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She swigs her drink and keeps moving. I don’t take the snub personally.
Remembering Charlotte’s comment about spotting Micah in the garden, I follow signs that point in that direction. Once I find it there’s nothing to see except a jungle of tropical plants amid weird sculptures that look ugly to me but probably count as art to someone else. I’ve never been out here before, despite the fact that I lived up in the penthouse suite of this hotel for over a year.
Matilda pouted when her plan to hold the wedding at the West Emerald Golf Club was rejected. She tends to be oblivious to important details, like how a place where Gage and Dani were nearly killed might not be a great venue for a joyful occasion.
Nobody wants to be reminded of that.
Just like nobody wants to be reminded of the fact that it was my own mother, warped and seething with jealousy of Dani, who hired the hitman.
That’s just one fucked up story woven into our family history. There are many more. To outsiders we probably sound as dysfunctional as the Marchenkos.
Can’t be helped. Let everyone else gossip. We know who we are. Terrible stories don’t define us.
Living at a luxury hotel was all right but I don’t miss it. Last year I bought a house on the northern edge of Em City. I had to twist Micah’s arm to get him to move in, bringing Tess with him. Now that they have Dash it feels like we’re all exactly where we are supposed to be. Sooner or later I expect that Micah and Tess will want to move on and buy their own home but I’m hoping that day doesn’t get here soon because I love being around them.
Dani said something to me once and I can’t remember when or why. But her words stick in my head every day. She said it took her a long time to learn that home isn’t a place. Home is people. Dani knows what she’s talking about.
“Excuse me.”
I turn around, expecting to find that while I’m standing around being all moody and philosophical I’m in someone’s way.
The club employee that Matilda was shouting at earlier offers a timid smile.
“Hope I’m not bothering you, Conner. Just wanted to let you know that we’re all huge fans. Me and my whole family.”
I’m used to this. Yet there are times when it still catches me by surprise when people recognize me and go out of their way to say hello.
I don’t mind, not even a little.
If a simple word from me makes someone’s day then I’d be a real asshole not to give it to them.
I grin back at the guy and extend my hand. “Hey, thanks a lot. What’s your name?”
His brown eyes widen and he pumps my hand with eagerness. He’s probably in his late teens. “It’s Berto. Berto Aguilar. We’re all Cyclones fans in my family. We tailgate up at the stadium during the season. My dad always says you’re the best QB in the game. I’ve been saving up to buy my kid brother your jersey for his birthday next month.”
“Yeah? It just so happens that I’ve got some extra jerseys stockpiled. I’ll arrange to have one sent over for you to give to your brother.”
Berto’s jaw drops. “Holy shit, seriously? I mean, thanks.”
“No problem. Give me a few days and it will be delivered here to the hotel.”
“That’s…” He gets choked up and sniffs. “Really, you’re awesome.”
“Tell your brother happy birthday.”
“I will. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
I just hope it’s not a question about my mother. Reporters enjoy blindsiding me with that shit.
But Berto’s no reporter. “You’ve been wearing the number twenty-nine since high school. Does it mean something to you?”
The tension leaves my shoulders. This is a familiar question. “It’s just always felt like my lucky number, that’s all.”
Berto nods and then his face falls before he glances over his shoulder. “Thanks so much for everything but I should get going. I’m supposed to be fixing the centerpieces so that the flower stems are all exactly the same height.”
An order that could only have come from Matilda.
