Sunset Flare

by Shannyn Leah

  Marc gently, but forcefully, cupped her upper arm, pulling her away from the high-end crowd making their way into the gold ballroom for the Manzedi show. She let him, understanding she couldn’t go around shouting about jail during the fashion show of the year. A few weeks ago this show had been the top priority in her life and now she found herself lacking any interest.

  Watching the chic women and men pass by, wearing their beautiful designer clothes, almost made her wish she could go back to appreciating their outfits and proudly showing off the outfit she’d purchased to wear a month earlier. The incredible white sequin dress hung tucked away in her closest, hiding from her.

  When they were finally out of ear shot and he had let her go, she stuffed her hands back into the pockets of her oversized black sweater. It hung longer in the back, grazing her knees. She pulled it around her front, glancing down as it hid her casual one-piece teal romper. What a mess she must look and how sad she felt that it wasn’t her top priority. What had happened to her? She supposed watching the man you love get handcuffed and escorted away for likely a lifetime in jail did that to a person.

  When she looked up, they were in the private silver ballroom with her entire family circled around her, giving her pitiful looks. All except Corbin, who was cooperating with detectives from his cabin in the bush. Here one second and gone the very next. At this point, she didn’t blame him.

  Ugh. Pitiful looks.

  Pitiful looks from beautifully dressed people. Her sisters and mother all looked amazing in their elegant gowns. Violet, Kate, and her mother always looked gorgeous in their choice of A-line dresses with sparkle, lace and sophistication. Chanel, Armani, and Klein. Anya’s Versace halter dress with the plunging neckline swept the marble floor while Emma’s Ralph Lauren shirt-dress could only be pulled off by her. Marc and her father were presentable in their tuxes.

  Material things.

  She felt her conceit rearing its ugly head into her thoughts, telling her she shouldn’t have left her suite looking like a bag lady. But that was the old Izzy. She didn’t deserve to have nice things, none of them did, and yet, here they stood, flaunting it.

  “What is this? A family intervention? You people don’t have anything better to do than make sure I go to a fashion show?!” She waved her finger in front of her lips. “Did you all hear what I just asked and how crazy it sounded?”

  Carl touched her arm. “Gunner made his own bed. His deep involvement with the Caliendos put him in this position. He understood that and he’s man enough to stand up and accept them.”

  Izzy pulled away. “What about you, Dad? How involved were you?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  She made a distasteful sound at him, and then swept her eyes across all of them.

  “We could have let him go like Melissa and Corbin.”

  “Melissa and Corbin are hiding from her father, not the authorities.”

  “They will kill him in ja—” She groaned. “There. They will kill him there. Those Caliendos are ruthless. Even though their head boss is dead, not all of them are. Some will still be loyal to Anton even after he’s dead.”

  “We arranged the best lawyer for Gunner.” Her mother stepped forward. “But we’re not here to talk about him, sweetheart. We want to talk about you.”

  “He was a top priority. He’s a good guy.” She felt the tears burning her eyes. “He’s my guy.”

  “We know.” Her mother pulled her into a long hug. “Sweetheart, we trust your instinct.”

  Since when?

  Her mother pulled away. “We know you’ve been taking files from Marc’s office for the last few weeks and reading them.”

  Izzy crossed her arms in front of her as her mother stepped back and rejoined the circle. “Having me watched?”

  The authorities had completely cleaned out the library unaware of the townspeople’s files hidden in Marc’s office, so Izzy thought why not read their horror stories. What did she have to lose now? She’d already lost everything.

  “We all have gone through what you’re feeling,” Anya whispered.

  She doubted it.

  “That feeling of disgust, not wanting anything Dad’s left us, the things we have or can buy. Asking yourself why we deserve to live in such luxury with money, and have no worries when each file is a destruction of someone’s life made to better our own. Trust me, we get it.”

  Izzy bit her lower lip as her sister described the battling emotions raging inside her.

  “We are working at righting Robert’s wrongs,” Marc said. “And, Izzy, we think it’s time you got involved.”

  “Really? Do you, Marc? Maybe I don’t want to be involved.”

  “But you do.” Her father touched her arm. “And if you don’t experience the good we can, and have, accomplished, you’ll be stuck in Robert’s darkness forever. Sweetheart, I’ve never wanted to see you there. Your mother and I tried keeping you out of the situations in an attempt to protect your childhood and your future. We tried to give you a happy childhood without the hardship that came from discovering you were mine. We wanted normal for you as much as your siblings.”

  Izzy wanted to scream. “I know you two did the best you could.” She might have screamed the words. “I did read the files and I was in the basement with you. I witnessed firsthand the evil which brought you to your decisions for us. So, I get it, I really do.”

  Taking a deep breath, she prepared herself to continue, in order to avoid another family intervention like this one.

  “I will mend fences with you. Include me in the file conversations and I will help where I can to those Robert has hurt. I want to. But you will never quit on Gunner.” She hadn’t realized she’d been about to offer terms until the words were out of her mouth. “You will fight for him. You will pay for all the costs involved with the best lawyers and you will stand by my side every step of the way.”

  Her family nodded.

  “Do you know why?”

  “Because you love him.”

  Izzy’s eyes snapped up to Violet’s soft smile.

  “Yes. And he challenged me while you all took a step back and babied me—” She held her hand up to Marc. “Besides you. You’re pushy and most of the time, a jerk, but you don’t count. I love you, thank you, but guess what...” She shot him a know-it-all glare. “I assist at the pole dancing classes and that’s a job. I’m an assistant pole dancing instructor and I don’t even require a paycheque to prove it.”

  Small chuckles and snorts echoed around them.

  “I’d confidently convinced myself dwelling on those files were the wrong decision and they would bring us down, but the truth is, I was terrified. And because I’m used to keeping my fears inside, like being lost in a bush, or knowing your uncle is your real father, I thought keeping the secrets locked in those files was better. But I admit to being wrong and I did that with Gunner’s help.”

  Her eyes fell on her parents’ glossy eyes. Her mother looked ready to hug her, but she held her ground.

  “You both hurt me. Finding out you were my dad before I had even started high school was confusing, to say the least. More like, totally messed up. I had to accept your affair with each other, then watch you both sneak around, discovering that the feelings between you remained. And all that time, I was aware you both knew my paternity and kept it from me. You let me believe Robert, a man who did nothing but talk down to me, was my real father. It made me feel like...”

  Her breath caught in her throat, and she released it slowly. Then she said the words she’d never been able to face head-on before today. “...like you didn’t want me, Dad.” She saw the hurt in his eyes, his pain and sorrow for today and the years passed, their years lost. “And I got to thinking, if my own father didn’t want me, then who would?”

  “I wanted you,” Carl said.

  Eliza wiped tears away from her cheek.

  “You took me to my dance classes when I was young.” Izzy felt her own tears forming. “I remember you sewing a pil
low at a one of the Girl Club meetings in town. Actually, I recall using a needle and thread instead of a machine, and that you sewed it to your pants.”

  Her dad smiled.

  “It was awful, but mine was worse.”

  He chuckled.

  “You were like Abby and my personal chauffer most of my childhood. Those are fatherly actions you incorporated into my daily life. More than Robert ever did, and I know everyone here has already told you that, but it took me a while to acknowledge it after living so long thinking you didn’t want me.”

  “You should have talked to me.”

  “I don’t talk to anyone.”

  “You talk all the time,” Marc said.

  Izzy spun around. “Jerk!”

  She barely got the word out before Marc stepped into the circle and hugged her.

  What the—

  Within seconds, a family bear hug occurred in the silver ballroom. Her family was nuts. She officially decided they were a bunch of loonies, but they were her loonies.

  “I’m not going to the show,” she said. “I love you guys, but I’m not ready to face the world yet.”

  “About that...” She pulled away to look at him, which was almost impossible with everyone else squeezed up around her.

  “What did you do?”

  “Is the coast clear?” She shot her brother a nasty look as the door burst open and Abby waltzed through.

  She managed to feign a fake smile for about three seconds, and then remembered this was her best friend, she didn’t need to wear a mask with her.

  “Abby,” she whispered, walking into a hug. Abby squeezed her like a dork. Normal at first, caring, sympathetic, and then she squeezed her harder, rocked her, pinched her.

  Izzy pulled away. “Alright, enough.”

  But Abby’s face didn’t smile back at her. “How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  Abby’s eyes raked down over her abysmal wardrobe. “You don’t look fine.”

  “Maybe not now, but they say someday I will be.”

  “Alright, let’s go.” Abby grabbed her hand and started toward the door.

  “No.”

  “Yes. No one cares about you, this is the Manzedi show and I am not missing this for the world.”

  Izzy eyed her skeptically, keeping up with her quick pace back down the hall toward the gold ballroom. “Do you even know a single design by Manzedi?”

  Her friend shrugged. “This isn’t for me. It’s for you.”

  Izzy fully intended on arguing, but lost her chance when an usher gripped her arm and led her and Abby to their seats. Front row seats. The very seats she wanted and suddenly, again, they seemed so minuscule.

  “You look like shit by the way,” Abby whispered, but she ignored her until she felt fingers tangle in her hair.

  “Abby—” Izzy swatted her. “What are you doing?”

  They had to work together to free Abby’s fingers from a knot.

  “Stop it. Stop touching me.”

  “When’s the last time you bathed?”

  “You know; some people don’t have the luxury of bathing when they want so maybe we shouldn’t spoil ourselves with the things we take for granted.”

  “I think you’d do better to apply your theory to buying a Versace purse not the liquid that washes your stink away. Trust me.”

  Izzy glared at her only to find her leaned into her, sniffing. “What are you doing?” Izzy hissed.

  “We are surrounded by some of the richest people and you smell like a trash can.”

  “I’m the richest person here so who cares.” With that, a cloud of some all-natural floral-scented perfume Abby undoubtedly made and sold in her soap shop, misted over her outfit, filling her nostrils and likely onto everyone around them.

  “Abby!” she hissed.

  Her friend shrugged. “What?”

  “Stop.”

  Abby offered her gum which she took, adding a final glare, which still didn’t faze her friend.

  “I’m embarrassed for you.” She pulled a travel-size lotion bottle out of her purse. “Photos are being taken. People are scrutinizing each other more than usual. It’s a fashion show for crying out loud and you look like a hobo. Take the sweater off.” She pulled at her sweater and Izzy yanked it back.

  “No,” she growled.

  “Fine.” Abby gave up on the sweater but her lotion-soaked hands massaged the smell of honey and lavender into Izzy’s hands.

  She was driving her nuts.

  “I have makeup.”

  Izzy shot her a look. “Nothing else. You’re done. Finito. If you put another thing near me, I will snap.”

  “Maybe a tiny touch of lip gloss.”

  “McAdams,” she warned.

  “Fine.” Abby pouted back to her seat and the show began. Loud music, slashing bright lights and incredible designs couldn’t stray her mood.

  Not even once, not even a little.

  She envisioned Gunner surrounded by four metal walls of jail cell, once again alone and deserted.

  Before she knew it, the crowd applauded and Abby nudged her side. She clapped, rising to her feet, grateful for it to be over and planning a hasty exit.

  Abby pulled her back down to her seat.

  “I’m not hanging around to mingle.”

  “Okay, but we don’t want to miss the main attraction. The ending of all endings. The show of the century.”

  Oh my gosh, what was she going on about?

  “The ying to your yang. The Riley to your Abby.”

  Izzy stared at her. “What is the matter with you?”

  Abby grimaced. “Too much?”

  “Which part?”

  She cracked a smile. “I’ve never seen you so sad. So publically sad. So sad you forgot how to dress yourself.” She paused. “Wait a minute, is this my sweater?”

  “And my sadness is funny to you?”

  The room darkened as the announcer’s voice echoed through the room.

  “No. But it does make me happy that I’m playing my part in picking up this new dead-on-the-floor, skip-the-tub girl you’ve become.”

  Izzy couldn’t do her bubbly right now and was grateful when the patterned light show across the stage stole Abby’s attention.

  When the speaker spoke Gunner’s name, she decided she’d officially lost it. She was just as loony as her family.

  “...Wearing a Manzedi original from the men’s line...”

  “Haven’t they done this already?”

  Impatiently, she glanced at the back of the runway and froze. Her mouth fell open, while her heart sped up and the sight winded the breath out of her.

  Gunner. It was Gunner!

  And he looked all shades of handsome wearing a Manzedi royal blue suit. Her eyes raked over him. She couldn’t help it. She took in the fitted pants that hugged his tight ass when he did a casual circle, flashing only her a private grin. He slipped the suit jacket off, so sly, so smooth, so unlike the abrupt actions she was used to, and held it out in front of him, gave her a killer wink and tossed it from the stage.

  Her lips curled upwards, unable to stop the thoughts of him stripping for her from flitting into her head. Even a room full of people couldn’t stop them, or the lust building up inside her.

  Tucking his hands in his pockets, he sauntered down the runway, only looking at her. His eyes never left her. He stopped to pose, model a move she hadn’t even known he possessed, but his eyes never strayed from hers.

  As he sauntered his amazingly hot body closer, he paused, loosened the knot of his tie and sent the crowd of women wild. Okay, maybe she wasn’t the only one in the room thinking this man needed to strip to his bare ass, but she would certainly be the only one witnessing it.

  Abby elbowed her in the side. “Hot!” She squealed. “Grade A. H. O. T. Effing hot right there.”

  Izzy couldn’t disagree.

  He slowly slid the tie from around his neck, finishing with a little sway of his hips in coordination to the proactive mu
sic. He was surprising the heck out of her with his moves.

  Oh my gosh, he’s dancing!

  He waggled his eyebrows at her before tossing the tie into the hyenas disguised as women. He unbuttoned each cuff, gradually rolling up one sleeve and then the next.

  Hot.

  He undid the first button of his shirt.

  Take that whole damn thing off. Here and now, she didn’t care.

  Izzy laughed when a woman’s howl broke free, causing Gunner to break their eye contact in what looked like a desperate search to see who the culprit was. She didn’t know if he found the guilty party, but he practically ran to the end of the stage and hopped off in front of her.

  “Hi,” he said, smelling so much better than whatever Abby sprayed on her. Woodsy pine.

  Izzy flew into his arms, wrapping her hands around his neck and kissing him all at the same time.

  The crowd cheered the reunion, but Izzy didn’t notice, only concentrating on the man before her. Her man.

  “I missed you,” she said. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know...”

  He kissed her before assuring her everything would be okay. “I’m here.” He pulled away, gripping the side of her head. “I missed every damn thing about you, every damn day we were apart.”

  She laughed.

  He tucked her head against him and just held her. “I was going to do a little more stripping for you, but these women terrify me,” he whispered against the side of her head.

  She looked at him. “Rain cheque. Me and you.”

  “But first.” He pulled out handcuffs. “You...” He spun the metal around one of her wrists. “...are stuck...” He spun the other cuff around his wrist. “...with me. Forever.”

  “Forever isn’t long enough,” she said.

  He laughed, pushing a piece of hair away from her face. “When did you get all sweet and sentimental? Do you know how difficult it was for me to watch you from backstage? I wanted to run out here the second I saw you.”

  She smiled, kissing him again.

  “Of course, at first, I didn’t recognize you.” He touched her hair. “Did you brush this today?”

  She let out a half laugh, half snort sound.

  “Or did you know I was here planning to whisk you off to live in the woods with me.”