Looks are Deceiving

by Michele Hart

  Elissa felt a cold-flash blush, recalling the perfect afternoon. “Did you see his expression when they announced Best Dessert?”

  “You mean, Elissa’s Chocolate-Toffee Cheesecake?” Sissy declared, more than requested confirmation. “I was looking right at Greg when the ribbon was placed around Julian’s neck, and Greg was holding his cell phone camera, catching the moment on video, his smile unending. He has one of those phones that does everything but kiss you good night before bed, and I’ll bet he has video clips of most of the Cook-off.”

  Smiling, Elissa cast her sight around the house, embarrassed that he’d made her name pop up in such an important affair, and she traced the pattern on the kitchen tiles with the toe of her shoe, then the wood floor of the livingroom. She appreciated the beauty of the house for the umpteenth time. It was such a peaceful home, warmed by iron and wood, mocha-latte accents.

  The moment seemed perfect for Elissa to snoop around for harmless trivia. “Greg says you lived here for a while.”

  Sissy turned the temperature dial on the oven, and she hauled the pans into it to re-warm them. Then she cast her soft brown eyes around the house as though she missed it.

  “It wasn’t nowhere near this pretty when I found it. The previous decorator had entertained a flavor for retro I knew just wouldn’t last long with Greg. I knew his taste and redecorated it myself before he returned home from college. I was queen of the manor for a while.”

  Sissy had grown up in Greg’s neighborhood. Could they have been high school sweethearts? “You did a smashing job. You’ve an artist’s eye. Greg tells me you painted the portraits of the restaurant yourself.”

  Sissy moved into the big livingroom and examined the four-by-five foot nostalgia paintings, one on each side of the big-screen TV and electronics, and she appeared to refamiliarize herself with fond memories. Elissa followed her sight and studied the painting, its brush strokes. The portraits were awesome, from her undereducated view.

  “Painting the restaurant just came naturally,” Sissy said, her voice a content sigh.

  “You’re very talented.”

  Sissy shrugged, a touch of regret slipping from her pretty brown eyes. “I let it all fall by the wayside when I took over management of the restaurant. You have to keep up with such things. You can’t quit painting for a long while and still call yourself an artist. Talents fade without nurture. Now I nurture my love for Rubia’s.”

  Elissa’s eyes focused on the artist’s signature of one painting, and then the other. Did it say Natalie Moretti? Until this moment, Elissa hadn’t been able to make out the artist’s signatures, but now she could see the signing, recalling Sissy’s birth name was Natalie, but the last name was a scribble. Elissa remembered Greg’s conversation that first night in Rubia’s bar. Greg had flat-out refused to give Sissy to Allen. Even Greg's own words admitted he'd have to give Sissy up.

  Had Greg and Sissy married young, officially making her a Moretti, and by extension a Rubia? Was this a broken early marriage before her eyes? At the party, Natalie’s father had mentioned they’d all grown up in the same neighborhood, and he clearly approved of Greg quite a bit, but also seemed to encourage Sissy to move forward in her life with Allen. Allen seemed to believe he needed Greg’s approval to date Sissy. Their conversation had sounded very much like a territorial negotiation.

  Whatever the nature of Greg’s and Sissy’s relationship, Elissa needed it for a wall around her heart. She really needed to halt her fall into feelings for him, no matter how exquisite the temptation not to look into the future. She needed Sissy and Greg to have an undying love for one another, at least until Elissa left for Quantico.

  If Greg and Sissy had been together in a past relationship that hadn’t worked out, Elissa told herself she really didn’t want to be involved with Greg, even for a short time, if Sissy stood on the outskirts and mourned. Elissa liked Sissy a lot, could see them becoming good friends. Elissa had no desire to see her hurt.

  Perhaps Elissa should tell Sissy… Greg and she were only a short-term thing.

  For all the talk Greg had given about Allen and Sissy, Elissa had never once heard Sissy mention any feelings for Allen, only a solid glorification of Greg all the way home from the Cook-off. It was no wild assumption that Greg and Sissy were close, or at least had been very close for a long time past. Thinking of it felt like a fist clutching Elissa’s heart.

  “I don’t paint much anymore,” Sissy expounded. “Not since the old man died.”

  Elissa cocked her head sideways. “Old man?”

  Sissy gave a soft smile. “Sergio Moretti. Best man I’ve ever known.” Greg’s father.

  “Were you close to him?” Elissa asked, eager to catch clues of the patriarch of the Rubia-Moretti clan. He sounded like he'd been a super guy.

  Sissy’s smile grew into a faraway look of bliss. “I was very close to the old man, and he hated it when I called him that. Every year, he’d dress up as Santa Claus for the neighborhood kids, and take pictures of the children with Santa for their parents to collect over time and watch their children grow up in photos. Some even used the photos for Christmas cards. He coached baseball when the boys wanted to play. He was a very generous man of great talent.”

  Everyone spoke of Sergio Moretti as though the sun had risen with the man in the morning. “I can see great respect in your eyes each time you speak of him. So, what about this Allen-guy? I hear he has a thing for you.”

  A fresh smile came to Sissy’s lips, and she wrestled it into submission. “Allen is… something I’m waiting for.”

  “Waiting? For him to grow up?”

  “Don’t judge a book by its cover. He acts like a jerk because he loves to be underestimated. He loves the look of surprise on everyone’s faces when they learn what he does for a living. He won’t tell them.”

  Elissa put out a laugh. “Rodeo clown?”

  “Ever hear of Doctors without Borders?”

  “Yeah, they travel around the world helping injured children in impoverished nations. Does Allen get in their way?”

  “Allen’s a plastic surgeon from a family of doctors, trained by the best in his field. He charges rich people filthy amounts of money for nose jobs so he can take off for three months, travel to Cambodia, and help kids injured from old land mines. He gives defeated kids a new start. He talks a big game of callous disregard in front of you, but you’ll be looking at the biggest teddy bear of anyone I know.”

  Elissa felt punched in the stomach for every bad thought she’d put to the man. She’d definitely see Allen in a whole new light. “You can’t be serious. The guy’s a hero. Lesson learned.”

  Sissy’s smile was glorious. “Kids make him weak, just cut right through his sarcasm armor. Feel like getting out of your awful clothes?”

  Elissa lit up, having forgotten she looked awful. “Oh, yes! I’ve much better clothes in a bag I left in your car. Only Julian and Penny are due, and Julian knows about the masquerade. I can be myself for this shindig.”

  Out to the car and back inside with her bag of clothes, Elissa entered Greg’s bedroom, strode to the sliding glass door and opened it, appreciating the slow ripple of white sheers and the fresh breeze flowing into the room. She’d missed not being in his bed the nights she’d been away. It was a frightening feeling that she was starting to need Greg.

  Her eyes landed on his bed, and she felt an irresistible impulse to crawl into his bed sheets and soak in the smell of him. The nagging ache in her heart warned her not to. Her confession of being Quantico-bound had not set well with him. She expected the conversation to come up again and, damnit, now she cared how he felt. He had a voice in her life now, and that was bad.

  Maybe after this weekend, Elissa shouldn’t sleep with Greg anymore. He was the most dangerous man on Earth, and he was gathering weapons against her, her heart, her body, her soul. And she had to disarm him before someone got hurt.

  And before he got any sexier.

  God, it's warm in here. />
  Still determined to make this a night of celebrations, Elissa changed into a gauzy olive blouse that complimented her red hair and pale coloring worn over a dark camisole, and she donned a bouncy, black skirt with pockets, soft, lacy, and feminine for lounge-around socializing. She figured she’d go barefoot until someone complained.

  Thanks to a little makeup, her hair brushed to a gleam and spring, Elissa felt good dressed as she wished to present herself, her thoughts of their small conflict forced down in her mind.

  Strolling into the kitchen, quietly joyous to have her hair free and feel it bouncing down her back instead of up in a frigid knot like it had been all day, Elissa drew out one of the bottles of Pinot from the refrigerator, the same wine that had helped Rubia’s score multiple touchdowns earlier today with big-name food experts. “How long until Greg’s return?”

  “He planned to escort the investors to their hotel and wish them well. I’d guess an hour or two.”

  Too attuned, Sissy turned her eyes over to Elissa retrieving the corkscrew, and she asked, “Missing Greg already? Are the two of you falling into your own act?”

  Did Sissy sound a touch jealous or was it Elissa’s imagination? Her smile appeared very genuine.

  Elissa drilled into the cork with the corkscrew and pretended she could explain what Greg and she were falling into, other than tremendously hot moments in the sack. It was good, she figured, that she would be pressed to think of it. Considering the question reminded her of all the obstacles between them. She needed her walls. It was how she maintained the impenetrable security Greg had spoken of just last night. During his arrest.

  “No, not falling in love. Falling in like, I think, probably going no further than friends with a funny experience of winning an odd bet together. You know, the kind of friend you send a Christmas card to every year, whose name never leaves your list though they’d probably long moved from that address. The kind of friend you just don’t see without the stretch of a decade between accidental reunions.

  “I wouldn’t call Greg and me a natural romantic couple. We’re from different worlds. It’s all about the bet.”

  Sissy looked disappointed at the news when Elissa would have thought she’d be pleased to learn another woman had no plans to put her brand on Greg.

  “Does Greg know it’s all about the bet?”

  “Him more than anyone. He’s very busy right now with franchises, stock votes, marketing schemes. He doesn’t need a woman in his life. I’m busy with school and don’t need a social life as much as I need a degree. Neither of us have room for legitimate dating or a serious relationship. Whatever fun we’re taking from the moment is only in the moment. Would you like a glass of white wine?”

  Sissy smiled in a way that seemed distinctly forced for the first second before her good nature kicked in. “Count me in. I’m gonna change into something more comfortable.”

  “The wine and I will be poolside.”

  Sissy disappeared into one of the back bedrooms, and Elissa collected crystal from the cabinets, grasped the neck of the bottle, and she sashayed out the glass doors to the white, wrought-iron table with a big umbrella already aimed to block the strong late-afternoon sun.

  Taking the heavily padded chair, she filled her glass with only half her mind, her inner voice still fixed to Sissy’s question of Greg and her falling in love.

  Nothing Greg had ever said or did gave Elissa the notion that in the short span of their interaction, something like two weeks, that he’d fallen into a zombielike devotion to her. He’d been insistent of her time, took advantage of every moment that could put her in his bed, but those weren’t signs of love in a man, more of an alpha-male dominance expressed in low demands coated with sugar and ecstasy.

  She couldn't blame Sissy if she were feeling Elissa out for hints of her involvement with Greg. Elissa figured if Sissy had once held Greg’s heart, she’d probably never lose care for him, would probably want to know that the next woman in his life was worthy of him. Who could blame her?

  Elissa knew the only way to survive Greg over the length of a full month and not walk away with a broken heart was to make their contact sporadic and uncommon, and to keep the deal in mind. When Greg and she found themselves alone again, she’d excuse herself from his fine company to go home and put her nose in study guides. After tonight, she’d need to dive back into school and ignore any power working against her pledge to her career, and she’d find another night job.

  She wondered though, if Greg’s quest for the truth of his father’s death could lead him into trouble. That worried her considerably. And so did the hole opening in her heart at the thought of eventually saying goodbye to Greg.

  The doorbell rang and, eager to welcome Penny and Julian, Elissa rose and went to the small video screen of the security system sitting on the furthest counter. An overhead shot of the entranceway revealed two men, one of them Jerry, the third Amigo. The second man examined the brickwork too closely. Greg had twenty friends she’d yet to meet.

  A freshly changed and re-energized Sissy paced straight from a bedroom, crossed the great livingroom with a joyful hop in her stride, to the front door, and she leaned into the wood to see through the peephole.

  “It’s Jerry,” she announced, just as Elissa pressed the button for the wide-angle view ... and spotted the pistol concealed behind the second man’s leg.

  Elissa felt ice shoot through her veins.

  Sissy threw the door open, before Elissa could stop her.

  And she deeply regretted having never seen where Greg kept his gun.

  Chapter 12

  “Jerry,” Sissy muttered, her face ashen with dread and wide-eyed.

  Elissa watched Sissy back up into the hallway until Donald Fisher saw her standing frozen in the kitchen, aghast at seeing him again. She hadn’t had a spare second to dash into Greg’s room. It all happened on fast-forward. The shock sharpened all her senses.

  Jerry closed the door behind them, and the two men directed Sissy into the living room. Fisher turned his gun onto Elissa and gave her a creepy grin. The safety on the gun wasn’t engaged. He was apparently willing to kill this time.

  “You again,” Fisher said to her, his cold hazel eyes trailed down her body, giving her warp-waves of warning. “You sure don’t match other people’s descriptions of you. I can see what Greg sees in you, if others can’t.”

  Jerry examined her too, his face unreadable. She realized she was dressed nicely instead of her crumpled look, and he wasn’t supposed to see her like this.

  “You’re the waitress at Club Reno’s.” A smile of sin rose over his expressions. “Is Greg sleeping with you and the little ragdoll we hooked him up with?”

  Then his smile dove, and he stepped up closer to her, took her jaw in his mean hand, and examined her face more harshly. “No.... That was you, too. Wasn’t it?”

  Elissa pulled her cheek from his hand, loathing to be touched by him.

  “This means Greg’s lost that bet,” Jerry commented, smug at his discovery. “I knew he wouldn’t waste his time on some droll-looking woman.”

  Elissa retorted, “I’m betting Greg lost a bet that you were a good friend.”

  Jerry’s mouth puckered with a pernicious snarl. “I was a good friend to Greg.”

  Elissa listed her head to an angle to study him, the way he carried himself, what his body language told of him, while a resentful glint in his eye said her remark began to eat at him. “Looks are deceiving.”

  “Even good friendships buckle under strain.”

  “Like the strain of holding a gun on his women under his roof?” Sissy offered up.

  Jerry returned no volley. Fisher indicated with the gun an order for Elissa to join Sissy.

  “We’re going to make this a quick visit, ladies,” Fisher told them, pointing the gun at Elissa. “I want Girlfriend here to collect every bottle of wine that came through the shipment robbery.”

  Elissa scrunched her face. “You really are here to st
eal the wine? We figured you wanted something a bit more glamorous.”

  “You shut up and get the wine.”

  Reluctant, Elissa rose from the couch and headed for the kitchen. “I didn’t think the wine was good enough to commit armed robbery.”

  Jerry turned her way, and snapped, “You’d better come up with every bottle because they’re worth committing a couple of murders, too.”

  She suppressed revulsion as she drew the remaining two bottles of white wine from the refrigerator and set them on the counter, then she drew the two bottles of red from the grapes-and-wines wine rack.

  Fisher squawked, “Four? Only four bottles left from three cases? You’d better come up with another thirty-two bottles real quick.”

  Elissa looked into Sissy’s frightened eyes, and they shared through wide-eyed frowns a quiet wish of escape.

  Sissy reported, “Greg carried two cases to the Cook-off. Julian cooked with a bottle of red, and the wines were served to the investors, with complimentary bottles to take home with them. I’m sure Greg probably gave them all away as a promotion for the restaurant.”

  “Well, he’d better get every one of them back,” Fisher advised hotly, reminding Elissa of a spitting viper.

  Jerry stepped into the kitchen with Elissa and she watched his every movement, spotted a gun in a shoulder holster hidden under a business suit coat. In his way, he ordered her back to the couch, and Elissa sat beside Sissy on the mocha-latte pit furniture and watched as he searched through every cabinet.

  Then the third Amigo took a bottle in each fist to the glass doors where the setting sun streamed in, and he held each bottle to the light and studied it. Exposing no reaction, he took the bottles back to the counter, exchanged them for the other two, and he examined them too in the sunbeams to no good contentment.

  Sissy’s attention was fixed upon Donald Fisher.

  “I know who you are,” Sissy declared to the gunman. “I remember you from birthday parties at Jerry’s when we were kids. You’re Jerry’s cousin. You have the family eyes, Donny. And you were always the bully.”