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I want to tell her things are changing for the better, but the words die on my lips.
Suddenly, an uncertain sensations start dancing inside my belly, twisting and teasing me.
I want to scream that things are only going to go up from here. Things are only going to shine brighter, blare warmer.
Is Jackie worried about Kris taking me away from her?
Am I worried about that?
“Thanks for agreeing to come on the yacht today,” I murmur, as we glide up toward our floor.
“Of course,” Jackie says, aiming a genuine seeming smile at me. “I’ll always support you, sis. You know that. The same way you support me.”
I reach over and give her shoulder a squeeze.
“Just remember me when you’re a famous artist,” I say. “By the way, I sent some photos of your art to that blog. They’re super-popular. It could be some awesome exposure.”
She grins but then narrows her eyes.
“You don’t remember me telling you about the blog,” I laugh.
“Guilty,” she smiles, as the elevator doors slide open.
We walk together down the hallway. It feels good not to have to hide Tinkerbell for once. Part of me almost wants one of our grumpy neighbors to throw their door open and threaten to call Mr. Jenkins just so we can rub it in their faces.
“See, this is why you need me,” I say. “I’ll have more time to help you with stuff like this going forward, Jacks. You can focus one hundred percent on your art.”
We stop at our apartment, the conversation trailing off as we take in the cardboard box sitting out front of our door. I walk over and pull the lid open, looking down as a smile spreads inexorably and sun-bright across my face.
Two life jackets sit inside and then, I notice with a mounting sense of glee, I spot a third life jacket.
A tiny one, looking as though it was built especially for Chihuahuas.
A note sits on the top, written in elegant calligraphy. I find it hard to imagine my Kris holding a pen so delicately, but he’s a gentleman just as much as he’s a beast.
I’ll send a car at noon, the note reads. I can’t wait to see you. I’ve been aching for you, Kimberly. Yours, always, Kristian X
I cradle the note to my chest, feeling how frantically and happily my heart is beating.
This is happening.
This is real.
It’s time I started to accept that.
Chapter Twelve
Kristian
Mom stands on the dock in her faux-fur jacket, somehow making sipping from a paper cup of hot cocoa look elegant. The day is warm and bright, but the heat of the cocoa causes her breath to fog in the air.
“This is so exciting, Kris,” she declares, wheeling on me with a bright ear to ear smile. “A girl. You’ve really found a girl. I should be angry at you, though. Why in the devil did you have to wait until I’m so old?”
“Ah, calm down,” I chuckle. “You’ve got plenty of life left in you, Ma. Just wait. Becoming a grandmother will give you another burst of energy. And with all that yoga and all those health fads you’re into, hell, you’ll probably outlive me.”
She laughs, wagging her finger at me.
“They are not fads,” she says.
“What, even eating only seaweed and kale?”
“Okay, yes, fine. I’ll give you that one. But the rest are legitimate diet techniques.”
I roll my eyes, grinning.
It’s just Ma being Ma.
“I hope you get along,” I mutter, my hands in my pockets, fighting the urge to fidget.
I’ve ached to see Kimberly since I left her yesterday, but I had a meeting with several Union bosses I couldn’t miss. It’s the way of the life.
But I’ve cleared my schedule so I can spend the afternoon with the two most important ladies in my life.
Kimberly and my mother.
“Stop fussing,” Mom says, shooting me one of her looks.
For a moment, I remember the way I found her after she was assaulted. She was in the hospital, staring dead-eyed at the wall. It was a few weeks after my father’s death and the power games had spun out of control in the city.
After defeating Maury and becoming the Don of the Family, the Cartel tried to make a play.
Assault was one of their tactics.
I made that bastard pay. I drove the Cartel from the city.
She’s come a long way since then, going to therapy and coming to terms with what happened to her.
Perhaps having the bastard in the dirt helps.
I force the image away. I don’t let myself stew on it much. It must be because I spoke to Kimberly about it last night.
“I’m not fussing,” I smirk. “I’m strategizing on the best way to make you two get along.”
“Don’t you know anything about women?” she says grandiosely. “We always get along perfectly until men get involved.”
I chuckle and pace up and down the dock.
