Legally Mine (Spitfire Book 2)

by Nicole French

  Jared had been doing his best to make pleasant small talk, and he was a lot better at it than I was. We'd covered all the basic topics: the weather, our class, the instructor's funny haircut. But as we tucked into our Italian subs, the conversation hit an awkward lull that was only partially filled by the squawking gulls.

  "So about the gala," Jared said finally.

  I swallowed my bite and gave a grim smile. "Yeah?"

  "Everything okay there? I saw you run out."

  I flushed red. "Um, yeah. It's okay now."

  "It really doesn't bother you he's married?" Jared asked before taking a large bite of his sandwich.

  I sighed. "They're separated and going through a divorce, like I said."

  Jared raised a light brown brow. "That's not what Miranda says."

  "They are," I insisted. "I've seen the papers, and I work for his divorce attorney. Miranda's supposed to sign them in a few weeks."

  My stomach fell as I realized that almost certainly wasn't true anymore. And this was a conversation I was going to have to keep having every time someone brought up Brandon's marital status. I sounded like a pathetic cliché, like the other woman who was constantly trying to convince everyone that her married lover really did love her.

  Except Brandon did. I was sure of it, just as I was sure he was doing everything to extricate himself from a very difficult situation. But that knowledge didn't always make dealing with it much easier.

  Jared didn't say anything for a few more moments, just looked at me with something dangerously close to pity. I focused on the worn planks of the pier, hoping that I could pass off my watery eyes as the effect of the wind coming off the water.

  "Look, it's really none of my business, Skylar," Jared said, "but I care about you. And well, I think you deserve more than just to be on the sidelines. You're the kind of girl who should be shown off."

  He reached over carefully and took my hand in his. I stared down at our clasped hands with indifference. His compassion was nice, but something about the way he talked about me, like I was some sort of trophy prize, irked.

  I turned to say that to his face, but ended up turning into a kiss likely meant for my cheek. His lips collided awkwardly with mine, and I froze. Three things immediately went through my brain: One, I felt absolutely nothing. Two, Jared was putting his arms around my waist to pull me closer. Three, this time he couldn't blame it on alcohol.

  I set my hands on his chest and pushed him away firmly. His arms fell down, and he scooted several inches down the bench.

  "Jared," I said. "What are you doing? At the party, I just wrote it off as you being drunk, but this..."

  "I was trying to kiss you on the cheek," he said lamely.

  "You shouldn't be trying to kiss me at all! I'm involved with someone. You know this."

  "Someone who treats you like crap. I know loads of guys like him, Skylar. They use girls like you as sidepieces. He doesn't care about you!"

  I stood up, sweeping my sandwich off the bench and putting it back into its plastic bag. "I need to go."

  "Skylar, wait!"

  Jared followed me across the pier, leaving his food to be attacked by seagulls. He caught up with me as I turned down one of the cobbled streets leading back to the North End, where the crooked brick buildings blocked out the noise of the city.

  "Look," I said, although I didn't stop walking. "You've been a good friend. You are nice, and you deserve to find someone special. But that someone isn't me. I'm taken. So really, don't waste your time."

  "Waste my time? Seems like you should look in the mirror, don't you think?" Jared sneered, his bland features turning suddenly nasty. "Look, I know Miranda and her family. We aren't the kind of people who take no for an answer. We don't have to."

  I whirled around. "What is that supposed to mean?"

  Jared avoided my glare. "Nothing. It means nothing."

  "It didn't sound like nothing."

  He pressed his thin lips together, causing a crinkle between his brows. "Look. I'm just saying...I'm sorry. Really, I am. It won't happen again, I promise."

  I crossed my arms and balanced my weight to one side. "You mean that?"

  Jared held his hands out from his body in a gesture of mock surrender. "Completely," he said. "Can we just be friends?"

  I raised an eyebrow. "Can you do that? No more funny business? Because otherwise I have to take the train to Andover, and I really don't want to do that."

  Jared crossed his heart and held up his hand in a salute. "Scout's honor. I just care about you. That's not a bad thing, is it?"

  I placed my hand on my hip and pursed my lips. Then I rolled my eyes.

  "I can't believe I'm friends with a boy scout," I said, "Come on. You can eat another sandwich in my apartment. Then we should probably study for the rest of the afternoon."

  ~

  Which is what we did. There were no more mentions of Brandon, although I didn't miss Jared's veiled glances whenever I checked my text messages.

  Around six, Jared and Eric ducked out to pick up some pizza for dinner while I picked up the refuse from our study session. My phone rang in the bedroom, and I shuffled in to pick it up.

  "Hi, Bubbe. Everything okay?" I said as I tucked the phone under my ear and went back out to continue cleaning up our scratch paper and leftover snacks.

  I tensed myself for her response. Ever since receiving her frantic phone call in March telling me Dad was in the hospital after being severely beaten, there was a part of me that prepared for the worst.

  "Everything is fine, bubbela," she said. "Can't I call my granddaughter to check in?"

  I smiled as I tossed the scrap paper in our recycling bin. "Of course, you can. What's new?"

  I listened at the kitchen table as she started rattling about the everyday minutia of her and my dad's life in Brooklyn. She talked for about twenty minutes, and was just finishing up when Eric and Jared returned with dinner.

  "And you, Skylar?" Bubbe asked. "Are you...feeling better?"

  I glanced behind me at Jared and Eric, who were taking seats back on the couch and setting out the pizza. Bubbe and I hadn't had a direct conversation about the fact that I had been pregnant and had also chosen to end the pregnancy. I hadn't admitted it outright, and she hadn't come out and said she knew, but there had been some signs that she was in on the secret.

  "Yes," I said. "I'm fine now. Everything is...back to normal. I'm feeling much better, thanks."

  "Good, good. Just wanted to make sure." Bubbe paused. "There is one thing, though..."

  "Bubbe, I can't really talk very long," I said as I stood up and stretched. I was hungry, and the pizza smelled really good. "Is it urgent?"

  "I was just thinking about Katie."

  My dander flew up, and I sat right back down. The screech of the chair leg caused both Eric and Jared to jump in their seats.

  "Everything okay?" Jared mouthed at me.

  I nodded and flapped at hand at him to be quiet.

  "What's going on?" I asked Bubbe.

  "Nothing, nothing. I mean, not nothing, but nothing."

  "Bubbe," I said. "Today..."

  "Don't take that tone with me, young lady. I'll get to it when I'm good and ready."

  I sighed, and propped my chin in my hand. There was nothing I could do but wait her out when she got like this.

  "I...it's probably nothing. But I saw her the other day. At the store. She was shopping, and let me tell you, Skylar, that woman knows nothing about nutrition. Nothing but junk food in her cart! What if she and my Danny get married? Is he supposed to survive off of potato chips and sugary soda?"

  "Bubbe," I said again, rubbing a frustrated hand over my forehead. "Did you call me because you were concerned about Katie Corleone's grocery habits?"

  "Skylar, you have never been patient, and that is going to be your end."

  I just closed my eyes and waited.

  "As I was saying, I saw her at the store, buying all of this junk. And then a man's voice
called her name. He said, 'Katie, honey!' So of course I followed her to see who this man was. I was very careful not to be seen."

  I had no problem imagining my tiny grandmother creeping around the aisles of the Associated Supermarket, peeking through the towers of kosher pickles like a private eye. No doubt she fancied herself a regular Nancy Drew.

  "So she went up to this man, and he kissed her on the cheek, bubbela, and put a very friendly hand around her waist while they walked down the aisle. He even touched her on the tuchus!"

  Her thick Brooklyn accent was becoming more pronounced, and she was peppering her speech with Yiddish, both sure signs of excitement. I frowned as Eric and Jared chatted amiably on the couch.

  "What did the guy look like, Bubbe?"

  My heart sank in my chest as she described a short, portly man with a round belly and receding hairline. She hadn't gotten a good look at his face, but when she said that Katie had called him "Vic", I knew exactly who it was. Proof positive that my dad's girlfriend was a close associate of Victor Messina, the thug who had almost cost my father his life just a few months before.

  "Shit," I muttered under my breath.

  My dad had stubbornly refused to listen to all suspicions I had about the woman, and I'd been putting off going down there and confronting her myself.

  "What?" Bubbe asked. "What's the matter? I knew she was bad news. I just...your father, Skylar...he's been playing piano again still...and she always seems to make him so happy."

  "I know," I said regretfully. "I know. But Bubbe, she's no good. I'll come down this weekend and talk to dad and Katie. But you can't say anything to spook her, understand? I mean it."

  There was a silence on the other end of the line. Restraint wasn't Bubbe's strong suit, especially when it came to her son. But at last she sighed.

  "All right," she said. "But only if you come this weekend and take care of it. You promise?"

  "I promise, Bubbe," I said. And I hated that at this point, that was really all I could do.

  ~

  Chapter 24

  On Friday, right after class, I found myself riding to New York in the back of Brandon's Mercedes while his driver, David, chatted amiably in the front with an extra bodyguard that Brandon had hired for the night.

  Brandon had insisted on accompanying me to New York himself. After trying and failing throughout the week to convince me that going was a bad idea, he'd been just as stubborn about the fact that he was going too. I couldn't lie; I was sort of happy to see that he was willing to travel with me outside of his apartment. He hadn't heard from Miranda since last weekend, but that didn't mean he wouldn't. Kieran assured him she was expecting a call from Miranda's lawyers daily. Brooklyn, in other words, was a good distraction.

  The security Brandon had assigned to my family had helpfully supplied the fact that Katie had her hair done every Friday afternoon at a salon in East New York, which made my job easy. The only people who would be in a salon would be other women––a potentially safer environment than trying to confront her somewhere else. Brandon wanted to go in with me, but I convinced him that he would only attract attention just by being a tall, handsome, obviously wealthy man standing in a roomful of money-hungry women.

  We spent most of drive down working peacefully together. Brandon participated in several conference calls while I sat in the opposite corner studying, trying (and failing) to ignore the way his fingers massaged my feet propped in his lap. I was dreading the task I was on my way to do, but the car ride down was the most normal I had felt with Brandon in months.

  We pulled up in front of Connie's Cutz just after five, when Katie's appointment supposedly began.

  "Are you sure I can't go in?" Brandon asked again as I opened the door.

  I turned to him. "Yes. Like I said, you'll only call more attention to yourself. If she's a pawn for Messina, it's better that she doesn't know you're in the picture. Besides, maybe I can handle this woman to woman."

  Brandon watched me regretfully, then finally nodded. He leaned in and threaded a big hand around the nape of my neck.

  "Come here," he said, and he pulled me close for a quick, but very thorough kiss. "I'm right here if you need me, and Andy is going to stand just outside the shop. Be careful."

  "I'll be fine," I murmured. Then I kissed him again, and stepped out of the car.

  The shop door jangled with a bell when I entered, causing the five women inside to swivel quickly at my presence. Four of them boasted identically massive heads of long, barrel-curled hair, all teased and styled to at least four inches above their scalps.

  I had known girls like this my whole life. They were the remnants of a certain part of Brooklyn that yearned for the New York of the seventies and eighties: big-haired Italian girls who wore their acrylic nails and pancaked makeup like armor. They attached themselves to the small-time crooks of the neighborhood, bragging to each other about the newest rock or Gucci bag their boyfriends had bought them with dirty money. Some of them ended up married to these guys; others were content just to be sidepieces. They were walking clichés, caricatures inspired from The Sopranos and Goodfellas, but with none of the glamor.

  Two of the women sat together in the back of the shop, chattering happily while one did the other's nails. Another lounged in an empty seat while a fourth stood at the shampoo station. Katie Corleone lay there with her head in a sink.

  "Can I help you?"

  The woman who was currently wrist-deep in Katie's hair looked me up and down with a critical, faux-lashed eye. Her ashy, bottle-blonde hair was partially piled on the crown of her head, the rest flowing down her back in a cascade of dry ringlets. Like the rest of the women there, she wore a revealing, ostentatious outfit: leopard-print skinny jeans, a black tank top that revealed more of her red bra than it concealed, and sky-high gold heels that couldn't possibly be comfortable to wear all day in a salon.

  I had to force myself not to follow her gaze. In my simple black pants, loose gray tank, and flat sandals, with my hair tossed into a messy bun, I was clearly not a part of this tribe. But I wasn't here to fit in. I was here for my dad.

  "I'm looking for Katie," I said.

  "Who's asking?" said the woman with a quick glance down at her client.

  Steeling myself, I stepped farther inside. "Skylar Crosby. I'm Danny's daughter."

  Katie pulled herself up to look at me, her wet hair falling onto her plastic-covered shoulders with a splat.

  "Hi Skylar!" she greeted me with enthusiasm that obviously masked both surprise and irritation. "Girls, this is Danny's daughter. Ain't she gorgeous?" She sighed with a terrifically fake smile. "She's so lucky she can pull off that natural look."

  "That's one way to put it," one of the women at the nail station said, and the other snickered.

  "Listen, sweetie, can this wait?" Katie asked, pointing to her soaking hair good-naturedly. Without her bouffant, she looked like a wet rat with a face painted like a doll's. "A girl's got to take care of herself to impress her man. You know how it is."

  "Does she?" the woman at the empty hair station wondered a little too loudly to be under her breath, causing another round of low laughter to flutter around the shop.

  "Um, sorry, but it can't wait," I said more loudly than I intended.

  I forced myself to walk all the way to the back of the shop, ignoring the stare stabbing my back as I came to stand next to Katie.

  "This won't take long," I said. "I just came to tell you to leave my dad alone."

  The hum of the shop stopped completely, and Katie's pleasantness evaporated.

  "Excuse me?" she asked in a way that clearly wasn't a question. "Just who do you think you are?"

  "His daughter," I said, puffing up my chest even though I stood close to six inches shorter than the hairdresser next to me.

  "And why is it you don't want your dad to be happy?" Katie asked with a nasty grin. "I don't think he'll want me to leave him alone, honey. Danny likes me too much."

  The other wom
en in the shop cackled and whistled. My stomach turned at the memory of my dad all over this ridiculous woman.

  "Look, my grandmother saw you with Victor," I said, putting my cards on the table. "You're not really interested in my dad. He's a garbage collector who can't even play in his band anymore because Victor messed him up so much. He's twenty years older than you, has no money, and lives with his ma. You've obviously been sent by Victor to get him into trouble again, and I'm asking you, if you have any decency, to stop. Please stop."

  I took a deep breath. All of the women stared at me, their plump lips dropped to the floor.

  "He has nothing more to give," I said quietly, now pleading rather than dictating. A catfight wouldn't work here. They had me in numbers, and they'd dig in their claws. It was better to play dead. "If Victor's looking for another payout...he needs to know there's nothing left."

  "Who do you think you're foolin', honey?" Katie asked, apparently having decided to abandon all pretense. "Nothin' left? Ain't you got a rich boyfriend? Victor knows there's a lot more there. And if he don't get it, well...let's just say your dad and grandmother might not have a place to live pretty soon." She turned to her friends. "It's a shame really. It's a nice house, just a few blocks from here."

  I fought the sick feeling that was growing in my stomach.

  "You can tell him that's not an option anymore," I said. "That connection is gone. And if he feels okay with tossing an old lady and her maimed son out onto the street, then he's going straight to hell."

  Katie shrugged.

  "Ain't you a fancy lawyer now?" she asked, her smile laced with daggers. "That's what Danny's always sayin'. He can't stop braggin' about his daughter and her fancy Harvard degree." She glanced at her friends, who were looking at me with arched, heavily plucked brows. "I think you'll be able to find plenty of funds when they become necessary."

  "When will that be?" I asked with a dry mouth. I couldn't help myself.

  "Oh, your dad's holding out better than most, I'll give him that. He's actually tryin' to make this whole rehab thing work. But..." She flipped a long-nailed finger around the room whimsically. "Once an addict, always an addict. He'll come back to the track. They always do."