“I'm not perfect,” Gill growls, his jaw clenching and his fingers tightening on my arm. “And I make mistakes, Regina. You should know that better than anyone.” I wrench myself from Gill's grip and try to still the rapid thumping of my heart. Rage consumes me like a flame, and it takes some considerable effort on my part not to respond to that. There are so many things I want to say, words that I've kept locked up inside for over ten years.
“Don't push me, Gill,” I tell him as I climb up the cement steps to the front door, the wind picking at my hair and sending it flying around my face like a veil. “I'm trying to stay positive here, but I'm losing patience and I'm losing it quick.”
“What can I do to make this easier on you?” he asks, coming up right beside me, using those long, strong legs of his to make up the difference in distance. “Tell me and it's done.”
“Gill,” I say, turning to look at him, hating how badly my heart aches when I look into his face. He's a man now, strong and beautiful—and he should've been mine. I should've been able to watch the transformation, to be a part of it, to shape him the same way he should've shaped me. We could've been partners, lovers, best friends. This house right here, it could've been ours. It could have been ours. “What I want is for you to stay away from me. I want you to figure out what the fuck is up with this Karl guy and I want you to do your best to make sure that Cliff and Solène don't get shot and killed over a bag of stupid shiny rocks!” My voice raises in pitch until I think I'm yelling and have to force myself to close my eyes and calm down.
I don't want to be mad at Gill, to hold onto this anger. It isn't healthy and it isn't helping, but I can't be around him. I just can't do it. I'm not sure what hurts worse: the expressionless mask he wears or the cracks I keep seeing in it.
“Get it done, Gill,” I say, opening my eyes back up and locking gazes with him. “Get it done, get us our money, and get the hell out of our lives.”
I move into the house and—despite the fact that it belongs to Gill—I slam the front door and lock it behind me.
My bedroom has a balcony and a view of Lake Washington, not to mention original hardwood floors, a small sitting room, and a fireplace. Holy crap. If I had to take a guess, I'd say this house was worth a clean million—maybe a million and a half. But then, I guess that's chump change when you're an international jewelry thief?
“This is clearly the master,” I tell Cliff again when I lean into the hallway and smile at Solène as she races around the second floor, exploring each and every nook and cranny in the house. “Are you sure you're okay with me taking it?”
“Take it,” Cliff says, smiling at me through the gray stubble on his chin. “You deserve it.” I know Cliff loves me, know that he's one of the best friends I've ever had or will have, but sometimes I feel like he does things for me to try to make up for Gill. I hate it when he does that.
“Thanks,” I say tentatively, wondering why Gill himself hasn't taken up residence in the master. There's a king-sized bed in here, a nightstand, a dresser, and two chairs in the sitting room with a coffee table between them. Otherwise, it's empty. I mean completely empty. No pictures, no vases, no lamps, nothing but two white pillows and a white duvet on the bed.
Gilleon's room, on the other hand, has a mussed up bed, a closet full of clothes, a rug, some pictures of his dad, of Solène … of me. I almost took that one back, confiscated it and shoved it to the bottom of my shopping bags so I didn't have to look at it. For whatever reason, Gill has a family portrait sitting on his dresser—a shot of my mom, Cliff, me, and him at our parents' wedding.
I'm so confused right now.
“I'm gonna lie down and take a quick nap,” I tell Cliff and retreat back into my room, closing the door behind me. A quick glance out the curtain-free windows shows me Gilleon standing on the lawn, his cell pressed to his ear as he paces back and forth and talks to God only knows who. I wonder what the neighbors here think of him, this big, burly guy with his steel toed boots and his mean face.
Like he can sense me looking his way, Gill turns and glances up at my window, forcing me to take a step back. Shivers break across my skin.
I shake out my hands and take a deep breath, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling off my new boots. Even though I thoroughly washed my hands and picked out the bits of grit and rocks that had stuck in my open wounds, every little movement of my fingers hurts. I grit my teeth and toss the shoes to the floor, slipping out of my new jeans and double-checking to make sure I locked the door before I slip out of my bra and decide on just the tee and panties. In my desperation to build up a new wardrobe, I forgot about pajamas entirely. Oh well.
I pause on my way to the bathroom, my eyes catching on my purse. The sight of my mother in her chic white wedding dress, her eyes sparkling with happiness … I find myself drawn to the bag, taking it back to the bed and dumping it out on the white comforter. Every picture I have of her is with me, every piece of jewelry, a few pieces of paper with her handwriting on them. The big things, the ones I knew I couldn't take with me, like my mother's vintage nightstand with the hand-carved roses, I finally gave in and sold them to some friends of mine in Paris. I bought new chairs, just to keep up the illusion that everything was fine, everything was normal.
I shift through the photos with a sad smile on my face, trying really, really hard not to miss my dad or my sister or … Gill. I shove the pictures away and pick up the diamond pendant necklace, lacing it around my throat and struggling with the clasp for a moment before I finally get it in place. I wasn't sure if I'd have the stomach to wear diamonds after the heist—it just felt distasteful—but this piece … it holds too many good memories to be tainted.
“What would you have to say about all this, Mom?” I ask the necklace, fingering the diamond between my injured fingers. “About Gill leaving? About the heist? About …” I can't even make my lips form the words that I want to say. Instead, I let the subject drop and curl into a ball on the bed. Outside, the rain starts up again and batters the windows, lulling me into a deep but fitful sleep.
I open the door to my apartment, hands trembling. Behind me, Gill says nothing, acting as if this is all for real, every single second of it.
“Take yourself there, Regina, and let yourself believe it. If you do, then so will they.”
That's what he'd said last week when we'd gone over the plan again. And again. And again.
So. Gill is going to abduct me at gunpoint, walk me to the store where I'm suppose to open for the morning, and use me to find the safe. The security guards who're supposed to be on duty, and the ones who are supposed to switch shifts with them, have already been dealt with.
Dealt with.
When Gill had first said those words to me, I'd trembled in my seat. I know it seems silly to be afraid of someone that I was once so close with but … there's something different about Gill's face now, some emptiness that I feel could swallow him whole and leave him a barren black nothing.
I don't say anything though, don't let my memories overwhelm me, and glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, Gill's gun is hidden in the folds of his coat and I can't see a thing. We'll make it to the store without anyone realizing what's going on.
“Why vintage jewelry?” I'd asked Gill when he'd come to me and started to explain his plan. He and his crew would rob my store, whether I was involved or not, but if I helped, if I made things just that much easier for them, he'd give me a cut, give me a new life in the States where I'd never have to worry about money again.
That wasn't what motivated me; money doesn't motivate me at all.
But Gill does.
I know this job, whatever it is under the surface, has more to it than jewelry and a big payout.
Gill is in trouble.
I'm scared for him.
In typical Paris fashion, the sky shifts from sun to rain, dropping wet splatters on my face and hair. I lift up my umbrella to shield myself from the clouds, taking a path I know full well. I've worked at
this same shop for seven years, seven long years of wondering what else there was for me, what else I should be doing. I've made so many mistakes over the years … too many to count. And then there's the biggest one of all, the one that Gill still doesn't know about. How he missed it is beyond me. Maybe he doesn't want to see.
We turn the corner and the weather shifts again, sunshine streaming down, draping the buildings in golden light. I barely notice any of it, tucking my umbrella away and focusing solely on keeping my breathing steady.
Two blocks left. Just two short, little blocks until my life changes forever.
I think then about putting all of this on hold, turning to Gill and begging him to reconsider, but honestly, I'm not sure what would happen if I did. Would he take my words into consideration? Or would he really hold me at gunpoint then, go through with the robbery anyway? The fact that I don't know the answer to that question scares the shit out of me.
“Regina!”
My heart drops to my stomach.
Up ahead, standing on the sidewalk with a white bag in one hand and a coffee in the other is my boyfriend, Mathis Vidal. Shit.
I can feel Gill tensing behind me and my mouth goes completely dry. Will he shoot him?
“Bonjour, mon étoile,” he says with a sly smile, turning my insides to ice. Mon étoile, my star. It's a pet name that he came up with a few months into our relationship. I hated it at first because it reminded me of Gill.
Gill.
Who's standing behind me with a gun in his jacket.
“Bonjour,” I say, pausing a few steps away from him. When I don't come in for a kiss, Mathis frowns and glances at my silent companion. His brown eyes immediately narrow and the smile slides off his lips. He's been out of town for several weeks now, must've just gotten back. I've been avoiding his calls, not because I don't like the guy but because I do. He doesn't need to get caught up in all this, and I don't love him enough to stay out of it.
“Gilleon Marchal,” Gill says, putting a cold smile on his face. When I look over at him, I know he'll do anything to see this plan through – anything. “And you are?” he asks, not even bothering to switch to French. His voice is hard as steel, wrapping around my neck and stealing the breath from me.
“Is everything okay?” Mathis asks, his English heavily accented and lilting. “I was hoping we might have some breakfast together?”
“Can't,” I say, my lips tight, my throat aching. “Désolée, je suis occupée.” Sorry, I'm busy. My hands are shaking like crazy as I unlock the metal grating on the front of the shop and lift it up, moving to the door before Mathis can see the erratic quivering.
I don't like blowing him off like this, but I don't know what else to do, how else to act.
“Maybe some other time,” I hear Gill say as he moves into the store behind me and locks the door, the glass cases winking in the sunshine that breaks through the windows. I step over to the alarm next and feel a sudden pressure in my spine—the gun.
“Don't even think about alerting the police,” he whispers, his warm breath grazing my ear. I hate how tight my muscles get when I feel him so close behind me.
Instead, I just swallow and nod, putting in the code and stepping back. A quick glance over my shoulder and I see that Mathis is still standing outside looking dumbfounded. After a moment, he turns as if to walk away and then changes his mind, heading straight for the front door and knocking on it with his fist.
“Shit,” Gill growls under his breath. “What a persistent little fuck.”
“What do I do?” I ask, panic lacing its way between my words. “Please don't kill him,” I add for good measure, knowing that the cameras are watching, always watching. Even that's part of the plan.
“Answer the door and ask him to leave,” Gill grinds out, and I'm pretty damn sure his frustration is genuine. I do as he asks, opening the door and then stumbling back when Mathis shoves his way in, pushing me aside in a valiant act of heroism.
“Run!” he screams in English, tackling Gill and dropping the coffee and the bag of brioche to the floor. A golden brown roll tumbles out and hits me in the toes of my Louboutin heels as I scream a very genuine scream of terror. I know what Gill is capable of; Mathis has no idea.
My stepbrother avoids Mathis with ease, gliding back on feet as sure and nimble as a cat's, watching as my boyfriend stumbles into a case of jewelry and grunts.
Meanwhile, I stand there like a complete idiot, knowing I can't very well run away from all this.
Fuck.
Mathis makes another growling sound in his throat and spins—right into Gill's fist. My stepbrother doesn't break a sweat when he reaches out and slams his knuckles into Mathis's face. The man drops like a sack, just crumples to the floor with a bloody nose and a groan.
I scream again, another real sound, and kneel down to roll Mathis over, checking to make sure he's still alive. Sounds silly, I know, but Gill is strong, crazy strong.
“Get up.”
Gill has the gun on me again, his voice just as hard and cruel as it was before. Only … this time there's a little bit of heat in all that ice. I watch as he grits his teeth, the muscles in his jaw working furiously as he tries to process what just happened.
I do the same, staring up at him for a moment before I realize what that strain is that I hear in Gilleon's voice.
It's jealousy.
I wake up early the next morning, my heart pounding in my chest, sweat beading on my forehead. It's just starting to get light outside, dawn cresting the horizon and casting its golden fingers across the surface of the lake.
I stand up and open the doors to the balcony, not caring that I'm still in my underwear, and lean over the edge of the white railing, closing my eyes against the sharp bite of autumn air. I need to stop dreaming about Gilleon, but I don't know how to quit. Even unconscious I'm addicted to memories; I can still see the clench of Gill's jaw, hear that small spike of heat in his voice.
But I can't dwell on it.
“Shit.” I cross my arms on the railing and lean my forehead against them.
“You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”
I jerk my head up at the sound of Gill's voice and peer over the edge of the railing at him.
For whatever inexplicable reason, he's standing on the driveway near his car, dressed in a pale blue shirt, jeans, and work boots. His dark hair is wet, like he just showered, and his face is freshly shaved again.
I stare down at him from the second floor, hoping the angle at which I'm standing and the railing are enough to keep him from seeing the emerald green panties I'm sporting. I mean, it's not as if he hasn't seen all of this before, but … it's not his to look at anymore.
I purse my lips.
“What part of I want you to stay away from me do you not understand?” I ask, looking down at him, my legs crossed beneath and behind me as I lean forward over the railing, gold hair draping down on either side of my face.
Gill stares up at me, a wry smile building on his lips.
“To be fair, I am away from you right now. Two full stories down.” He pauses, smirks a little, the expression reminding me so much of better times that my chest gets tight. “And still in view of your underwear.”
I stand up straight, proving that I don't give two shits, and lean sideways against the railing, knowing the curvy pale line of my hip is showing. If Gill's grown into a man since he's left, then I've become a woman. I suppose if he's already looking, I might as well show him what he's missing. Must be all the stress and the anxiety getting to me, I think. Because I feel like I should have more of a reaction to being an accessory in a high stakes international jewelry heist. Or maybe I really am just crazy?
“Okay,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, fully aware that my breasts are perky, nipples erect in the cool morning air. “I'll come down for coffee, but only so we can discuss … this.” I gesture between us and move back into the bedroom, yanking off my T-shirt and dropping my panties to the floor. A quick
shower later and I'm pulling on a square-neck sheath dress in white, belting it at the waist with a strip of thin, black leather, and thanking the Parisian designer Roland Mouret for creating something that I can feel confident enough in to face my stepbrother.
I don't have time to get my hair right, so I give it a quick blowout with the blowdryer I stole from the hotel, and line my eyes with the dark pencil that Aveline gave me. My mother's necklace swings enticingly as I sit in one of the two chairs in the sitting room and slip on some red platform pumps that are way too fabulous for this early in the morning.
“I am beautiful just the way I am,” I tell myself as I stand up and check myself in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door. “I wear the clothes; the clothes do not wear me.” I take a massive breath and let myself out into the hallway, moving slowly and praying that I don't wake either Cliff or Solène.
I take the back staircase, the one that leads directly into the kitchen, and find Gill already waiting for me at the bottom, pouring a cup of steaming hot coffee into a navy blue mug. He turns at the sound of my heels, and I know, know, for a fucking fact that his jaw clenches and his breath hitches at the sight of me. He even manages to spill some of the steaming coffee on the table.
“Shit,” he grumbles, returning the pot to the coffeemaker and grabbing a roll of paper towels from the counter. When he turns back to face me, all traces of the slipup have been wiped from his face.
“Good morning,” I say, running my hands down the front of the dress, fully aware of how I look in it. “I take it no one tried to assassinate us while we slept?” Gill grunts, like he's halfway between a laugh and a scoff. Not sure what that means, but I'll take it. Anything to prove to me that he's still human. When we were teens, he used to wake me up with pancakes and bacon, plated in silly faces, and he'd deliver them with the biggest grins I'd ever seen. What happened to you? What happened to pull that darkness out and let it take over, Gill? We were going to have a good life, a great life. “Milk and sugar, please,” I say before he can ask.
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