  Fight!

  Years of practice flew up to disarm the danger. Every instinct howled for her to disable him. Only the mild whisper of, Gently, from Intuition kept her from striking his windpipe and putting her foot in his throat when he was down.

  “Frankie?” Sean was back at her side with a tray of cookies. He pushed between Tom and her, seeing and ignoring the danger of Frankie poised on the verge of neutralizing the threat. He acted like he might do more than push Tom out of the way. Warm brown eyes regarded her as he touched her elbow. “Where is Christopher?”

  “Chris went to get her more wine. Go away, Sean,” Tom growled. “We’re talking.”

  “It sounds like you’re insulting her, caballo.”

  “Why, you snot-nosed brick. I’ll—”

  “What’s going on here?” Anthony Wallace’s sunny voice formed the question as though nothing at all could be amiss. Then again, why would he possibly assume another fight was brewing?

  Sean had the decency to look guilty. He shot a look at Anthony. “Uncle, I was—”

  Anthony, Barbara’s husband, was tall like his son, Christopher. Frankie could see the shared features in his square jaw and dimples. Like his nephew, he had warm brown eyes and usually radiated a quiet kindness. Right now, there was an intense edge she had not noticed before.

  “He is delivering me cookies,” Frankie said, pulling one from the tray and drawing Sean to her side by his apron strings. Out of Tom’s personal bubble and into hers. She gave Sean a warning look and the young man stood a little straighter, taking up a defensive stand beside her. Frankie let out a soft breath, toying with the cookie.

  “That’s wonderful,” Anthony sounded overjoyed, but his eyes were flat, fixed on Tom. He seemed to know what had happened, as though he’d been listening in, Frankie realized. “I think the reading of the will is about to start. Frankie, what happened to your shoe?”

  “I pulled a Cinderella. The prince is off looking for it.”

  Sean choked on a laugh but Tom bristled, glaring at Frankie.

  “Is he? Well, Sean can take you in. I need to have a word with Thomas.” Anthony didn’t look away from Tom, voice unchanged and his expression grim.

  Frankie accepted the arm Sean offered her and met Tom’s gaze, sweeping him up and down, not about to let him see how fast her heart was hammering.

  ‘You’re going to go crazy; just like your mother.’

  “Ow. Frankie. Hey, it’s okay,” Sean whispered and she realized she was gripping his arm. “You’re safe.”

  “Fuck. I’m sorry.” She started to jerk her hand away but his arm trapped her. “I shouldn’t touch you,” she muttered.

  “It’s fine. Just, take a deep breath. Tommy-Tom is an asshole. We won’t let anything happen to you.” Sean grinned and pressed his fist to his chest in that reverent salute she’d seen so often today.

  “What is that?” she asked, using her cookie to motion to him and then dared a small nibble. The cookie smelled like vanilla and ginger and it melted on her tongue like pure butter. She blinked at the taste tickling the back of her throat. Her stomach looped with a growl of hunger.

  “It’s complicated but…kind of a show of support,” Sean said. “Try the raspberry ones too. There’s jelly in the center.” He escorted her to the front of the nearly empty room and motioned to a seat.

  It felt so good to sit and let the tension ease from her shoulders. “Thanks, Sean.” She took a couple more cookies and expected him to leave her but he stood guard beside her.

  “I’ve got your back,” he said mildly. He was her age, mid-twenties, tall and lean but he was not a fighter. A protective heat crawled up her throat. She should be watching out for him, not the other way around.

  “You don’t have to stick your neck out for me. I’ve got this,” Frankie assured him.

  Sean only smiled and tipped the tray toward her so she could get another cookie. “Once you get your footing.”

  “And what better way to find footing than with both shoes.” Christopher’s voice announced as he came striding down the aisle. Beside him, a pretty blonde woman clung to his arm, her expression radiant.

  The beautiful woman could not have been five feet tall, and if she was a hundred pounds it was only because of her ample breasts. Her golden hair was styled in perfect little waves. Realization crashed down on Frankie as she noticed their twin iris corsages and the matching blue dress to his tie. Of course, he had a girlfriend.

  She was everything Frankie was not. Soft. Tiny. Fragile. Cheerful.

  Sean lifted his hand to wave. “Hey, Sophia. Christopher.”

  Christopher carefully untangled Sophia from his arm and knelt before Frankie with her shoe presented. “Lady, I return victorious. Your shoe.”

  Sophia sighed dramatically and threw herself into the chair beside Frankie and beamed up at her with huge blue eyes. “Frankie Welton.” She paused a second and then flung herself into Frankie, little arms flying around Frankie’s thick shoulders. “It’s so good to finally have you here.” The woman spoke into her neck.

  Frankie barely checked her response to being grabbed. Dave’s training growled in her head. ‘Keep your spatial distance. It is not safe to let people into your personal bubble. Defend your space.’ She froze, muscles tight, warring against the urge to slam the heel of her hand into the delicate little woman’s nose.

  “Stop mauling her, Soph,” Christopher warned.

  Even Sean watched with disapproval as Sophia peeled herself away from Frankie. “Where is Viv?” he asked.

  “She’ll be here.” Sophia regarded Frankie with delight. “I’m Sophia Martin. I worked for Amy at the Pickled Salamander. Bartender.” She pressed her fist to her breast.

  Better and better. Tall-Dark-and-Dreamy’s girlfriend would be her employee.

  Christopher continued to kneel before her, holding out his hand for her to put her bare foot into it. Frankie hesitated, glancing at Sophia who was turned around to peer behind her as people filed in.

  She tried to communicate a ‘what the hell are you doing?’ with the scowl but he only smiled encouragement at her and crooked his finger.

  She lifted her foot and poked at his shoulder with her toes. He caught her in his big hand, smoothing his thumb up the naked arch from heel to toes in a skillful, secret sweep.

  Oh. Fuck.

  Places in her body she thought would remain numb forever suddenly melted in a flood of electric heat. Cookies fell from her hand and she sucked in a gasp at the sensation. Her eyes rolled closed and she bit back the pleasure rising in her throat.

  “Well.” A new voice shattered the sensation and Frankie blinked her eyes open, into the disapproving sapphire gaze of the woman. “This is hardly appropriate.” Black hair tipped with red fell to her chin in a messy arrangement of layers.

  Frankie tried to yank her foot free but Christopher held her trapped. His strong fingers remained circled around her ankle to prevent her escape. Oh, and it felt so wonderfully forbidden. She wanted to warn him how dangerous that was. He had no idea what sort of risk he was taking.

  The man looked like he might nuzzle her foot as she curled her toes. He wasn’t even concerned about the others around them. She wondered how it would feel if he rubbed his dimpled cheek to her calf and pressed that full mouth to her knee.

  No. That was completely inappropriate.

  “I’m sure Amy wouldn’t mind,” Christopher said, but rather than intensify his teasing, he slipped the shoe onto Frankie’s foot as with practiced ease. “Perfect fit. I’ve found my princess.”

  The woman sat heavily beside Sophia, glaring at Frankie and Christopher in equal measure. “What’s gotten into you, Christopher?” Although she didn’t look any older than Sophia or Frankie for that matter, she held herself with a haughty air of importance. “I’m Vivianne Steward. I’m sure your aunt told you about me. I work at the Salamander as assistant manager, hostess and server.” She motioned with her hand to indicate the people
standing behind her. “This is Oliver Martel, our manager, Juan Ortega, cook, and our porter, Joey Bayle.”

  Frankie regarded the rest of her inherited crew. Oliver was tall, with the unnatural build purchased at the gym, impeccable suit and perfect wheaten hair. Joey was the complete opposite—young, small, and skinny in rumpled clothes and a sloppy chestnut mop. Juan was between the two—average height, graceful like a dancer, with velvety black fuzz over his scalp.

  Juan smiled. The others eyed her like an intruder. Oliver’s eyes were flat black pebbles and Joey’s resembled round robin’s eggs. Under the weight of those glares, she realized they thought she was insulting Amy.

  “Will you sit like a human being?” Vivianne scowled at Christopher, who had remained kneeling at Frankie’s feet. “Completely disrespectful.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Frankie said when she found her voice, and she searched for the spilled cookies.

  Christopher looked like he was considering remaining, but he finally drew himself up and settled beside Frankie. He nibbled on a retrieved cookie. “Viv, relax. I was trying to lighten the mood.”

  “What happened to your suit?” Juan asked, settling into a chair beside Christopher, squinting at the wine-stained mess.

  “Frankie imprinted me,” Christopher said with delight, sliding his arm around the back of Frankie’s hair, covertly stroking her curls. The touch should have set her teeth on edge, but instead she wanted to lean into his warmth.

  Juan grinned. “Looks like she claimed you with all but the bites, man.” He looked approvingly at Frankie and winked before turning back to Christopher.

  “She bruised the fuck out of me. I think that counts.” Christopher grinned at her expression of horror and stroked along the nape of her neck under her hair to silence her apology. “It’s perfect.”

  Juan laughed, checking for bite marks, then he leaned in and poked at the flowers pinned to Christopher’s ruined jacket. “Mixed signals, my friend,” he said, his voice full of disappointment.