2. Aubree
2
AUbrEE
DINNER WITH A GANGSTER. WHAT THE HELL HAS MY LIFE COME TO?
“ W here was he when you went looking for him?” The moment I have the chance, I snag Minka’s wrist and drag her toward a deserted corner of the dining room Felix selected for his wedding night. I try to be gentle. I swear, I do. But rage and curiosity co-mingle in my blood and bubble up to spill onto my boss.
My best friend.
My shield, now that I’m in New York.
A terrifying adventure, considering the history I’ve shared with the former mafioso’s son. And by history, I mean my complete exclusion, because Tim refuses to allow me anywhere near the old life he lived before moving to Copeland.
“He was late to his own brother’s wedding,” I hiss. “And then he was cranky when you dragged him in. What was he doing?”
“He was on the phone.” Peeling her hand from mine and breaking our connection, Minka straightens her back, smoothing her gown and reaching up to tuck silky locks of hair behind her ear. She’s perfect and dignified and beautiful. Everything a Malone looks for in a woman, proven by Archer’s choice in a wife. By Felix’s. And Micah’s.
And then there’s me… frumpy, colorful, uncoordinated, and a little too non-conforming to fit the mold. Tim sort of wants me. But he doesn’t. He wants to control. But won’t claim. He’ll boss me around. But he makes damn sure not to spend time with me alone .
God forbid he accidentally succumbs to everything we both want.
This— we —are a whole friggin’ mess I long ago grew tired of. Because loneliness isn’t nearly as crippling as rejection. And rejecting me is his first instinct, always.
“It was a work thing,” Minka guesses, punctuated with a shrug of her shoulders. “He said something about removing someone’s supply. Don’t worry,” she adds, accepting a flute of champagne when a server wanders by. “He wasn’t talking to a woman.”
I take a glass too, scowling behind the lip as I bring it up and sip the fruity concoction that bursts onto my tongue. “I didn’t ask about a woman. I didn’t even hint at it.”
“Liar,” she snorts, sipping and ‘ahh’-ing when the cold liquid rolls along her throat. “Shit, that’s really tasty.”
“I didn’t say anything about another woman.”
“I mean… I’m pretty sure you did, back while Felix was speaking his vows. But all that aside, I know you hold a grudge about that last one he was seeing.”
“He dated her to piss me off.”
“ You weren’t dating yet,” she counters with a grin. “Makes him a prick. But not a cheater.”
“We’re still not dating. So, by your logic, you’re saying he can hook up with someone tonight and that would be okay?”
“No.” She turns to rest her back against the wall, studying the crowd of wedding guests who approach the bridal table and extend their well wishes. The envelopes exchanged, stuffed with cash. Or checks. Or hell, favors, perhaps. I don’t know. I’m staying out of it. To the men who kiss Felix, once on each cheek, and those who take Christabelle’s hand and press a chaste peck to her knuckles.
Because if anyone, man or woman, is too free with how they touch her, they’ll quickly find themselves without a hand completely.
“I think him giving you the emeralds in the summer changes things. If he hooks up with someone else now, then I might kill him myself.” Sincere in her words, she brings her focus across and stops on me. “He made his feelings clear. By giving you the hair clip, he was saying he wants you, he loves you, and now he’s claiming you.”
“But he hasn’t claimed me! He stalks me. He bosses me around and pushes me places if I’m not moving fast enough. He thinks he gets to decide everything I ever do, but that’s not romance. That’s just a dude unwilling to share his sandbox. ”
“Sure. And as the toy in said sandbox. I see your strategy when you tell him you should have picked a different Malone.” Snickering, she pushes off the wall when Archer crooks a finger. But she adds, before she’s too far away, “It was a bold move. Ineffectual, though. Everyone knows you want him. He wants you. It’s just that you never want each other at precisely the same time. So now it’s on you to decide when, or if, you’ll let him romance you.”
My phone buzzes in the tiny purse that dangles from my right wrist, the chain holding it to my limb vibrating with the incoming call. It could be work. In fact, it’s probably work. But I’m on the wrong side of the country to accept a dead body laid out on my autopsy table, so I open my bag with a fast flick of my fingers and fish the device out before my caller hangs up. But when I expect the screen to read ‘George Stanley Medical Facility’, and instead it says ‘Katie’, I allow myself a moment to cast Timothy Malone and all his goony family members aside. Instead, I hurriedly accept the call and drag the phone to my ear. “Sissy! How are you?”
“I walked in on Mom and Dad having sex again.” Like word vomit, she drops her sentence in my lap and leaves it for me to hold. “Aubs! They were going hard. It was doggy style and everything.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I spy a door that will lead to the hallway, away from the music and people and ass-kissing chatter between one mobster and another— how is this my life?? —then I start that way and bring my drink along for the ride. “I don’t need to know these things, Katie! People have sex. It’s fine. But it’s private. Don’t talk about it!”
“But it’s our own parents. Nobody needs to know about that. I don’t need to hear it. And I sure as hell don’t need to see it! I already called Eli; he said I was overreacting. And Duane isn’t answering.”
“So you landed on me next? Katie! I’m in New York. I don’t care about their sex life.”
My words pique Cato’s curiosity as I pass, his brows shooting high on his forehead and his studying gaze warming my flesh as I tuck the phone between my shoulder and ear, so I can use my newly freed hand to open the door. Immediately, the intensity of the sound surrounding me eases. Music that isn’t insanely loud on the other side of the door, punctuated by hordes and hordes of people competing to talk over one another, fades when I step into the hall and find only guards.
A dozen men, dressed in sharp suits and strapped with enough firepower to start a war, shield every entrance to Felix Malone’s wedding reception. Because he’s the second most powerful mob boss in New York City, and dying on your wedding day is simply… not preferable.
“How is New York, anyway?” Exhaling, Katie has a picture forming in my mind of her cute, five feet, three inches flopping onto the pillow-crowded couch in her apartment. She teaches second grade at a local elementary school, so once the afternoon hits and she can escape the noise, like me, she hurries home in search of comfort and solitude. We search for quiet, because the world is loud, even when people aren’t speaking. “It’s kinda weird that you’re employed here in Copeland, but you caught a case in New York, no? That hasn’t happened before.”
Ha! Only when I have a gangster’s wedding to attend, and decide that’s a secret I should keep from my overbearing, entirely sweet, gossip-y family.
“It’s not unheard of,” I lie. Sort of. “My boss is from New York, so she was called across. And since we work together on most cases, we decided I’d come with her. I expect to be home again in a day or two.”
“Where are you right now? I heard music.”
“It’s dinnertime here, so we’re at a restaurant that has live music.” Not a lie. Mostly. And that mostly is how I fly under the radar. “How are you, anyway? We haven’t talked a lot lately.”
“I spoke to you yesterday,” she snickers. “And considering I have seven siblings, I’d say my daily, or every-other-day, roster is pretty impressive. Mom and Daddy are starting to complain.”
“What about?” My heart gives a squeeze. “Why?”
“Because you haven’t been by the house in a couple of weeks for dinner. They think you’re either dating someone in secret, or you’re working too hard. Both options will soon land you with one of those talks. You know the one.”
“The, ‘ we’re disappointed you feel unable to share every single facet of your life with us ’ talk.” I roll my eyes. “The, ‘ family is family, Aubree. We’re your foundation. It’s important you revisit your foundation before it crumbles ’ talk.”
She giggles. “The, ‘ it’s okay to discuss sex, orgasms, and philosophy at the dinner table. It’s even totally cool to discuss dead people and decaying bodies. But it’s absolutely not okay to mention politics, because politics divides families, and we won’t become a victim to that nonsense’ talk.”
“I think our family is toxic,” I tease, though my smile stretches across my face until I feel it in my cheeks. “It sounds worse than it actually is.”
“They just want open communication. And codependence. Are you dating someone in secret?”
“God no.” I bark out a laugh and draw the side-eye of the closest guard who stands about twelve feet from where I do. “There’s this guy, I suppose. I’ve mentioned him before. But we’re not dating. We’re still tap-dancing way back at the ‘ can we tolerate each other ’ stage of things.”
“Will you bring him home to meet us?” She lowers her voice, conspiratorially sly. “Eli told me that the guy was at the hospital with you a few months back. He said the dude is big and scary. But he didn’t name names.”
“Are you asking for you? Or are you asking for Eddie? Because I’m not bringing anyone home to meet my father until I’m absolutely ready, and the dude is prepared for the insanity that is our family.”
“I was asking for me. And if you call Dad ‘Eddie’ to his face, he’s gonna give you the, ‘I’m disappointed that you feel the need to disrespect me at my own table’ talk.”
“Jesus.” I bring my champagne up and take a slow, sampling sip until bubbles tingle on my tongue. “So freakin’ toxic, but it’s ridiculously wholesome. Everyone I work with calls me a hippie because of us. Did you know that?”
“A hippie?”
“Because I wear color and I’m one of eight siblings where everyone gets along. It’s not normal.”
“I like color too.” She shrugs—it’s audible, so once again, I picture the movement in my mind. “It’s not our fault Mom likes to normalize sex talks or that Dad studies humans for a living.”
“Used to. Retirement means he has more free time to think up ways to make us feel guilty. Are you sneak-dating anyone?”
She chokes out a laugh so loud I know the guards hear her. “Sneak dating? No. Sneak casual sex and not telling my parents about it? Absolutely! I was with this man recently.” She lowers her voice. “He was huge, Aubs. Six and a half feet, at least. He was loaded. Like…” She gasps. “He had this entire company with his name on the building, and machinery and all sorts of stuff. He drove a brand-new truck, and had a boat in the driveway, and he took me to his house . Not an apartment. But a whole house up on the hills where the rich people live. He was super nice. And he ate kitty, so I know he’s sexually unselfish.”
“Katie!” My chest and shoulders bounce with laughter, while the guards work hard not to let on that they’re listening. “You didn’t have to tell me about the kitty stuff! That’s your business.”
“I’m not your mother,” she drawls. “Sisters share this kind of stuff. Anyway, Sebastian, that was his name, was a total sweetheart. Ordered dinner while I was there. We watched a movie. He made out with my neck a lot. And I got to come more often than he did.”
“So what was the issue?”
“He wanted a girlfriend,” she audibly shudders. “And I’m allergic to commitment.”
I snort and turn my back to the door when it opens, the music and chatter inside like a wall of noise. “You’ll settle down someday, Sissy. Maybe not with Sebastian, but with someone. When that day comes, you don’t have to tell me he eats kitty.”
“Ahem.”
I startle and spin, spilling my champagne when my heels sabotage my balance. Then my eyes bulge wide when Timothy Malone the Third grabs my arms and steadies me before I fall. “Shit!”
“Aubree?” Katie loses her relaxed tone in an instant. “You okay?”
“Do you often discuss sexual acts on the phone?” Tim asks seriously. Intimidating, almost. Then he hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “With an audience?”
“Who is that?” Katie gasps and giggles. It’s a sound. A choked cacophony that leads one way: excitement. “Aubree! Who is that man who said sexual act ? Is he the sneaky-not-sneaky guy Eli mentioned? And if so,” her voice grows louder, “why is he in New York, too? Are you vacationing with a man and you didn’t tell me?”
“I have to go.” My throat itches and in my chest, my heart thunders. Because Timothy Malone’s dark emerald eyes stare down into mine. And hell, his hands are still on my arms. “I’ll call you later?—”
“DOES HE EAT KITTY? Don’t hang up, Aubree! Just answer that one question!”
His lips quirk up on one side. Smug. Arrogant. And annoyingly sexy, hidden behind a beard I make damn sure not to think about too often. I don’t exactly have experience with my ‘kitty’ being eaten. But it doesn’t take a genius to consider sensitive body parts and coarse hair surrounding a man’s lips… one plus one equals two, no matter how you split it.
“I’m hanging up.”
“Aubree—”
I drag the phone from my ear and gulp a heavy, nerve-laden lump rolling along my throat and down to block my airways. “Uh…”
“It’s not safe to be out here on your own.” His voice is always so dark. So commanding. So… hell, he could order me to walk on my hands and count to a billion, and I know I’d give it my best try. “If you needed privacy, you need to tell me so I can watch your back.”
“There are guards already.” I swallow again, painfully aware of his long fingers wrapping securely around my biceps. His palms are massive. Broad. And his wrists are thick. Muscular. He wears a single leather band around his right, and a watch with a leather band on his left. And if this were any other time, anywhere else, he’d be wearing a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms.
“Those guards aren’t here for you,” he rumbles. “They’re here for Felix. They won’t toss you to the enemy, Aubree Grace. But they won’t save you, either.”
“Well, that’s a little rude, I suppose. Could you let go of me?” I wiggle in a feeble attempt to loosen his grip. “I’d like to go back to the bar, refresh my drink, and pretend I’m not looking for you in every crowded room.”
His eyes illuminate, playful when he so rarely is. “So you admit you’re not over me yet?”
“I’m not over chocolate cake, either. Doesn’t mean it’s good for me to consume for breakfast every day.” I slip my phone back into my purse, then I use my free hand to peel his fingers from around my arm. “I bet cocaine feels good, too. Doesn’t mean I should move in with it and make it a part of my daily life.”
“I didn’t ask you to move in with me. Formally,” he adds with a smile when I flick his remaining hand away. “I said we should get coffee sometime.”
“You also gave me a ridiculously sentimental anti-family heirloom that essentially signifies love and commitment, but you failed to inform me of the significance behind the gift.”
“And yet,” he grabs my wrist and forces me to wrap my arm around his as we start toward the door. “You wore it today. That implies a certain acceptance of said sentiment.”
“Or it implies I think it’s a pretty hair clip, and I wanted to include it with my outfit.”
“Liar.” He pulls the reception room door open until that wall of noise hits us again. “Minka’s wearing her wedding bauble. Tiia’s wearing hers. Christabelle received hers today. And here you are, making your claim. You can admit you want to be with me, Aubree. Means nothing more or less than what we already know.”
“It means I prefer to live a life without coercion.” I ignore the stares of everyone around us. The watchful eyes of men and women I’ve never met in my life. The heated gazes of those begging to know things about Timothy Malone, but not brave enough to ask. “Whatever it is you and I have, or could have had, has been tainted by a history of half-truths, blatant lies, and flagrant duress. We should be friends,” I supply with an overly innocent grin. Bringing my eyes up to his, I paste on my brave face and give no indication that his fiery gaze makes my stomach flip. “Just like you suggested when you gave me the hair clip.”
“Or we could get dinner sometime.” He draws me to a stop on the very edge of the dance floor, turning until our toes touch and he’s all I see. He’s all I feel and hear and know. “Relationships begin with dinner. Just the two of us. No drama. No history. Not even a hair clip, unless you specifically want to wear it.”
“Relationships begin with honesty, integrity, and respect. Seems you missed that memo. The fact you’ve felt free to boss me around for the last year, sabotage my dates, lock me in your apartment, and reject me when I wanted you, means we lack the foundations for the relationship you’re asking for.”
Good lord. Call me Eddie and give the man the foundations talk.
“We can’t toss that history aside now, all because you’ve changed your mind.”
“I was trying to protect you.” He brings his hand up, cupping my chin and tilting my face back to expose my neck. “I will always protect you, even when it pisses you off. Get used to it. I’m not gonna stand by and let you date some other motherfucker, and I’m not gonna give up pursuing you now that my reasons for saying no in the past cease to be valid.”
“Which brings us right back to you bossing me around. We are two separate people, Tim. Two completely separate lives. Yet you seem to think our hypothetical relationship will be built upon your timeline and wishes.”
“Wrong.” He presses the pad of his thumb to my bottom lip and smirks. Freer than usual. Happier than I’ve seen him in a while. “Our relationship is based upon your best interests. If I think us being together is detrimental to your safety, then I’ll act accordingly. If it’s what is best, then…”
“Timothy?”
And there goes that history, changing the man in front of me as Tim’s back straightens and his hands fall away from my body. He turns, soldier-like, to face an older, portly round man who commands his own personal army. Warriors fan out to surround us, dressed to the nines, but strapped with enough weaponry to ensure their boss remains safe.
It’s the Godfather .
“Mr. Cordoza.” No longer sultry-voiced, Tim faces the man who stands significantly shorter and offers his hand. “How are you, sir?”
Ugh. Sir! Gross.
“Pleased to have been included in your brother’s big day.” Cordoza claps his palm to Tim’s and shakes with one, two, three unhurried pumps. “You appear well.”
“I am.” Tim draws his hand back and slips it into his pocket. But I’ll be damned, because when Cordoza’s eyes swing my way, that hand comes back out again and wraps across my back, anchoring itself to my hip.
Possession. Protection. Claim.
“Copeland City is good for a man’s health,” he murmurs, forcing the older man’s gaze back to him. “Running a bar is infinitely less stressful than the destiny I was bred to fulfill.”
Humored, Cordoza sets his hands in his pockets and rests on the backs of his heels. “So your stance remains unchanged? You have no desire to take the position your father intended for you?”
“Respectfully,” he shakes his head. “No, Boss. I know it’s not proper to decline such an offer, but I’m happy where I am. I don’t wish to be the next New York Timothy Malone just because that bastard gave me his name. And I trust Felix represents the family well.”
“He does alright.” Unable to hold out any longer, Cordoza brings his focus back to me. His eyes, silver-gray and glinting, look me up and down. I suppose he approves, because his smile notches up, but it’s not the creepy leering I’d expect from a man on the other side of middle-aged and whose entire identity is wrapped up in the criminal underworld. Rather, it’s an appreciation. A gentle study. “It would be rude of me not to introduce myself to your date.”
Tim’s grip grows so tight across my back, I worry he might pick me up and lob me across the room to save me from meeting this man.
“Estefan Cordoza.” The older man offers his hand, patiently waiting as my eyes drop to the sun-marked skin and jewel-wrapped fingers. Cordoza is an exceptionally wealthy, dangerously powerful man. But he waits me out, smiling when I find an inch of space between me and Tim. Then nervously, I free my right hand and accept his.
Rejecting him, according to his well-documented reputation, would be bad for my health.
“You’re as lovely as I expected you would be.” Warmth skitters through my veins as he brings my hand up and presses a gentle kiss to the top. A curious pleasure ripples through my blood. Wondrously, his touch is still not creepy. Just… reverent, almost. Respectful. “I’ve known these boys since infancy, Doctor Emeri. I watched them grow into the men they are today. Some,” he chuckles, lowering my hand but holding on. “I didn’t expect to survive adolescence. But others,” he pointedly tilts his head toward Tim, “I knew would grow into something very fine. I’m not at all surprised he’s chosen you to accompany him today.”
“Felix and Christabelle invited me.” I’m an idiot. I’m plain weird. Stop it! “Oddly enough, it wasn’t Tim who asked me to be here today.”
Tim’s jaw tightens in my peripherals. Stress leeching from his pores and settling in mine.
“But you know I’m a doctor? And my name?” I frown when that thought passes through my mind. “I suppose I wasn’t expecting such familiarity before we’d even met.”
He brings his free hand up and wraps it over the top of mine, cupping me, holding me close. “I’m certain you knew my name before tonight. Besides,” he grins. “I make a point to know those around me, and I’m quite enamored with the prestigious Doctor Mayet. Archer Malone has…” he shakes his head, but it’s a smiling, impressed statement. “He married well. Of course, your relationship and employment with Doctor Mayet provides you with credibility most others lack. And the fact you’re on Timothy’s arm tonight, despite,” he adds, amused, “his lack of formal invitation, intrigues me. You’re a woman who poses many wonderful secrets I wish to unravel.”
Curiosity tingles in my fingertips. And Tim wants so badly to reach out and snatch my hand. The tension he carries, the utter and complete panic rolling off him and into my veins, is enough to make my stomach weak. But I smile and play the role Minka already warned me I must. “You’re very kind, Mr. Cordoza. Doctor Mayet is my best friend, inside and out of the autopsy suite. It seems you and I share the same affections.”
“Intelligent, powerful women,” he ponders aloud. “You may not have the same dark hair as the other Malone brides, but you certainly fit in.”
“Malone brides?” I choke out a nervous laugh, losing my composure and dropping my air of sophistication. “I think you misunderstand, Mr. Cordoza. I’m not a bride, past or present. I’m merely a friend of our beloved Timothy.” Gently, I draw my hand from his and wrap it around Tim’s firm arm. Muscles bulge and tendons vibrate with a violent need to be released. “I’m a friend of the family, and passing up the opportunity to see Felix marry,” that snide, contemptuous, spoiled brat bastard, “was not something I wished to do. Friends are family in my world. And family,” I sigh, “is what matters most. ”
“Agreed. And on that note.” Cordoza reaches into his breast pocket to free a sealed envelope tucked inside. He extends it into the space between us, smiling throughout the eternity it takes for Tim to accept. “I had that paperwork notarized for you. Your wishes remain the same?”
“Yes, Boss. Thank you.” Heavy waves of anxiety pulse between us. But he tucks the envelope into his coat pocket and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he presses the fabric back into place. “I appreciate your assistance on the matter.”
“We’re at a wedding,” he grins. “Consider it a wedding gift. Have you had luck dealing with that other issue at the source?”
“No, Boss. Human beings are inherently difficult to deal with when they do not wish to be helped.”
“Which makes your declined destiny unfortunate,” he chuckles. “These situations are typically dealt with in boardrooms or back alleys. Problems are solved quickly and permanently, quietly.”
Um… is he openly discussing killing people?
“Fortunately for this person, I have an alternate plan of action that doesn’t include killing them.” Tim pats his chest, right over top of the secret envelope. “I sincerely appreciate your help, Mr. Cordoza. If that is all?—”
“It’s not all.” Cordoza swings his gaze back to me, playful almost. Youthful despite being, at my best guess, somewhere in his seventies. “Tell me something I don’t know, Doctor Emeri. I’m eager to know you as well as I’ve come to know Ms. Cannon and Doctor Mayet.”
“Did you meet Tiia Hale yet?” I point toward Micah’s girlfriend and try for a teasing smile. “I hear she’s lovely.”
Amused, shaking his head. Meanwhile, poor Tim practically grinds the enamel from his teeth. Being in New York triggers PTSD in him, I’m certain. Merely being here elevates his blood pressure.
“I’ve sat down with Ms. Hale and gotten to know her. Now I wish to know you.” He steps to my left, spry despite his age, and wraps his arm around mine. As soon as his skin touches mine, the man’s happiness swirls in the air, replacing the tension Tim left behind. Then he leads me toward a deserted table, leaving Tim in our dust and helping me sit while he pushes my chair in like a gentleman. “I know you completed the medical program at Copeland University.” He comes around to sit beside me. The tables are large and round, typically seating eight or nine people, so instead of sitting opposite and struggling to maintain a conversation, he chooses my left, his knee touching my leg and the gold gown I could never afford if not for the Malones, shimmering against my thighs. “I know you graduated with honors. I know you are Doctor Mayet’s most trusted colleague. And I know you love Timothy Malone.” He grins when my curious eyes swing up to his. “The first several points are publicly available information. In fact, I’ve seen you on the news with Chief Mayet more than a time or two. The final, though…” He allows his cheeks to warm. With pleasure, perhaps. Or smugness. “I see it in the way you watch him across the room.”
“Mr. Cordoza?—”
“Estefan,” he counters easily. “I see it in the way you intentionally defy him. He asks you to remain inside the ballroom for your own safety, but you take a private phone call in the halls.”
“I didn’t mean to?—”
“You’re an independent, intelligent woman,” he happily exhales. “Content in who you are. And yet, you glow brighter when he walks your way.”
I narrow my eyes and watch the man who makes my stomach jump with nerves. “I think you romanticize something that isn’t there.”
“I think you attempt to convince me of a lie. Not typically an infraction I allow. But this is a lie you also attempt to convince yourself.” Humored, his eyes twinkle. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Not so well.” I slump in my chair and hold Tim in my peripherals, comforted by the knowledge that he cannot sit with us without a formal invitation from Cordoza. It simply would not be proper. “We’re complicated,” I admit quietly. “Obviously. His life and mine are not nearly the same, and because of that, his attempts to keep me away from this, away from you, and away from everything this city represents, have led him to hurting me. To love a man is out of my control. But to be with him is something I get to decide.”
“To love that man is to be brave.” His eyes bore into mine, flickering left and right until his stare is almost an embrace. “To forgive him for his fumbling attempts at protection and cycle breaking is certainly a leap of faith. Will you take it someday?”
“The leap?” I risk a glance across to a gritting, angry Tim, and ignore for a moment the fact I’m gossiping about my non-existent love life with the fricken Godfather of New York City. His position is terrifying, but his integrity helps me relax when most others couldn’t. Shouldn’t. “I’m not sure. I’ll love him forever.” I drag my focus back to the man in front of me. “Because love, in my world, isn’t something I hand out to every man who catches my eye. It’s a gift to be given once.”
“And you’ve chosen your recipient.” He places his hand on mine and gives it a gentle squeeze. “It’s a bit like family, don’t you think? We don’t always get to choose our family. But we love them, even against our better judgement. You know all about that, don’t you, Doctor Emeri?”
My heart pounds painfully in my chest.
Does he know? Could he?
“I-I’m sorry? I’m not sure I follow you.”
“It’s okay to give your heart to a man who would give up his destiny to keep you safe.”
Across the room, Felix separates himself and Christabelle from the pack and starts toward a podium and microphone.
“I think,” Cordoza continues, “if we take Archer’s love for Minka, Felix’s for Christabelle, and Micah’s for Tiia despite the differences that could have ended both of their lives, and factoring in that these are the sons of a man who never knew love at all, then I think it would be reasonable to assume Timothy is capable most of all. Perhaps the fiercest of the five. It may not appear typical,” he adds, “and it may come across as overbearing. But it’s love, nonetheless. If he were to do something you consider unforgivable in his quest to keep you safe, I encourage you to consider his motivations, and not necessarily his actions.”
“Are you his cheer squad?” I straighten my posture and carefully drag my hand free of his. “I have to say, Mr. Cordoza, I was prepped as this evening approached, assured I would meet you, and reminded that I should leave you with a positive impression of myself. But I certainly didn’t expect to receive relationship advice while I was here.”
Smiling, he looks to Felix, who grabs a microphone and prepares to speak. “I suppose one would consider me a romantic. I got it from my mother. That these Malones marry for love, and not for business, softens my heart.”
“Excuse me. Hi.” Felix clears his throat and taps the crown of his microphone. “I want to say a few words.” He pulls his bride closer, beaming when she rests her cheek on his heart and wraps her arms around his torso, her fingers meeting on the other side of his hips. “First, I want to give my thanks that, for the first time in sixteen very long years, my entire family is in the same room, uninjured. I wasn’t sure that would ever happen. It means a lot to me that it has.”
“I’ll leave you be.” Estefan pushes up from his chair, huffing in exertion and setting his hand on my shoulder for balance. He squeezes, just as surely as my heart does the same. “It was my pleasure speaking with you tonight, Doctor Emeri. You’re as lovely as I expected.” Releasing me, he fixes the button on his suit jacket and turns to wander .
“What the fuck was that?” A mere second after Cordoza vacates his seat, Tim’s gritty voice is in my ear on the opposite side. “What did he say?” He grabs my chin, zero interest in anything his brother announces, and forces my face around until his fingers dig into my cheeks and my lips pop forward. “What did you say? Are you okay? Do you want to leave?”
“Do you want to calm down?” My words come out with a lisp, so I reach up and peel his hand from my face and lower it to my lap instead. “He was nice. And your skin is red. That’s a concerning indication of high blood pressure. When was the last time you spoke to your doctor?”
“ You’re my doctor! And I’m talking to you now.”
“Uh… hello?” Felix speaks directly to us, staring until a hundred—perhaps two hundred—sets of eyes swing our way, too. “This is my party, and it’s not the first time today you’ve interrupted my attempts to profess my undying love for Christabelle Cannon. Can you shush?”