13.
Jewel is going to find one of the last remaining royal families, probably somewhere in Europe, get the prince to fall in love with her, move to his country, and then take over. She’ll unseat the current royalty that’s running shit, exile them, and then become a world superpower.
Lout Hamilton
ZIGGY
“Mrs. Forrester, you might not remember me, but my name is Ziggy Romano. I’m . . .”
“My New York boyfriend!” Martha Forrester said cheerfully. In the background, a man said something, and she whispered, “Oh, hush. You both know I’m joking.”
“I hope I’m not bothering you, Mrs. Forrester.”
“Call me Martha, and it’s never a bad time to call or stop by, even if my husband acts a little territorial when you do.”
“I’ll take you up on that as soon as I can.”
“What can I do for you, Ziggy.”
“I need help.”
“What kind of help?” Martha asked, her tone shifting to wariness–probably because she knew my family. I was surprised when she added, “Certain kinds of help are best discussed in person.”
I hooted with laughter. “It’s not that kind of help!”
“Well, okay then. What can I do for you?”
“I know you’ve got your finger on the pulse of Rojo and a family full of young men and women who might be looking for a part-time job.”
“At least a dozen, depending on the age bracket and job description.”
“First and foremost, I need to hire a woman–preferably someone who can cook and has her own kitchen–to outfit my home and three others.”
“Your home in New York?”
“I’ve moved to Rojo and purchased homes for my siblings and children to use whenever they feel the urge.”
“You’re kidding! How did I miss that?”
“I didn’t . . . okay, I sort of kept it a secret intentionally, but mostly for self-preservation than anything. The woman I’m interested in is . . . hold on. I think you know her. Maybe. Let me . . .”
Martha chuckled at my stammering. “Ziggy, who is this woman?”
“Her name is Jewel Parker. I know you’re a Forrester, but . . .”
I could barely hear Martha over the man’s laughter in the background. Through her own laughter, she finally choked out, “You’re dating my granddaughter Jewel?”
“So she is your granddaughter. I’m sorry–I met so many people at the wedding that the family connections were overwhelming. I can’t remember most of the names, and I’m usually great with that.”
“You’re dating Jewel?” Smokey, Martha’s husband, chimed in.
“Obviously, you’re on speaker,” Martha said unnecessarily.
“She’s being obstinate, but I’m wearing her down. In fact, I just realized my assistant and I missed a major step in the moving process. She’s made arrangements for the majority of the furniture, but I don’t even own a spoon or a bowl, let alone the pots and utensils I need to cook Jewel dinner.”
“And you want to hire someone to outfit all four houses?” Martha asked.
“Yes. I planned to cook her dinner this evening and realized I don’t have anything to make that happen, so rather than give up, I came over to her house to cook here.”
“You’re at Jewel’s?”
“I am. I’m not sure how she’ll feel about me invading her space, but she’ll get past it.”
“You . . .” Martha started coughing, then cackled before she finally managed, “You broke into her house?”
Smokey’s loud guffaws were joined by even more people laughing in the background. Since they already knew where I was, I hoped they wouldn’t realize I’d been semi-stalking Jewel, even though they now knew I’d broken into her home.
I sighed. “I did.”
“To make her dinner.”
“Yes.”
“As a surprise.”
“Yes.” The laughter grew even louder, and I finally admitted, “This might not be my best idea, but it’s already in progress, so there’s no turning back now. Any advice on how to make this . . .”
“Less bloody?” a man yelled in the background.
“Less painful?” another chimed in.
“What is it everyone says online when there’s a horrible accident?” Martha asked.
A woman answered, “Thoughts and prayers.”
“Yes, that’s it! If you’re dating our Jewel, you’re going to need lots of both.”
“In that case, I’d appreciate as many as you can give me,” I said in resignation.
Maybe this impetuous crime hadn’t been my best move. Jewel was particular about things and could fly off the handle over minor details. Breaking into her home wasn’t something she’d consider insignificant in any way, and I wondered just how particular she’d get when she found me here.
I looked around the kitchen and was glad I hadn’t made a mess.
The few utensils I’d used were already washed.
The salad was chilling in the refrigerator, and the lasagna was baking in the oven.
The second oven was preheated, waiting for the breadsticks I’d picked up from the freezer section of the grocery store.
It was almost an abomination to pair frozen bread with the homemade sauce I’d created, but since I hadn’t had time to make pasta from scratch, I couldn’t take credit for the whole meal anyway.
Still, I hoped my effort would overshadow my breaking and entering, something I hadn’t considered might genuinely infuriate her.
“I’ll send you a message with names and phone numbers for women who can help outfit your new homes, and another message with names and numbers of the younger kids who might like part-time work being your caretaker.”
“Oh, I don’t need a caretaker, just a . . .”
“Sweetheart, you’re gonna need a caretaker and an entire medical team once Jewel finds out what you’ve done.”
◆◆◆
I wasn’t surprised to find my ex-husband parked in front of my house when I pulled into the driveway, but the three men sitting on my porch staring at him certainly caught me off guard.
I sighed at the thought of dealing with Robert’s bullshit after such a long day, wondering if I could escape inside for a shower before the inevitable meltdown.
When Robert got out of his car and started toward mine, I understood that today was not the day for my wishes to be granted–unless my wish happened to be watching Ziggy Romano pick my ex up by his ankles and bash him against the side of my house.
I visualized the idea for a second and sighed as the thought calmed me.
Then I opened my door and got out before Robert could trap me in the car.
He’d made that mistake before, thinking that if I was in an enclosed area I’d have to listen to him.
Obviously, he’d never seen a nature show about honeybadgers, but I schooled him on their habits every time he tried that trick.
“If you keep showing up here uninvited, I’m going to file a restraining order.”
“My son lives in this house, so I have every right to be here.”
“Let me guess–you tried to call him, he didn’t answer, so you sent him thirty texts getting more and more shitty, then wondered why he didn’t reply?” When Robert didn’t respond quickly enough, I asked, “What? Do you only do that to me?”
“I’ve told him repeatedly that if I call, he’s supposed to answer immediately.”
“What if he’s busy?”
“What could a sixteen-year-old boy be doing that’s more important than answering a call from his father?”
For some reason, every time I spoke to my ex, it brought out all the repressed anger and sarcasm I’d held in throughout our marriage in the hopes of making it work.
What I hadn’t seen at the time–but everyone around me could–was that I was the only one working to change.
As I lay beside Robert the night I found out Parker wanted to move to Colorado, I realized I was wasting my life on a man I didn’t even really like.
I thought of all the ways he irritated the shit out of me–from the sound of him clearing his throat to the way he pulled on his socks every morning.
I hated the man. But once my eyes were opened to how my oldest child truly felt about him, and then witnessing Robert’s lukewarm reaction to Parker’s request to live with Micah, I realized I didn’t just hate Robert.
I wanted him dead.
That night, while he slept blissfully unaware beside me, I lay awake and thought of at least a thousand ways to kill him, and counted the people I knew I could trust to help me get away with it.
But since killing him violated all sorts of rules, and there were witnesses everywhere, I decided that pissing him off until he said something more ignorant than usual and then verbally eviscerating him would have to do.
“Maybe he was taking a shit.” When Robert scoffed, I kept going.
“Burping his worm? Writing the next great novel? Grinding hominy for fresh masa? Braiding his eyelashes? Learning Cantonese? Rearranging his sock drawer to suit his uptight, pain-in-the-ass, overbearing father? Researching the mating habits of the horned owl? Sending Morse code messages to satellites with his flashlight? Learning how to . . .”
“Would you shut the fuck up? You know I hate it when you ramble like that!”
I grinned at him. “I do. What about attempting to learn Braille? Memorizing the abbreviations on the stock-market ticker? Building a . . .”
“Goddammit, Jewel!”
“Kitten,” Ziggy said, wrapping an arm around my waist. “Dinner’s ready.”
I leaned to the side and stared at him for a few seconds before I asked, “Should we invite him in to eat with us?”
“I thought you were supposed to take out the trash, not invite it to dinner.”
“Who the fuck are you?”
The shift in Ziggy’s expression was a little terrifying, but I found it so fucking sexy that I squirmed in his grip to relieve the heat I felt in my pussy.
Squirming wasn’t nearly enough to take care of my problem when Ziggy said, “Your worst fucking nightmare if you ever speak to her like that again.”
Robert took a step back at the venom in Ziggy’s voice, then threw me a questioning look. As he opened his mouth to spew some more inane bullshit–shit that might actually get him killed given who had joined the conversation–I said, “Let’s shelve this discussion for another day, shall we?”
“Where is Max?”
“If he were up your ass kicking field goals, you’d know where he was,” I retorted before I could stop myself.
Ziggy’s chest shook with a silent laugh as he whispered, “Are we ten years old all of a sudden?”
Robert had never been good at reading social cues, so he asked, “Who are you?”
“I’m Jewel’s boyfriend, Ziggy Romano.”
“Boyfriend?” Robert repeated before he barked out a laugh. “That just proves there’s a sucker born every minute!”
When Ziggy introduced himself as my boyfriend, I suddenly had the urge to run.
Alaska sounded like the perfect destination.
I’d read there were plenty of places where a person could disconnect from the world and disappear.
It wasn’t that I disliked Ziggy. Quite the opposite.
Marriage to Robert–and the emotional roller coaster of living with and then divorcing him–had left me wary of relationships.
That’s why I ran the morning after our hotel interlude and refused to communicate with him once I left New York.
Obviously, I had already been fighting my feelings for the man, but he had made that fight harder when he asked, “What are my parameters here, Kitten? I need to know what I’m working with.”
I knew exactly what he meant, so I thought I should explain why I’d never finished Robert off myself–although the debilitating effects of long-term poisoning sounded better every day.
I’d managed to resist, so I said, “He shares DNA with my children, and I want them to have the opportunity to make up their own minds about him.”
Ziggy glanced at me. “It seems that they’ve already done that.”
“You will not be part of decision-making when it comes to my sons!” Robert announced. His face was an alarming shade of red, and I silently prayed for him to clutch his chest and fall over dead.
When that didn’t happen, I sighed. “What are we having for dinner?”
“I made lasagna with a strawberry-vinaigrette salad and breadsticks.”
My stomach rumbled in excitement. Ziggy patted my waist, let me go, and looked back at Robert. “I would say it’s been a pleasure meeting you, but . . .”
I heard Robert sputter behind me as Ziggy took my hand and led me toward the porch. As we walked inside, we passed his two guards, Jersey and Tino, who were still watching Robert.
“It smells delicious, Nip!” I said as I followed him down the hall to the kitchen. I was about to sit on the stool he pulled out for me when I realized exactly what was wrong with this picture. “How the fuck did you get into my house?”
“I picked the lock and disabled the alarm,” he said while he washed his hands at the sink.
Shock paralyzed me. I could do nothing but breathe and blink as I processed what he’d just announced so casually. My brain was still trying to boot up when he announced, “You need better locks and a more advanced alarm system.”
“Obviously!”
“Dinner’s ready whenever you are. Would you like a glass of wine while you go .
. . relax?” Ziggy asked. I could tell he wanted to say something else–probably suggest a shower since I absolutely reeked–but the break-in still had me reeling.
I wanted to torture him before I let him have it with both barrels, so I said, “I’d like some snuggle time. Let’s lie down together on the couch.”
Ziggy swallowed before he asked, “Right now?”
“Are you declining my invitation?”
“Did you come straight here from work?”
“I did.”
Ziggy pulled his lips between his teeth and looked concerned before he blurted, “It wasn’t too bad when we were outside, but Kitten, you smell like shit. Actual, real shit.”
“If you don’t want me at my worst, then do you really want me at all?”
“I do, in more ways than you can imagine. But right now, I want you to take a shower so we can eat dinner without the aroma of a petting zoo. That’s animal excrement, not human, right?”
I looked down at my scrub top and grimaced at the large swath of brown. I hoped with all my heart it was just dirt, but after treating Koda that afternoon and seeing what he’d been covered in, I sincerely doubted it.
“It’s goat shit.”
“You . . . where did you . . . how did you . . .”
“My great-nephew broke his arm trying to ride a billy goat like he was busting a bronc at the rodeo. He and his sister were covered in . . . organic material.”
Ziggy’s lip curled in disgust. “Would you like to wash your hands before I serve dinner?”
“Why the fuck can’t you just take the bait and be an asshole like you’re supposed to?” I asked as I stood up. “I swear, Nip, you’re the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met!”
As if begging me to kill him, Ziggy winked and said, “Right back at ya, Kitten.”