Poisonous Kiss: Chapter 15

“What the fuck…”

Tempest snorts next to me in the dark of the auditorium. She leans in close, both of our gazes still locked on the figure in pale pink up on stage.

“Right?” She whispers back. “She’s fucking incredible.”

Our conversation elicits a sharp glare from the shrewd woman in black prowling the front of the stage.

“Shit, we’re going to her in trouble,” Tempest says, sliding down in her seat.

I don’t know her well, but I get the impression trouble is Tempest’s middle name.

I’ve met Gabriel and Alistair’s little sister in passing at firm events before. She’s hilarious, and loud, and brassy, and loud, and infectiously fun.

Did I mention loud?

Today, Tempest is coming wedding dress shopping with me, along with Taylor, Eloise, and Bianca, Tempest’s sister-in-law, who’s currently weaving ballet magic and defying gravity on the stage in front of us.

We’ve been given special permission—provided we don’t cause any distractions, and that’s going…well, you know—to watch a dress rehearsal for the upcoming mixed bill by the Zakharova Ballet, where Bianca is a principal dancer. The scary woman giving Roma fortune teller vibes in the dark shawl and glittering rings is Magda Kuzmina, the Zakharova’s iron-fisted artistic director, who may or may not be involved with the Russian Bratva.

It’s a wonderful break from reality to be sitting in the dark at the back of the theatre watching Bianca dance. Especially since shit has gotten ten times more real since the media circus the other day at the Conrad Hotel.

Since the photos of Gabriel and I kissing passionately hit every fucking newspaper, tabloid, blog, and gossipy Twitter account in the known universe.

Photos, I should add, that Tempest has been fantastic at not bringing up so far today. I love her for that.

It was supposed to be his cheek. When he walked over to Emily Puthe, who was trying to cunt her way into making me look like an asshole, my immediate idea was to sell my relationship with Gabriel by kissing his cheek.

Except—I don’t know, maybe there was a minor earthquake or something. Or my sense of balance was off. Honestly, I haven’t ruled out him moving his mouth to catch my lips instead of his cheek.

Whatever it was, it happened. And about eleventy-million people seem to have been there to take a picture of it to put online.

On the plus side, the timing couldn’t be better with his campaign announcement. That’s a plus, because if Gabriel wins his first attempt at the Governor’s seat, we stay married for three years of his term before we renegotiate pending his decision to run for a second.

If he doesn’t win, my “sentence” is actually seven years because he’ll be trying for the seat again.

Seven. Fucking. Years. Married to a control freak with freaky kinks he never shows anyone. Who I can’t even enjoy awesome, hot, violent sex with, because initiating that would involve one, knowingly fucking my boss. And two, admitting to him how I know what he’s into.

Neither of those are…good.

All this is to say, anything helping this year’s campaign is a very good thing for me.

Just the same, I needed an escape today. Work’s been insane, especially since I’ve had to add my other “work” playing Gabriel’s fiancée on top of my already completely full schedule at Crown and Black. To make it worse, almost the entire office is still looking at me like I’m some sort of management shill. Or a scab crossing the picket line. Cassidy still isn’t talking to me, which is really starting to bother me.

Home is better, but “home” means sharing a space with Gabriel, who nit-picks when I leave a hoodie on the back of the sofa. Or, God help us all, if I have the audacity to put the Greek yogurt back in the fridge on the second shelf, not the third.

Literal war crimes, from Gabriel’s perspective.

The worst part of it is that I know he’s not only a straight-laced, tight-assed rule baron. Because I’ve seen the other hidden side of him.

The dark, primal side.

And it’s that, coupled with the fact that Gabriel is startlingly attractive, that makes living with him maddening.

Imagine being perpetually horny, a little scared of, and also annoyed by the person around you all the time.

On the plus side, he seems to be putting in more hours at work even than me. There are nights I come home exhausted and depleted after an eleven-hour day to realize he’s either still at the office or has gotten home maybe ten minutes before me just to go back there.

Tempest starts to clap, ripping me from my thoughts. I focus, realizing Bianca’s just finished her solo. I join in the clapping and stifle a giggle when Tempest leaps to her feet, whistling loudly.

“Get it, girl!” she screams at Bianca. “QUEEN SHIT! Prima ballerin⁠—”

We both go silent when Madame Kuzmina whirls and cracks what looks like a wooden switch they’d use for discipline in the 1800s across the back of an auditorium chair.

“Silence!” she barks menacingly, glaring into the dark from under her shawl.

“We should go,” I hiss at Tempest.

“I’ll meet you outside,” Bianca mouths at us from behind her glaring director as we stifle our giggles and bolt out the door.

“I dunno…” Bianca shrugs, running her fingers along the frilly edge of the mannequin’s gown.

She glances at me, pushing a lock of dark hair back from her face. I’ve met her brother, Tempest’s husband Dante, a few times. With similar dark hair, sharp blue eyes, and bronzed Italian skin, it’s crazy how alike they look, though with something like a thirteen-year age difference.

“When did you know you wanted to be a lawyer?”

A chill runs up my spine, even though I should have expected this question after asking her “when did you know you wanted to be a ballerina”.

But my answer comes as quickly as the shiver.

“Nineteen,” I say flatly.

That’s when I saw what the law in the wrong hands could do. How truth could be twisted, fear weaponized, and naiveté exploited. So I chose to go into law myself, and instead use it to help people.

Okay, so it’s not like I’m out saving the world or ending poverty or hunger every day at Crown and Black. Our clients tend to be rich, privileged, and mostly use us to keep their financial and business affairs in order. But at least I’m not a monster who helps other monsters cover their sins.

“I was probably like three. I think I always knew,” Bianca says with a smile.

And now, she’s knocking at the door of being the top ballerina in one of the most prestigious ballet companies in the country. Good for her.

I know that she was barely more than a baby, and Dante maybe fourteen or so, when their parents died. After that, they were taken in by Vito Barone, head of the Barone Mafia family, and raised as his own alongside his sons Carmine and Nico.

It’s kind of beautiful to see that she grew up to become this graceful, elegant dancer despite being raised deep in the world of the Mafia.

We both continue our slow meander around the dress boutique until she stops in front of another one. Her breath catches, and an almost childlike look of delight spreads over her face as she runs her fingertips over the pearl-and-faux-diamond-studded gown.

“God, this one is gorgeous,” she breathes.

She’s got good taste. The gown is stunning.

“Ooo, what’d you find?!”

Tempest hustles over, shoving a flute of champagne into my hand and another into Bianca’s. She turns to eye the gown and whistles.

“Fuck me, that’s…gorgeous.”

“Right?” Bianca breathes. “Beyond beautiful.” She frowns as her phone dings. “Crap, sorry, I’ll be right back,” she mutters, scowling at the screen before scurrying off.

“How are we finding everything, ladies?” The boutique owner, Denise, sweeps over to us, all smiles and flourishes.

It’s weird looking at wedding dresses. It’s not that I was never that little girl who imagined her own wedding and what sort of dress she’d wear. But it wasn’t a regular thing for me. As I got older, I guess I thought I might get married one day. But when I went into law, with the grueling, punishing hours and work it entails, dating just got pushed to the back burner.

And now here I am.

“This one is amazing,” Tempest blurts, eying the dress Bianca spotted.

“Well, you have excellent taste,” Denise beams.

“Fuck no, my taste is shit,” Tempest grins. “Luckily my sister-in-law’s is better.”

Denise smiles awkwardly, eying Tempest’s goth-vibe black fishnets. “Well, that’s one of the newest designs from Vera Wang.”

Tempest nods slowly. “It’s gorgeous. Would you give us a minute?”

“Of course, ladies,” Denise smiles, waltzing away to talk to Taylor who’s looking at veils for some reason.

“My brother’s paying for this, right?” Tempest mutters out the corner of her mouth.

“Damn right,” I grin back, pulling the corporate black Amex card out of my bag and waving it.

“Good, because this fucker costs as much as a new compact car.”

Jesus.

“Hey, if you have to marry my brother, do it looking like a fucking queen, right?”

It’s fortunate that pretty much everyone in the inner circle is aware of the nature of this wedding and my “relationship” with Gabriel: his siblings and their spouses, Eloise, Bianca, Taylor. It’s not like I have to lie and dance around the issue, thank God.

“Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”

“I think you have to get this one,” Tempest nods.

“I’d just better make sure his royal highness approves,” I mutter dryly.

Tempest snorts. “Dude, I can’t even imagine. The obsessive-compulsive king of control issues.” She grins at me. “Did you know he used to iron his fucking underwear when he was in high school? Facts.”

I choke back a laugh as she shakes her head. “You might be marrying an actual psychopath, just a heads up.”

I wipe away tears of laughter as I grin at her. “Thanks for the warning.”

She exhales, her brow furrowing slightly. “He gave you shit about the green at the campaign announcement, didn’t he?”

I stare at her in shock. “How did you know?”

She rolls her eyes. “A, it’s Gabriel. And B, because it’s green, on a day like that.”

My brows furrow. “I don’t follow.”

Tempest sucks on her teeth. “Oh. Okay. I don’t know if he mentioned this, but back in the day, our dad had this idea about being Governor.”

“Uh, nope, I don’t think he did.” Shit. That would have been super helpful to know before I signed away four years of my life minimum.

Tempest wrinkles her nose. “Oof, sorry. That probably explains a bit, huh?” She shrugs. “I mean, he didn’t actually run for Governor. But he did run for an alderman position. Back then, I guess you had to work your way up to something like governor. Anyway, he and our mom were on the campaign trail when they got hit by that drunk driver.”

My heart twists as I reach out a hand to lay it on her shoulder.

“My mom died in a car crash, too,” I say quietly.

“Shit,” Tempest’s mouth twists as she takes my hand and squeezes it. “So, you get it.”

“I do…yeah.”

“Well, after they died, the Times ran this gushy piece about what a champion of the people dad had been, and they used a photo they’d taken of him at his campaign announcement.”

Fuck.

“Green?” I mumble quietly.

She nods. “Yeah. Mom wore green. So, if he gave you flack…”

“That would be why.”

“Doesn’t mean he has any right to be an asshole,” Tempest mutters, “but he gets touchy about it. Obviously, we all loved our parents, and they loved all of us. But Dad and Gabriel were especially close. I know no parent on Earth is ever going to admit it, but, c’mon, they’ve gotta have favorite kids, right?”

I laugh quietly, shaking my head. “Dunno. Only child over here.”

“Lucky,” she grins. “Well, Gabriel was dad’s favorite. I mean, he was an amazing dad and loved all of us with all his heart. I never once felt left out, and I’m sure Alistair didn’t either. But especially as you get older, you can tell there’s a favorite. And, I mean, it made sense. Dad and Gabriel were cut from the exact same cloth.”

“Anything I can assist with, ladies?”

We both turn as Denise sashays back over.

“Yeah, we’re gonna need to try this puppy on,” Tempest grins.

An hour later, with the dress boxed up to be shipped via courier—hopefully with an armored truck, given what I, or rather Gabriel, just paid for it—we’re ready to go. I thank Bianca and Tempest profusely for all their help and promise to connect soon as they slip into a shared cab together.

Taylor and I remain on the curb outside the boutique as she raises her hand to flag down another cab.

“I’d say we should get a drink to celebrate, but I actually have to be a total buzzkill and head to the office,” Taylor sighs with a glum look. “Duty calls.”

“Lonely at the top, huh?” I grin.

She chuckles. “Well, it’s not boring, at least.”

“If you see my fiancé, maybe don’t mention how much of his money I just spent on a dress I’ll wear once.”

Taylor laughs. “Deal, but I doubt he’ll be there this late.”

I frown. “Really? He’s been out most nights the last week or so putting in crazy hours at work.”

At least, that’s what he told me when I dared ask.

When Taylor scoffs, I’m suddenly not so sure.

“On what? I’ve been burning the candle at both ends at the office all week and haven’t seen his sorry ass once.”

A cab swerves up to the curb as I try to process what she just said. More to the point, to process why I care.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” I force a smile. “See you then.”

Gabriel is putting on a jacket as I walk in the front door of the brownstone.

“Uh…hi,” I mutter. I’ve spent the whole cab ride trying to make sense of A, why he’s been lying about where he’s been going late at night. And B, why in the holy hell I give a shit.

“Gotta run out,” he grunts, his eyes holding mine for a long second that ticks into another, making me shiver.

“Oh? Where?”

He breaks the eye contact when he looks away to grab his phone off the hall table. “Just out.”

I glare at his back. He’s not going “just out”. He’s dressed to go out-out. His suit is nicer than he’d ever wear to the office. His shoes immaculate. His hair perfect. The slightly spicy, clean scent with a hint of bergamot teases my senses.

My lips purse. “The office?”

“Where else,” he says, not turning back to me. “Don’t wait up.”

I shoot daggers at the front door after it shuts behind him.

I mean what the fuck? We’re not really a couple, obviously, and I don’t need to know every detail of his life. But some basic fucking courtesy would go a long way.

I stand there for a minute, chewing on my lip.

I mean, maybe whatever Gabriel is doing is none of my business. Maybe I don’t need to know where he’s going.

But I sure as hell want to.

I crack the front door open, my pulse thudding as I watch Gabriel slide into the back of the town car as Trevor holds the door open for him.

Yeah, fuck this.

The second they drive off, I’m dashing out of the house, hailing a cab, and sliding into the back seat.

“Follow that town car, please.”