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“You have that choice?”
“I do.” I smile brightly. “Doyou?”
“Oh, I could slap your face sometimes.”
My nose wrinkles, and I lean in and kiss her cheek. “Love you too, Mom,” I say, and she rolls her eyes as I pull back. I know I exasperate her. I know she really would like to slap my face sometimes. But I also know that she appreciates my apprehension because she feels it too.
“Well,” Zinnea coos, pouring more wine, “in case anyone is interested, I will not be returning to Miami.”
Beau’s face is a picture of shock as she swings her gaze onto her aunt. “What?” I see panic rising in her. I also see her vehemently trying to force it back. “Who will I meditate with?”
“You don’t need me, my darling,” Zinnea says, her hand finding Beau’s on the table. “You have a lovely, gorgeous psychopath to take care of you these days.”
A little burst of laughter escapes me and Esther, but Beau’s eyes narrow, unimpressed. “James—”
“Not James. I’m talking about Rose,” Zinnea quips, and I gape at her while Esther laughs harder and Beau smiles. “Oh don’t look so indignant, darling.”
Me?“I’ll—”
“What? Torture me with more of your cooking?”
Esther’s now falling apart, Beau’s hardly holding on to her laughter, and I am outraged. “That curry is award worthy,” I argue, irritated.
“Oh stop it.” Zinnea rolls her eyes in the most overdramatic fashion that only a drag queen would pull off. “Even the devil complained it was too hot.”
Tears. There are tears, and even me, insulted as I am, can feel the laughter creeping up on me. And then there are moments like these when I wouldn’t change my life for the world. I give in to my desire and fall apart with them, my eyes watering, my tummy aching as Esther squeezes my hand hard. And that’s all of us for the next five minutes, laughing uncontrollably, bodies jerking, gasping for air, until I hear movement behind us.
I look over my shoulder, seeing the men filing out of the villa, and all laughing vanishes like it had never been here. I assess each and every one of their faces, and I hate what I see.
Purpose.
Commitment to kill.
I sit up straight and smile weakly when Danny finds me, suddenly terrified that he’ll declare his departure back to Miami and leave me here. He couldn’t get Daniel and me out of the city fast enough. I can’t imagine he’ll be so keen to take us back as quickly. And that’s another little issue to be dealt with. Our son. It’s a miracle we’ve managed to shield him from the horrors of our lives to this point. Now what? He’s not stupid, getting more and more curious each day, and the fact he’s got two bearded mountains watching his every move is a huge red flag.
Danny takes his seat at the other end of the table, the farthest away from me, but his eyes regard me carefully, his scar seeming to glisten each time the light catches his face. He takes his water, relaxes back, and continues to watch me. Oddly, I feel vulnerable under the interrogating gaze of my husband. His icy eyes burn. “What?” I mouth, but I get nothing, not even a twitch of his lips. Damn him, what’s he thinking?
“I suppose I should go pack, then,” Brad declares, not taking his chair but pushing it under the table.
“Me too,” Ringo grunts, turning his huge nose up at his plate. “Thanks for dinner.”
I look between them, stunned. “Where are you going?” What a ridiculous question. “I mean”—I shake my head—“you’re going now?”
“In the morning.”
“And what about you?” I ask, looking at Danny. “When areyougoing?”
He sips his water casually, looking all too relaxed. He’s the only one, everyone else having tensed, waiting for the fireworks. Then he stands and starts walking to my end of the table and my dread multiplies. He’s coming to pacify me. Or hold me down when I go bouncing off around the villa in a temper because he’s leaving me here.Over my dead body.Which is a definite possibility judging by the veil of steel falling across my husband’s face.
I look at Beau, and her expression tells me to be cool.
Be cool, be cool, be cool.
“Time to go,” Brad chirps, making a hasty exit, followed by Ringo and Goldie.
“Yes, it’s been a lovely evening.” Zinnea stands, knocks back the rest of her wine, and scurries off on her heels. But James, Beau, Esther, and Otto remain at the table, defiantly refusing to leave. Probably because they think it’s inhumane to let Danny die alone.
I rise from my chair, wanting to have a presence, something my husband seems to find amusing. “Stow away those fists, Rose,” he says in warning.
