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The week Ryanne spent over Thanksgiving officially solidified her decision to relocate. Her original plan was loose, taking her time to find a job and sell the bungalow. That plan is now fast-tracked. Andrew’s pressuring her to move straight in with him, but she’s holding off to see how things go when she’s in town full-time. She’s crazy about him, but her track record with men makes her cautious.
“This place is tame compared to what we’ll do to the building next year. We’ll outdo all our neighbors on the block,” he continues.
“I can’t wait. We’ll start Thanksgiving weekend.”
“Barring any more babies arriving,” Ryanne pipes in.
“We should be safe there. Darby’s taking a break.”
“I wasn’t referring to Darby.” She wiggles her perfectly arched eyebrows.
“Don’t waggle those at me.”
“That’s right, keep your jinxing to yourself. Cal is meeting with her next Monday, and I’m holding on to hope she’s hitting the stage again.”
I smile at him, knowing my evaluation with Cal is the first step of many that may end my time with Cirque. Dante knows this too but remains positive. “I love your optimism, but it’s truly okay to talk about the inevitable. We all knew it from the moment we heard my prognosis.”
“There’s nothing wrong with praying for a miracle.”
“In my mind, what I’m building here is a miracle.”
“Promise me something, Pips. Promise me. If given the chance, you’ll dance on that stage with me one more time.”
“I’d love nothing more. And then we have years of dancing on other stages, too.”
Ryanne fans her face furiously, sniffling. “Goddammit. You two have to stop.”
I stumble to the side in exaggerated shock. “Are you emotional?”
“It’s this damn city. Something cracks my exterior when I step off the plane. Fucking humidity.”
“It’s snowing outside,” Dante replies caustically.
“Shut up, this is supposed to be a celebration of our tradition. You guys got gooey.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, holding back as long as possible before a snort escapes. The irritation in her eyes lasts a nano-second before she’s smiling.
Both their phones ding with trill sounding alerts, and Ryanne’s smile dies, her expression spooked. Dante’s thumb flies over his screen. The veins in his neck tick, and with each passing second, his demeanor changes. My glee is replaced with dread because whatever has him fuming is about me.
“Ryanne, what’s going on?”
“After Tasha reemerged last week, we didn’t trust her lockdown. I set up internet alerts on your name.”
My heart plunges to the floor. “Dante, what’s it say?”
The doorbell rings and he moves so fast I don’t have time to blink. “Do we know you?” He cracks the door, blocking my view.
“Where’s Poppy?”
“None of your bus—”
The voice registers and I rush over. “Grady? What are you doing here?”
“Let me in.”
I cover Dante’s hand on the knob and squeeze. “He’s okay.”
Grady hurries past us. “Shut the door. Poppy, pack a bag. I’m getting you out of here.”
“Excuse me?”
“There’s been a breach. Natasha’s made her move. I’m taking you somewhere private until we get this under control.”
“Breach? Made her move? Get what under control?”
“Pips, let’s pack you a bag. I agree with Grady,” Dante urges.
“Is it that bad? What has she done?”
“I swear to explain in the car, but right now you have three minutes. The vultures are descending as we speak in Virginia. Your dad has a team in crisis control.”
“What the fuck is happening?” I lose my cool, not even caring he referred to Marco as my dad.
“We covered all angles but she found a weak link.”
“I don’t care about weakest links or covering angles. Quit speaking in coded gibberish. Tasha is in lockdown in a rehab facility with no communication for another week.”
Dante’s listening to something on his phone, his complexion ashen. An eerie sensation tingles through me, and I shake my head in denial. “No. This is my night. Look at my house! Tomorrow, Evin and I will decorate our first tree. Tasha doesn’t get to ruin this!”
Grady glances around, his firm expression softening. “I’m sorry, Poppy. Your house is gorgeous, but this is important. Trust me to explain in the car.”
“I trust him.” Ryanne goes to my room.
“Evin.” I get lightheaded at the possibility of anything wrong.
“Evin’s fine. We’ll call him from the car.”
My brain fires on all cylinders, imagining all the awful things Tasha could have done. I gather my wits, breathing deep and trying to find my rationale.
“Grady, I’m not fighting you, but give me a breakdown of the basics. I thought you went back to Virginia with Marco.”
He hesitates, a mixture of irritation and sympathy in his eyes. “I stayed behind on a hunch, continuing to decipher the files on the computer and the relevance. I’m also monitoring Tasha’s progress. She was doing well, too well. I saw the signs and recommended a change in her therapy. The medical director didn’t agree. Even after several warnings, he felt she was making progress. She must have felt the tension and made her move. This morning, she found her mark and gained access to a phone and the internet. Right now, news outlets are all receiving and reporting on breaking news about the Governor of Virginia and his family. Everyone in the family. She’s released a tell-all chock-full of lies and fabrications. A professional collected and crafted those files, meant to cause scandal and ruin the family.”
