“Because there are credit cards involved and no matter how good Aveline is at what she does, at some point, someone could find you here. I won't risk that.” He snarls that last bit out, passion lacing his words and drawing goose bumps up on my arms. Interesting. I raise my face to the sky, to the gray clouds and the small shafts of sunshine that manage to sneak past them.
“Okay, so can I go out and buy a place or something?” I look over at Gill and try to smile. “You promised me big money, brother.” His lips twitch, but he doesn't let the expression take over his mouth.
“I did, yes, but a house purchase is big, traceable, especially one that happens in cash.” Gill runs his tongue across his lower lip. Uh oh. I'm not going to like what he's going to say. Great. “For a few weeks, maybe a few months, I need you to stay in a safe house.”
“Gill,” I start, trying to keep my calm, trying not to let the freak-out that I can feel looming beneath my skin come loose. “I left my apartment in Paris. I left my job. I left my boyfriend.” Breathe, Regi, breathe. “Please tell me I'm not going to regret all of that.” I did it for you. I don't want to think like that, can't think like that. I won't hold Gill responsible for my decisions, not even if he had an influence on them. And I won't start pitying myself either. I can, however, let myself get pissed at deviations in the plan. “I thought this was all set in stone, Gilleon.”
“It was,” he says, his voice low and dark. I have a feeling most people would shit a brick at the sound of it. But even if he's a stranger, I know him well enough to know that this is Gilleon going into defensive mode. “But some things have come up that I'd hoped wouldn't happen. It doesn't mean the plan isn't going as it should, only that we're on a slightly curvier path than before. The safe house I'd planned for you isn't good enough. I need you closer to me.”
The fine hairs on my neck stand up straight and I suck in an involuntary breath.
“All of you—Dad, Solène.” Gill stops and turns to me, his eyes so intense that I have to look away. Ouch. All of that ice in there, that pain, when does it stop? Why does he have to keep directing it at me? “You'll stay at my place until things blow over.”
My heart stops.
“Your place?” I ask, imagining some small, featureless apartment that Gill probably uses once a year or less. He travels all over the world, that much at least I do know. When I'm having a good day and Cliff doesn't think it'll upset me, he'll toss a tidbit or two about Gill out there, just some general he's in Germany right now, Bavaria actually or something like that. I didn't even know that he had a place in Seattle.
“I know what you're thinking,” he tells me, but I don't really think that he does. “But it won't be like that. You'll have your own room, bathroom, and it'll be nowhere near mine.”
“And now why do you think that'd be a concern of mine?” I ask, even though I feel suddenly light on my feet, like the wind could blow me away at any moment. Live with Gill? I can barely stand to be in the same room as him. Tack onto that Cliff and Solène … What the hell have I gotten myself into?
“Regina,” Gill begins, reaching out a hand, sliding his fingers down the silk arm of my blouse. He's looking right at me, something hovering beneath the surface that he wants to say.
“I guess you won't be around much anyway?” I ask, stepping back, lifting my coffee to my lips just so that my hands have something to do besides shake. I thought watching him ignore me was hard; this is worse.
Overhead, the sky breaks and tiny droplets of rain begin to fall.
“I should get you back inside,” Gill says, turning away towards the parking lot. Whatever thought was drifting behind his eyes, I hope it's gone now—and I really hope it doesn't come back.
Cliff reaches across the table in the restaurant—some trendy little bistro that sits adjacent to the lobby of the hotel—and squeezes my hand. From the corner of my eye, I can see Aveline watching us from her bar stool, an astute and patient bodyguard. I invited her to sit with us, but she said no go, girl and retreated into the background with nothing but a basket of fries and a soda. I guess alcohol's off the menu when you're on duty with Gill.
“How are you holding up?” Cliff asks as Solène peruses the menu with a deep set frown and several well-placed sighs.
“I'm fine,” I say, waving my free hand dismissively. Cliff is like his son; he's way too perceptive for his own good.
“All of this nonsense about staying with Gill and you don't have a single thing to say about it?”
I purse my lips and stare Cliff down, right into those blue eyes of his. They're lighter than Gill's, less saturated, but I can see why my mom found him so handsome back in the day.
“It's been ten years, Cliff,” I grind out, hating that he knows me so well—loving it, too. There's nobody in the world that understands me as well as my stepfather; he's the only person that's privy to all my secrets, to all the pain I felt when Gill left me with an engagement ring on my finger and … so much hurt inside my heart. “After a decade, it doesn't seem to matter so much anymore, does it?”
“Bullshit,” Cliff says, giving my hand one last squeeze and then letting go. Behind her menu, Solène snickers. “I'll be the first to admit, my son is an asshole. For all his skill in navigating the world, he still has a bit of trouble understanding the true human experience.”
I roll my eyes.
“Thanks, Papa. I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine. I figured there'd be some snags in the plan.” I sigh and flip open my own menu. “I might've expected issues of a different variety though,” I mumble, my fingers tightening on the plastic. And I might actually have preferred the feds or the CIA or whoever the hell takes on international jewelry thieves. Prison … or living with Gill. I'm not sure which is worse.
“Don't be silly,” Solène says, tossing a big grin across the table at me. Her dark hair is straight, not curled like usual, and she's wearing the same outfit as yesterday. For a moment I just sit there and stare at her, letting the full force of my decisions wash over me. I can't very well complain about any of this when I've dragged her into it. Solène didn't have any choice in the matter; I did. “I know Gill looks kind of scary, but he's nice. And strong. I feel safe when he's around, don't you?”
“Sure do, mon petit chou,” Cliff says with a warm chuckle. I smile, but it doesn't quite reach my eyes. Solène doesn't know about my past with Gill—our romantic past that is. As far as she's concerned, Gill's our distant 'brother' and that's that. At least he remembers to send Solène presents on her … birthday.
“So whatever he did to you, you'll just have to forgive and forget,” she tells me with the confidence of a nine year old and the wisdom of someone much, much older. If only things were that simple … “Anyway, holding grudges is bad for the skin.” Solène pats her pale, pink cheeks and gives me such a serious look that I can't help but laugh.
“I don't think I've ever heard that one before. Where'd you learn that?”
“Vogue Paris,” she states with a flourish of her hand. Nine years old and she's already into fashion magazines. I think Cliff and I might be in trouble.
“And who said you could read that?” my stepfather asks, giving Solène a look of mock seriousness. I feel my lips curling into a smile. Life might be uncertain right now, and Gill might be an asshole, but it's not all bad. Even in darkness, there is light. I am a happy person and I deserve that happiness.
“Let's just say,” Solène says, giving me a theatrical wink. “That somebody slipped it in under my bedroom door.” I wink back at her and we both end up laughing. “Now, I'd dare say, all you need is a new pair of shoes and we can be on our way. Those flip-flops are absolutely not en vogue.”
“Thanks for taking me out,” I tell Aveline as she opens the door to a shop in Belltown, Seattle's most densely populated neighborhood and home to some seriously chic shopping. It's no Paris, but then again, I just left the fashion capital of the world for … rain, coffee, and hipsters. I smile anyway because hey, I happen to
like rain, coffee, and hipsters. Well, okay, I happen to like rain and coffee at least. “I know it doesn't seem like much, but having something else to wear besides this,” I gesture at myself, at my plastic flip-flops and the blister between my toes where the strap won't seem to stop rubbing, “will make me feel more like a person again.”
Aveline shrugs as she lets me in behind her and watches as I close my eyes and take a deep breath of the lilac scented air in the shop. A few well-placed candles spread the sweet smell around the shop, letting it mix with the crisp bite of cotton and denim. God, I really am going to miss my closet back home. I wouldn't call myself a fashionista or anything, but I do like to keep up with trends. Besides, what girl doesn't like to dress up? It's like Barbies for grown ups.
“I'm not really into fashion,” Aveline says, a navy hoodie tossed on over her tank top. I think she's got a gun hidden away in there somewhere, but I'm not about to ask. “I'm just psyched we snagged that parking space.” She jerks her thumb out the window and then glances around at the tables of perfectly folded clothes. “Take your time, pick out whatever you want. It's all on your brother, so I don't care how much you spend. He said he didn't either.”
I smile tightly, but I don't say anything, instead trying to distract myself with a rack of designer tops.
It doesn't work.
I glance back at Aveline, at her perfect makeup and her casual clothes, her sharp eyes taking in the entire store with a single sweep. She might have a messy truck, but she's a lot more similar to Gill than I ever was. I have a habit of looking at the world through rose-colored glasses. Why not try to see the best in everything, in everyone? The world is already cruel enough; I'd rather look for beauty than trouble.
“You gonna try all of that on?” Aveline asks, trailing me as I start to load up my arms with clothes. Everything I had, everything I was, it all got left in Paris. If I have to start over, I'm at least going to do it in style. If a nine year old can call me out on my fashion faux pas, then I know I'm in serious trouble.
“Of course,” I say, handing my growing stack over to an employee when she asks if I'd like her to get a dressing room ready for me. “Don't you try on clothes before you buy them?”
“Sugar, I buy my shit from Le Target,” Aveline laughs, pronouncing the superstore's name as Tar-jay and shaking her ruby red hair out around her shoulders. “I don't have time to shop for stuff like this. Besides,” Aveline begins, lifting up a Herve Leger dress in a metallic rose gold color, “can you imagine me trying to do my job in this? I mean, I know I'm more on the 'paperwork' end of things, but I like to be ready.” She puts the dress back on the rack and watches as I run my fingers across sleeves, hems, straps. I want to dress her up so bad it hurts. Aveline has a perfect figure, sharp green eyes, and hair the color of cherries. Anything I'd pick out would look great on her. We're strangers though, so I don't feel comfortable asking.
“Paperwork?” I ask, deciding to steer the conversation in a different direction. “I didn't know your and Gill's job required much, um, paperwork.” I pause to pick up a pair of designer jeans and Aveline gets in close, putting her red lips close to my ear.
“How do you think you're going to live a normal life without a passport? A driver's license? Maybe you might want a birth certificate. That's my thing.” Aveline leans back as I look over at her and realize for the first time that I'm actually about four inches taller. Wow. Attitude really is everything, isn't it? If asked, I would've said Aveline was about ten feet tall.
“Do you use the originals to … you know … uh …” I look around and I'm not sure what to say. I know how picky Gill is about procedure and all that. What am I free to talk about here? “Procure new ones?”
“Don't need the originals,” Aveline says as I start to wander towards the shoe section in the back. “I have my own methods of getting shit done. You don't worry a thing about it though. Really, you've done enough.”
“I didn't really do much of anything,” I murmur, my eyes scanning row after row of designer heels and boots. Nothing much except let Gill pretend to abduct me, force me to let him into the store, show him where the safe in the back was.
“You have no idea how important you were to all this,” Aveline says, her voice softening a little. She picks up a metallic fringed sandal and frowns. “Don't let that asshole brother of yours tell you otherwise.”
“He's not really my brother, you know,” I say, expecting her to respond with something like oh, I know, but stepbrother's the same thing, isn't it? Instead, Aveline lifts her face up to mine, her eyes wide and her sensual mouth parted just so. How could Gill not be in love with this chick? Mon Dieu. Aveline really is gorgeous.
“He's … Cliff isn't your dad?” Aveline says as I blink back at her in confusion. “I heard you call him Papa—more than once.”
“Yeah, well, my mother married Cliff when I was sixteen.” I take a deep breath and feel that familiar pain yawning open inside my heart. “She died when I was seventeen, not long after we moved to France. Cliff took care of me, got me through it all. He …” I can't tell the rest of the story, not now, not here, not to some woman I just met. “Gill's my stepbrother,” I say and recognition flickers in Aveline's green eyes. “He didn't bother to tell you that?”
“He doesn't tell me shit about shit, not unless it pertains to the job.” Sounds like a typical Gilleon reaction to me. “Who, exactly, you, Cliff and Solène were wasn't important, not really. It took a whole lot of pressing on my end to even get him to admit that you guys were family at all. The rest, I was just guessing.” Aveline pauses as I pick up an open-toe bootie and ask the sales associate if they've got a women's ten in the back. I'm kind of done with the subject, but I can see Aveline's not ready to move on. “So is Solène your sister then? Or Gill's?”
“Cliff adopted her after my mother passed away,” I say and then attempt to change the subject. “Do you like this?” I ask, turning to hand the bootie over to Aveline. “I think you'd look amazing in it. Très chic.”
“Not really my thing,” she replies, her eyes narrowing slightly, cogs and wheels spinning in her gaze as she puts the information I've given her together. I'm absolutely dying to call up Leilani and have a mindless conversation about which episode of Supernatural is our favorite—it changes on every re-watch and during every new season. Leilani won't twist my words back at me, read between the lines, try to analyze everything to within an inch of its life. But I can't call her, not yet, not until Gill says it's safe. Technically, I'm supposed to be dead.
I put the display shoe back and accept the box from the sales associate, sitting down and draping the clothes I'm carrying over the bench next to me.
“So … what about you? You said you met Gill through a series of business associates, but is that all there is to it?” I put on my best conspiratorial girlfriend voice, the one I use with all my friends when I'm fishing for gossip. I didn't plan on asking Aveline about Gilleon outright, but fuck it. “Are you guys a couple?”
“Holy hell, no,” Aveline says with a curling of her lip. “I'd sooner date a brick wall. Gill's hot, I get it. I mean, I've seen the man naked once or twice, but we've never gone there with it. Dating him would test the patience of a saint.” I decide not to ask Aveline when and where and how she managed to see Gill naked because, honestly, that would imply that I cared. And I don't. I don't give two shits about it.
I slip my foot into the bootie and slide the zipper up to the top, sighing at the feel of soft suede against my skin. When I get the other one on my foot and stand up, a rush of calm settles over me. It sounds stupid, I know, to let shopping have this big of an effect on me, but it's not about the shoe really, or the act of purchasing it. I just … when I'm dressed up like this, I feel as if I'm put-together, like I'm in control of myself. I think of my clothes as a uniform for life, a weapon. If I look good and feel good, then nobody can wield that insecurity against me.
“What do you think?” I ask Aveline, but she's not looking
at me, instead opting to do another quick scan of the store behind me.
“Those look great on you,” the sales associate says, some young chick with perfect highlights and a silver nose ring. “I could box them up and have them waiting at the counter for you when you're done with your shopping?”
“Oui, ça marche,” I say and then realize I've switched back to French again. “Yeah, that works. Thanks.” I sit back down and start taking the shoes off.
“Wonder why Gill gave me shopping duty today,” Aveline muses, crossing her arms over her ample chest. “He keeps looking at you like he's got something to say. You two have a big blowup or something?” And here it comes, the subject that never seems to go away.
“Or something,” I say, spotting the panties and bras across the store and deciding that they're far more important than shoes—though I'm not done with those yet either.
“Must be a pretty big something, the way he fucking stares at you like that.” I squeeze the bundle of clothes in my arms a little too tight and end up stabbing myself with a wooden hanger. I am a beautiful person who deserves nice things. The past doesn't have any bearing on my future, not unless I want it to. I can and will succeed in life.
“A silly misunderstanding is all,” I reply, even though that's about as far from the truth as I could possibly get. Misunderstanding? What Gill did was no misunderstanding—the letter he left made his intentions, and his actions, pretty goddamn clear.
I'm so nervous, I can barely even stand up straight, using the wall in the hallway to keep myself upright. Gill's right by my side, biting his lower lip and locking his fingers together behind his neck. He's nervous, too, even if he won't admit it out loud.
“Come on, Regi,” he says, dropping his arms by his sides and reaching out to take my hand. I stare into his blue eyes as he pulls me to him, tucks me against his chest with a sigh. I try to resist, too nervous to stay still for long, but as soon as I feel Gill's body heat, smell his scent, I relax.
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