Stepbrother Thief (38 page)

And I was willing to give it all up for Gilleon.

I cough into my hand and shake my head.

“Don't be sorry, Gill,” I say, turning to go back inside when he reaches out and takes my wrist.

“Dinner,” he says and then grins at me. “Six o' clock, for real this time?” The sparkle in his eyes tells me he really doesn't mind if I decide to change my mind and stay in—as long as he's invited, of course.

“You better not flake on me,” I tell him as he lets go, fingertips scorching across my skin. “Because I have a scalloped lace midi dress sitting sad and lonely in my closet.” I pause as Gill's grin softens into a loving smile, so at odds on his strong, rough face. All of that strength, that muscle, that power, it's all mine. Or it could be. If I'd just let myself have it.

I take another deep breath.

“Thanks for calling Leilani,” I say and then pause, wetting my lips, fully aware that Gill's eyes are following the movement. “She's not in any danger though, is she? I mean, I didn't tell her where I was or anything, but just phone calls should be okay? For Anika, too?”

“I'd never let anything happen to your friend or your sister,” he tells me and then reaches out to swipe some hair from my face. My breath catches at his wild beauty, at the strong, wide silhouette of him against the darkening stormy sky. “I think Karl and Max are going to reach an agreement soon. It's almost over, baby, almost over. I promise.”

I return Gill's smile, take a step back, and go inside.

If I stand out here with him any longer, I might lose my nerve and throw in the towel, even before hearing what he has to say about my mother's death.

At this point, it feels like the only thing I'm really fighting against is Gill's future and my own happiness.

“Knock, knock,” Cliff says from behind me, pushing in the partially cracked bedroom door and giving me an almost sad sort of smile. My stepfather's emotions are written all over his face, scribbled there in black ink.
You're making a mistake.
I look right back at him and force a smile of my own. “Gilleon says you're going out tonight?”

“Yup. Dinner—again. Hopefully we don't get chased by bad guys this time.” The words come out like a question as I grab my dress for tonight and withdraw it from the closet. Cliff watches me for a moment before running his fingers through his salt and pepper hair, the gesture so very like Gilleon that for a moment, I see Cliff as he probably looked thirty years ago.

“I guess you'll be discussing … things?” I lay the dress on the bed and glance over my shoulder at him, one eyebrow raised.

“Yes, Papa,
things.
Lots and lots of things.” I return to the closet and pick up a different shoe in each hand, glancing over at the dress for reference.

“The slingbacks,” he says, pointing at the black shoe in my right hand. “Those Oscar de la Renta knockoffs are trying too hard.” I grit my teeth and turn towards Cliff, gesturing with the embellished pump in question.

“You know I don't wear knockoffs,” I tell him, my sneer as fake as the insult he just hurled at me. Cliff and me, we know our designer shoes. “Besides, don't you think these have a Cinderella vibe?” I twist the crystal pump so the light hits it just right.

“
Ma belle fille,
” he says, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. “Cinderella was a helpless girl; you're anything but. You have so much more to look forward to than simply marrying a handsome prince.” A real smile slides across my face, can't help it.

“I know.” And I do. And Gilleon is anything
but
a fairytale prince. In all honesty, he might even qualify as a villain. Still, the heart wants what it wants, right? “You know I've always wanted to be in fashion, right?” I swallow hard and look back down at the shoe. “Maybe I should give it a shot?” I glance up at Cliff and grin. “Think
Project Runway
would take me?”

“Regina,” Cliff says, moving over to the bed and running his fingers across the lace of the dress. “Don't make fun of yourself. If you want to be in fashion, then go for it. I've always told you to pursue your dreams.” A dark look chases across his face when he looks back at me. “But since Gilleon left …”

“You can't blame Gill for my lack of initiative,” I tell him with a shrug. And he can't. But it's something to think about. I toss the designer shoe back in the closet and pick up the matching partner to the one in my hand. “It's just a lot easier to put yourself out there when you've got someone in your corner.” I sigh and stand up, moving over to the bed to lay the shoes next to the dress. Cliff was right; these slingbacks are so much better than those pumps.

Cliff reaches out and squeezes my shoulder.

“You always have me,” he says. “Me and Solène. We're always right here cheering for you.”

“Speaking of Solène,” I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed and looking up at my stepfather. “No matter what, you're still her Papa, right?” He nods and scoots the dress over to sit down on the opposite edge. “Gill and I … I'm not exactly sure how we're going to work through this whole thing, but we're not just going to jump in and start playing family. Being a parent … it's not a right, but a privilege.”

Cliff slaps his knee and points at me.

“And that's why I love you, kid. Your mama raised you right.” Cliff chuckles and puts his hand up over his mouth, rubbing at the gray stubble on his chin. He glances over at me, blue eyes darkening as memories overtake him, memories of the short-lived love he'd shared with Elena. I think Cliff knows as well as I do that once it hits you, really and truly hits you, you can't run from love. Not a day later, not a decade. “That's why I can't understand this thing with Gilleon,” he whispers. “You're always so practical.”

“Are you saying I'm being stupid?” I ask, looking at the wall in front of me, at the painting my friend Katriane did for me, the one I left behind. First thing I did when the truck got here with our stuff was dig out some art for my walls. I focus on the whorls and bumps of the oil painting, the bright blue eyes of the black cat crouched within it. Kat painted this one for me and Gill before he left, off the story I like to tell of the old Siamese cat and its litter of feral kittens. Right there, that sleek predatory grace, that focused expression, that intent, it's all Gilleon.

“No, of course not. I …” Cliff takes a big breath and stands up, moving towards the door. “I don't think you're stupid, and I know you're in love.” He looks back at me. “It's not that I don't love Gilleon or the idea of you two being together with Solène. Honestly, it's always been a dream of mine that he'd come back.” Cliff puts his hands on his hips and stares down at his brown loafers. “I just don't want you to get your heart broken again is all.”

“I know,” I say, my fingers unconsciously reaching for my mother's pendant again. “Trust me, I'm not keen on the idea either.”

I dress up for dinner this time—and by dress up, I mean
all
the way up.

My hair is perfect, long and loose and waving gently at my shoulders, strands of honey blonde to complement the teal-blue of my dress, the scalloped lace, the open back. The opacity of the dress ends mid-thigh and the rest is all sheer lace in teal and black, leaving my legs mostly bare, drawing attention to the black slingback pumps on my feet. I line my eyes with black, feather the darkness into some silver-gray hues across my lids. My mouth feels full and luscious in bright red, glossed over so that it shines in the light. With my diamond pendant, my earrings, and a black Nancy Gonzalez clutch, I feel ready to tackle this evening.

This time, I can't deny that it's a date.

“Just breathe,” I mutter, pushing open my bedroom door and stepping out with my shoulders back, my clutch held loosely in one hand. Gill's not waiting for me, but Solène is. She smiles shyly at me and tucks some dark hair behind her ear.

“You look positively chic,
Maman,
” she says, and the sound of my new title sends a thrill through me. I smile at her as she crosses her arms over her chest and leans back, examining me from head to toe. “You know how to dress a woman's figure,” she says in that soft French accent of hers. “I can see you going places, you know.”

“Maybe,” I say, moving around the bannister and pausing in front of her. “But I know for sure that you are.”

“Ah,” Solène says, snapping her fingers like she's just thought of something. “Wait one moment for me, will you?” She turns in a flutter of pink skirts and disappears into her room, re-emerging with a black notebook that I haven't seen in years. “I meant to bring this along when we first left, but I couldn't find it anywhere. Thank goodness
mon Père
had the sense to ship it over.” She hands the book to me and shakes it.

I reach out slowly, my fingers curling around the spine.

“Where did you get this?” I ask, opening the book and letting the pages flutter as I stare down at my sketches. Dresses, jackets, and jumpsuits stare back up at me.

“Everybody needs a dream,
Maman,
” Solène says, tucking her small hands into the pockets of her dress. “Let this be yours.” I feel my lips twitching as I glance up at my nine-almost-ten year old daughter. She's by far the wiser of the two of us.

“The Seattle fashion scene isn't quite like the one in Paris,” I say, tapping at a black jumpsuit with my fingernail. I haven't thought about designing in a long, long time. It's not an easy industry to break into and chasing a far off dream like that takes strength and dedication, two things that I've been lacking for quite some time. But with this money from the heist … I could actually devote my time and energy to this.

“It's not about the destination, but the journey. If you'd already arrived where you were meant to be, then how would you ever enjoy the ride to get there?” Solène reaches out a hand for the drawing book back. “I've been using these for inspiration, so if you don't mind …”

“Oh, of course,” I say, leaning down, my diamond earring swinging with the motion. My daughter and I exchange a pair of cheek kisses before I stand back up. “
Ciao, ma belle fille,
” I say with a little wave before starting down the stairs.

“
Au revoir, ma magnifique et talentueuse Maman,
” she says, leaning over the railing and looking down at me with a grin. “And good luck.”

“Good luck with what?” Gill asks from the bottom of the stairs, his brows raised and his eyes taking in my entire body from head to toe. A thrill flushes through me, heats my blood and makes my pulse thunder. I know I look good, and I know Gill's fully aware of it. I think he's also aware of my own stare that starts at his face, at his dark hair and blue eyes, and travels over the suit he's wearing. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and he's not wearing a tie, but he's still dressed up—sexy but casual. What the suit can't hide is the ripple of muscles in Gill's back and shoulders, the strength of that blue-eyed gaze or any of the passion that's resting behind it.

I step down off the last stair and look him straight in the face. In four inch heels, he's only a tad taller than me, so it makes eye contact easy.

“With you,” I tell him, not bothering to hide the questions in my eyes. Solène might not know exactly what's going on here, but she can sense my emotions. Smart cookie, that one, all the best parts of Gill and me. “She's wishing me luck with you.”

“You're going to need it,” Cliff shouts out from the kitchen as I raise my brows and Gill smiles wryly.

“No bad guys tonight?” I ask and he shakes his head, dark hair shiny and gleaming, fresh from a wash.

“I'd like to say no, but who knows? Did you come prepared this time?” The smirk on his face makes me grit my teeth.
Yes,
I have some baby wipes, a tampon, even a pair of clean panties in my clutch, but he doesn't need to know that. It might be overkill, but you never know with Gilleon.

“I have extra Chapstick and my phone charger if that's what you're asking.” I smile and lift my clutch up, giving it a little shake. “Thank God for extra large clutches, eh?”

“Praise the Fashion Gods,” Gill says, reaching up to pull my coat off the rack. He raises an eyebrow in question, but I don't bat an eye as I let him help me into it. If I'm going to try this, then I'm going all out.
But I'll decide that for sure after I get my answers,
I think, knowing deep in my heart that they don't really matter. This, right here, it's all a formality. “Regina Corbair,” Gill says, holding out an arm for me. I take it and let him lead us outside, down the wet steps and across the driveway to tonight's car.