by Gina LaManna
“Sisters from another mother,” I said, my lips quirking up sadly. I pulled Meg’s wrists into my hands and held them tightly. “You don’t have responsibility over me. It’s not your job to take care of me. Just be my friend.”
“It’s not that,” Meg said. “Remember how special your mom used to make your birthdays? I know how much that meant to you. And I’m guessing that’s why you hate birthdays now.”
I blinked back tears, but I didn’t deny it.
“I remember that time your mom...” Meg paused and cleared her throat. “The pool party.”
“I know just the one you’re talking about,” I said with a light laugh. “When she got arrested for stealing the props for the party.”
“Well, I didn’t plan on getting us arrested for old time’s sake,” Meg said, with a forced grimace. “But I did want to try to give you a special birthday party. It’s what your mom would have wanted.”
I nodded. “Meg, you’ve...you’ve done so much for me. Believe me.” I pulled her in tightly for a hug, feeling the peanut brittle dig into my rib cage. “It means so much.”
Meg nodded, but I could tell her throat was constricted with memories, though her words didn’t make it past her lips. When she finally managed to speak, her voice cracked. “I didn’t want to stress you out, worry you, or make you sad – this all turned out horribly,” she said, hanging her head.
My heart nearly broke at her forlorn expression. I’d never seen my friend so upset. “Hey, listen,” I said, reaching out and tipping Meg’s chin up. “You did give me the best birthday ever.”
“No, no, I should’ve just done as you said and forgot about the stupid party—”
I leaned in and interrupted, “I kissed Anthony. And he touched my butt,” I gave a wink. “Things worked out fine.”
Meg gave a feeble laugh. “Do you mean it?”
“Meg, we actually talked. I followed your advice. There’s still a lot I don’t know about Anthony, but we’re making progress,” I said. “Don’t worry; nobody was hurt in the process. Everything’s okay.”
The storm clouds slowly cleared from Meg’s face. “If you’re sure. But I just, I would feel terrible—”
“You have nothing to feel terrible about,” I said. By now, after knowing where the inspiration for the party had come from, I felt nothing except lucky. I tugged on my friend’s vest. “Just...no fake assignments next time.”
“Definitely not,” she said. “I’m done planning parties for you. You’re too much of a wild card, chickadee. Nothing goes as planned around you.”
“I’ve heard that before,” I said. “But really, it means a lot to me. I can’t believe you got all these people to show up...”
“I didn’t even have to threaten them, believe it or not,” Meg said with a wink. “They wanted to be here.”
I had started walking back towards the milling group of onlookers on the driveway, but turned back to my friend. I tried to thank her again, but the words were too difficult to find.
“You don’t have to say anything,” she said, pulling me into a one-armed hug. She turned me in a wide, slow circle and made sure I took in each and every face strolling about the property. “They’re all here for you.”
I nodded, letting the effect of her words sink in. My mother’s birthday parties for me had been as good as she could make them – so good she’d been arrested after our themed party when I turned seven. I realized now that my dislike for birthday parties had crept up on me over time; my dislike for them hadn’t always been the norm.
Once upon a time, I’d looked forward to July 3rd. But as the years passed, I despised the day more and more. Not because it meant I was aging, but because it was an annual reminder I had to celebrate without the woman I loved most.
It’d been a long time since I’d had a real, live birthday party. One with oodles of friends, mountains of cupcakes and a special day all for me, and I’d forgotten what it felt like.
As I looked around at the grounds, noting the long tables set out with cookies and cakes, chips and salsas, finger sandwiches and frothy iced drinks – complete with Nora’s decorative touch on everything – I was reminded what being part of a family meant. Why I worked as hard as I did for Carlos. Why it mattered to me whether I could deliver a silly grilling sauce that meant nothing in the scheme of things.
It all mattered because they were my Family. And at the end of the day, Family was all I had.
A strong hand landed on my shoulder. “May I?”
Meg backed away and I could tell from the touch on my shoulder, and the starstruck look in my friend’s eyes, whose hand it was.
“Lacey, I—” Anthony started, spinning me to face him.
The chatter of the party had reached normal levels once more; the guards had sealed the entrances, more food and wine and limoncello had been brought out, and Carlos had instructed the party to continue. Even Anastasia’s sauce bottles had been retrieved from the car and placed next to a line of grills. He wouldn’t let an outsider ruin his granddaughter’s birthday party for anything.
“Anthony,” I said, my voice shaking. “I have to tell you—”
Anthony leaned forward, his hand on my chin. His creamy, Nutella-brown eyes met mine, and his face twisted in a conflicted grimace. He moved so that his mouth was next to my ear, and before I could react, murmured the words I’m sorry, before pressing his lips to my neck and sending shivers tingling all through my nerve endings.
It was easy to forget the events around us. Drinks were poured and biscotti devoured as the children laughed gaily, chasing one another around the house in a vicious game of tag. But none of it mattered at the moment. Not now. Not with Anthony so close.
“We have to talk,” I said. “I—”
“Not now, sugar,” he said. “You’ve been through enough.”
“But—”
“Not now,” he said, glancing around at the party, as if what he wanted to say shouldn’t be overheard by others. “I spoke with Carlos. The party is just getting started. He wanted you to greet the guests, but I think you’ve done enough.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I don’t mind. Really.” Though the thought of saying hi to the nearly hundred people before answering millions of questions I didn’t have answers to sounded immensely draining.
“I told him no,” Anthony said.
“You told Carlos no?” I asked, astounded.
Anthony’s lips were in a firm line. “First, a shower. Second – a meal. Third, a surprise.”
“No more surprises,” I said, waving my hand and backing away. “I’ve had enough for the year. For all of my thirtieth year.”
“It’s harmless,” Anthony said with a small smile. “I promise you’ll enjoy it. For the record, I always thought the fake assignment plan was a bad idea. I was so close to telling you, to spilling the beans...”
“I know,” I said, reaching a hand up and running it across his smooth cheek. He cast a nervous look at Meg. “Meg can be convincing. I’m not upset. I’m just surprised-out for today.”
“Well, I promise you this surprise is harmless. It’s here within the mansion. It’s the grand finale to your party,” Anthony said.
“And I suppose it’s already paid for and orchestrated,” I said with a sigh.
“It is,” Anthony said with a nod. “Though if you really don’t want it, I can talk to Carlos...”
“No, it’s fine,” I said. “The effort you guys put into this is blowing my mind. The least I can do is make an appearance.”
“Let’s see how you feel after a shower,” Anthony said, slinging his arm around my shoulder. He marched me towards the entrance to the estate. His protective stance had the soothing effect of making sure nobody stopped me en route to the front door. People stared, and I could see the questions in their eyes, but nobody said a word. Anthony made sure of it.
“Harold,” I said with a nod as Anthony held the front door open for me.
“Lacey, dear, Happy birthda
y,” Harold said, pushing Anthony away and enveloping me in a huge hug.
I smirked, realizing that the only person brave enough to breach Anthony’s possessive gesture was an eighty-year-old man with a lilting English accent.
“I told them this was all a bad idea,” Harold said. “Nothing goes as planned with you. I’m sorry it didn’t turn out like you expected.”
“You knew about everything, too?” I asked.
“We all did,” Harold said with a shrug. “They were determined to make your first birthday with the Family a success. And a surprise.” He shrugged. “It was certainly a surprise.”
“And there’s plenty of time to make it a success,” I said, already feeling my spirits rise. My energy levels increased with each familiar face I came across, reminding me that the reason for so much expended time and effort had been to make my day special.
“That’s my girl,” Harold said with an ear-splitting grin. “Keep your chin up. Try to enjoy it. They all really do love you.”
“And you?” I asked, giving the elderly butler a nudge with my elbow. “You love me, too?”
“Especially me,” he said, planting a kiss on my forehead. “Oh, Anthony, don’t look at me like that – she’s half my age.”
“Less than half,” I corrected. “I’m thirty.”
“Dear, you’re twenty-nine,” Harold said.
“What?” I spun around, glancing at Anthony, who shrugged.
“I remember the day your mother left. It was twenty-nine years ago.” he said.
“Why would she have lied to me?” I asked.
Harold shrugged. “Paperwork reasons? Maybe she wanted to send you to pre-school a year earlier so she didn’t have to pay a babysitter. Who knows, I’m sure she had a good reason.”
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“I remember the day like it was yesterday,” he said. “You can’t possibly be thirty. She was probably pregnant with you when she ran away, and we just didn’t know it at the time.”
I spun around to Anthony. “I have another year in my twenties,” I said slowly. My voice sounded astonished, even to me. “My goodness! Let’s go celebrate.”
The two men exchanged glances as I processed my real age.
“I have so many things I want to do before I turn thirty,” I said, starting to walk down the hallway towards the guest bedroom where I knew there’d be a shower and some array of fresh clothes I could borrow. “I could buy a house. Maybe a new car...I could update my resume and apply for a job...” I turned to Anthony, who was following a step behind me. “The possibilities are endless!”
“Your best birthday yet?” Anthony asked, with a shrug.
“Nice try, buddy,” I said, waiting for him to catch up. “I didn’t forget about the fake assignments, yet. You still owe me for that.”
“I do,” Anthony said. “And I always pay my debts.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You sound like you have a plan in mind.”
“Maybe I do,” he said.
“What did I say about surprises?” I stepped inside the guest bedroom, leaning one arm against the doorway, daring Anthony to step nearer.
He accepted the challenge and, standing inches away, rested his arm against the other side of the doorframe. “I like to break rules.”
I blushed. “You know, you don’t owe me anything. But I owe you an apology.”
“For?” Anthony crooked an eyebrow.
“At Meg’s bar the other day. On the phone. I stupidly didn’t think before saying that whole thing about you not being part of the Family. And then at the warehouse, when you were just trying to—”
“You didn’t know any better,” Anthony said. “It was admirable. Carlos is lucky to have someone as dedicated as you working on his side.” Anthony reached to where my arm rested on the doorframe, blocking his entry into the room. With painstaking patience, he slowly peeled my fingers from the frame and grasped my hands in his. “Lace, I should have told you it was all fake at the warehouse. That’s my only regret. I got caught up in wanting to surprise you, to give you the best birthday we could – I got carried away.”
“I didn’t mean what I said about the Family. The third party thing,” I said. “You’re as much a part of this family as anyone else, if not more.” I hesitated. “Except for that one Indian guy with the turban out front. I’m not sure who that is.”
Anthony broke into a grin. “There’s my girl.” He pulled my hands in close until they rested on his rock solid torso. “I know you’re feeling better once your humor is restored.”
The next moment, he wrapped his arms around my waist and put one hand behind my head, nestling my chin against his shoulder. His firm, expansive chest comforted my racing heart, and in that moment, I knew I was exactly where I should be.
He held me tight for a moment, his fingers stroking my rat’s nest of a hairdo with one hand, his other arm holding my lower back as close to him as possible. Cuddled up tight, it hit me that this just might be one of my best birthdays ever. A few surprises too many, but nonetheless a winner.
Chapter 15
MY BEST BIRTHDAY PRESENT to date was waiting for me as I finished up my shower.
A steaming mug of hot coffee prepared perfectly sat on my dresser. The ingredients of said cup included a ridiculous amount of little white marshmallows, so sticky they clung to my molars and rimmed my lips in a layer of sugary goodness. On top of the marshmallows sat a dollop of whipped cream still fresh from the can, placed precisely over a mound of steamed milk. The entire collection was complete with a single splash of blueberry coffee.
Anthony, I thought, as I took a sip of the scalding liquid. He’d made fun of me for the concoction more times than I could count – going so far as to call it my diabetes drink – and I took the beverage as a sign of his apology for stressing me out over the past few days. As my former gym trainer, he didn’t exactly approve of the sugar content in my coffee concoctions.
I toweled off my hair, basking in the feeling of cleanliness. I’d washed, rinsed, and repeated my shampoo routine more times than I could count. The bathroom doubled as a steam room at the moment, and I’d slathered so much lotion on my body that my skin glistened with a slippery sheen.
The whole combination was a small slice of heaven.
Slipping on an over-sized white sweater and a pair of leggings I’d stashed at Nora’s in case of an emergency, I took a moment to add a brush of lipstick and a swipe of mascara. Scrunching my hair with my fingers, I gave up the attempt at the latter. Two out of three ain’t bad. My hair wouldn’t poof properly for the rest of my life, but the lipstick and eye makeup worked wonders.
I shifted so the sweater hung slightly off my shoulder in a shabby-chic sort of vibe, and though I didn’t quite manage to pull off the outfit like the models in the fall magazines, I looked presentable. At least presentable enough, considering the short notice. Giving a quick squirt of the least-expired-perfume I could find in the bathroom, I deemed myself ready to go. I dished up my coffee, took one last look in the mirror, and left the room feeling a different person than when I’d gone inside.
“Hi Harold,” I said, running into the butler as I crossed through the Great Hall. The sun was setting behind the stained glass window, and I took a moment to look up the marbled staircase as the glow from the sunset sparkled through the windows, which may or may not have once called the Vatican home.
The room dazzled its occupants under most circumstances, but today it was a magical experience. Even Harold, who’d lived in this house for years, took a moment to savor the ethereal feel of the room.
“Beautiful,” he said.
“I know,” I whispered. “It feels almost...” I paused, searching for the correct word. To name the feeling would be to ruin it.
“No,” Harold said, stepping forward. “I mean you.”
I glanced up at him, his aging face crinkling down at me. “Really?”
“Absolutely,” he said, his eyes soft and full of life. “Quite
stunning.”
“Wow, I—” I cleared my throat. “Harold, thank you.”
“Happy birthday, darling,” he said, leaning in and giving me a kiss on both cheeks. “They’re waiting for you in the kitchen.”
“They?” I asked.
Harold didn’t respond, simply gestured down the Hallway of Infamy towards the comfy room where Nora pretended to cook while refilling her wine glass.
“Oh, and one thing,” Harold said, as I took a few steps past the arrest records, mug shots, and my spelling bee certificate lining the wall. “Carlos asked me to give you a message: not a word.”
“Not a word to whom?” I asked, confused.
Harold cleared his throat and gestured once again, a clear sign of a dismissal.
“Okay, thanks,” I said, wondering what the message could mean. On a similar note, I needed to talk with Carlos. The cryptic messages of late needed to stop, or the misunderstandings would only get worse. A chat with my grandfather about honesty was definitely on the agenda.
I gave a little knock on the swinging door at the end of the hallway. The sound of chattering voices paused for a moment before the calls of Come in filtered through. I pushed the heavy wooden door open and let it close behind me with a swoosh of air.
At the huge, picnic style table pressed against one of the cheerful yellow walls sat the majority of my closest friends and trusted confidants.
Carlos held his place at the head of the table, his eyes staring brutally at me, as if reiterating the warning Harold had passed my way in the hall. Clay and Meg shared a bench on the far side of the table, while Anthony took up half of the bench closest to me.
Next to him was an open spot, and without realizing when it happened, I found myself wishing the place setting next to him was meant for me. Though I’d only seen him thirty minutes before, it hadn’t taken long to begin missing his close warmth, the security of his touch, the enjoyableness of his smile.
Nora rushed over to me, just as I noticed Oleg sitting sullenly in a rocking chair placed in the far corner of the room. His hands and feet were tied, and Anthony’s sharp eyes kept him in a watchful gaze. At least, when Anthony’s eyes weren’t trained on me.