Page 56 of Mangled Memory
“Do bears?”
I twist my neck to look at him. I search his eyes and wonder how long he’s known. If I had to guess, I’d say since the moment Fitz got in his car that day.
“Only when they’re hungry. Sleepy bears are agreeable.”
“Were you going to tell me?”
“Only if you wouldn’t tell Cian. He’d lose it on me if he thought I put Eleanor in danger.”
He dips his head to my neck, his voice barely above a murmur. “No less than I would with you putting yourself indanger. I like Eleanor, but I’m in love with you. It took me two days to calm down enough that?—”
The waiter returns with my water and hovers long enough that the sentence hanging in the air feels more and more loaded.
“That what, Honey?” There’s mocking in that last word and we both know it.
“That I didn’t want to lock you in our bedroom and edge you to the point of insanity so you’d agree to never go alone again.” A shiver runs through me, three parts lust to one part fear.
“We both know I haven’t been alone for a while,” I whisper. “I’ve had a shadow, reporting back in, in the moments I needed solitude, the moments I needed to get away.”
“Did Fitz ever once ruin that solitude?”
I keep my face pleasant due to all of our guests and speak to my water glass. “I’m a grown woman.”
“You’re my wife.”
“Who is fully capable and can stand on her own two feet. I’m not a child and I’m not your employee.”
“You’re mine to protect. Mine to love. Mine.” His hot hand goes rigid on my lower back, searing into me.
“If you love me, you’ll trust me, Christian. Trust my judgment, trust what I say and do. Show me I’m yours by allowing me to breathe.”
“Show me you trust me and love me by putting your wedding ring where it belongs.”
Dammit. I don’t know that I fully trust him. Regardless, I’m willing to gamble to get some of my freedoms back. I extend my water glass to him and he holds it while I shift the ring from my right hand to my left.
I reach for my glass. Instead, taking my left hand, he kisses my knuckle where my ring rests. “Couldn’t ask for a better Christmas present, Mrs. Barone. Other than total recall for you, this is everything I want.”
I can see how I fell in love with him. He’s charming and sultry, and apparently, he’s all mine. Now to figure out why I have the niggling suspicion I’m missing something. Aside from my memory that is.
Drinks and pass-arounds are a hit. Guests are moved into the formal dining room or another of the two rooms on the first floor that have been transformed into the same.
Christian and I are in the formal dining room with Fitz in the corner. Ren and another of his trusted employees are in the other two, incognito. I wonder how many dinners we’ve had where security has been present that I was blissfully ignorant of or if this is new.
I lean in to ask but am cut off by Christian tapping his knife gently against his untouched flute of champagne. He rises to stand and lifts his glass. “Friends, thank you for a tremendous year. We’ve had ups and downs”—he squeezes my shoulder—“but we couldn’t have done it without you. I appreciate your steadfast loyalty, the opportunity for us to collaborate on amazing projects, and the success we’ve tasted in a year that could’ve been anything but. Ayla and I are thankful for you and looking forward to a fun and profitable new year. Happy holidays.” He lifts his wine glass and takes a sip.
“Hear, hear,” a chorus of voices affirms.
Movement from the corner of my eye comes at the same time as a gruff voice, a voice I know all too well, bellows, “Don’t believe a word of his bullshit. Barone is a liar and a cheat.”
My dad, for whom appearances matter, has forgotten this as he lists side to side, eyes glassy and nose red. Spittle flies from his mouth. He points a meaty finger at Christian. “You are a liar and a cheat.” He’s repeating himself.
From my periphery, I can see the cell phones come out and knowledge we’re being filmed settles firmly in my gut. The only reprieve we have is that the journalists and photogs fromFront RangeandMile High, not to mention theDenver Postare all somehow in the other rooms.
Before Christian can acknowledge the drunk in the entryway, Fitz is there, ushering him bodily from the room.
My dad shouts as that thick finger swings to me, “And you’re the whore who turned traitor on your own family for that cocksucker.”
I drop my gaze as my face flames. His behavior shouldn’t reflect on me, but the embarrassment rises like bile nonetheless.
