Page 108 of Absinthe Minded

Zach moved to the stool beside Gabe and the spotlight widened to include a larger portion of the stage. Gabe and Zach began to play the first few notes. The wall behind the stage lit with family photos of Rebecca, Joe, and the kids.

Each image struck me like a throat punch. I couldn’t look. Instead, I focused on my guys.

The crowd gasped when Chloe took the stage. She wore a soft pink tutu, trimmed in deeper shades of pinks and purples. Two fluffy wings rested on her back.

Gabe strummed the rhythm and Zach played melody. It was gorgeous, but I almost fainted when Gabe leaned closer to the microphone and sang Clapton’s, “Tears from Heaven.”

Chloe completed several pique’ turns, glided across the stage, and dipped into a plié without missing a step. Her performance was fluid and graceful, even when she spun in a series of slow pirouettes. I’d never been so proud of her, but I would have loved it if she’d stomped across the stage doing the chicken dance.

I didn’t as much as blink, until all three took their bows and made their exits.

Evelyn and Nadine both blotted their eyes with tissues. Even Papa Joe looked misty-eyed. I swallowed the lump in my throat and fought to hold back tears of my own.

The guests cheered until the trio returned to the stage and took another bow. Then Chloe ran down the stairs and straight into my arms—which was when I lost my battle and choked out a sob.

“Did you see me? Did you like it?” Chloe grinned, her cheeks red from dancing.

“You did great. I loved it.”

Zach dragged the toe of his shoe across the ground. His cheeks were red too, but not from physical activity.

I drew him into a quick hug. “You’re getting really good. I’m so proud of you.”

He grinned and shrugged. “Gabe’s been helping me.”

Zach surprised everyone when he offered his hand to his sister. “Would you care to dance?”

Chloe squealed and pulled him to the dance floor.

I watched them for a moment, but I needed to find Gabe and bury myself in his arms.

Papa Joe stood. “Would you dance with an old man?”

“I’d love to.” I finished my champagne in one gulp and set the glass aside.

He set his hand on the small of my back and led me to the dance floor. The gesture reminded me of Gabe.He had to see me at the table. He must be avoiding me.

Papa Joe took my hand, placed his other on my hip, and led me in a slow waltz across the dance floor. His cancer hadn’t stolen his charisma. He had an old-world grace that reminded me of classic movies and gentler times, although few would call Giuseppe Marchionni Sr. gentle. The contrast between the family man and the business tycoon confused me.Is Gabe the same?

“How are my grandchildren?” He smiled behind his simple mask.

“They’re great. Growing up too fast and keeping me on my toes, but I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“I want you to know that I think you’re doing a terrific job raising them. You’re good for my son, too.”

“Thank you.”

A shadow passed over his expression. “I read the article you wrote.”

Blood roared in my ears. “Mr. Marchionni…Joe… You have to know I—”

“It’s given me a lot to consider.” He spun me in a circle and drew me closer. “But I trust there will be no more stories about the family?”

A little lightheaded, I held tighter to keep myself upright. “No. As a matter of fact, I finished my novel. I’m expecting an advance from the publisher within a week or two.”

“That’s wonderful news. Another female spy thriller?”

How did he know what I wrote?“Yes, with the same heroine.”

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