A Cross to Bear (4 page)

Soon Gabby was seated at the small table, enjoying the best omelet she had ever eaten.

“Who taught you to cook like that?” she asked.

“We always had cooks working for us. I liked to watch them work. One of them, Oscar Vilantra, he was this Spanish dude, funny as hell. He taught me all kinds of stuff. Like how to cook the perfect omelet.”

“Maggy is a lucky girl.”

He eyed her with that mischievous smile that made her chest red. “I’m a lucky guy to know her. But she doesn’t want anything serious.”

“And you do?”

“Depends. Yeah, some day. But it’s hard finding someone on the same page as you. And too often people grow apart. I think that people need to want the same thing or else they’re just setting themselves up for disaster. In the meantime, I try to have a little fun. Hell, I might not meet Miss Right until I'm sixty. You never know.”

Stop staring at him, you idiot!
she thought to herself.

Gabby stuffed her face to avoid his beautiful eyes. For some reason, she felt dirtier than ever.

“Victor . . . you mind watching out for me while I take a shower?”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug.

“Thanks.” Gabby left him at the island, suddenly feeling sickly nervous. She tried to tell herself that she was all right and that Derek couldn’t get to her. But it was hard.

She turned on the water as hot as it would go and undressed with the door cracked open. The steam would hide her somewhat, and she wanted to be able to hear if something happened in the other room.

The water stung her skin, but she reveled in the pain. There was a sore egg on the back of her head that felt like a golf ball, as well as bruises on her legs and arms. Gingerly she washed from head to toe in every one of Maggy’s oils, shampoos, soaps, and conditioners. When she was done, she flossed for ten minutes and brushed forever. But no matter how much she cleaned herself, she couldn’t get rid of Derek’s scent.

After wrapping herself in a towel, she went to Maggy’s room to get dressed. Victor was standing in the doorway but facing away from her. His tight white T-shirt accentuated his back muscles, and his biceps stretched the seams of his sleeves.

“Everything all right? I thought I heard . . . you sounded like you might need help.”

Gabby realized that he must have heard her crying in the shower.

“I’m . . . I’m all right.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you alo—”

“Wait!”

What was she doing? She searched the room, trying to think of anything but what she was about to say. He turned around slowly, eyes wandering across the bed and then locking her in their magical gaze.

What would Maggy do?

“Can you stay with me tonight?” She blurted it out before she could stop herself.

“If you would like me to,” he said with a smile.

“I . . .” Gabby straightened and bravely dropped her towel.

A look of feral need crossed Victor’s face.

Gabby stood there, shaking before him, knowing he could deny her.

His eyes moved over her body. He was striding forth now, slowly . . .

He pulled off his shirt. Tense muscles rippled. Gabriella felt faint, and she clutched the bedpost. Her mind screamed no, but her body . . . her body screamed yes.

He unbuckled his belt and reached for her.

Gabriella leaped onto him and rode him down to the bed. She tore the button on his jeans loose and slid the zipper open before yanking his pants down. Victor gasped, and his muscles twitched beneath her searching fingers. She took him in her hand and pulled, reveling in the power she felt over him. He began to sit up, and she pushed him back down and took him in her mouth. He clutched the sheets and arched his back, giving a playful groan as she tasted him.

He tried to sit up once more, and she shoved him back again. She pressed herself against him, slowly at first . . . wetting him with firm gyrations. He took her face in his hands and kissed her. His tongue darted past her lips. Strong hands found her breasts and squeezed firmly.

She grabbed his throbbing manhood and lowered herself onto him slowly.

They moaned in unison.

He pulled on her shoulders. She clawed at his chest. He was firm, but he was gentle. She rocked atop him slowly. Their lips met again, and she quickened the pace, able to take more of him in. When he was deep inside, she began to frantically gyrate against him, but his strong arms held her firm, not allowing her to move. He stared into her eyes and reached deeper than any man ever had.

She couldn’t breathe.

The orgasm started deep inside her. She clutched him tight, shuddering with the building climax. He moved his hips slowly, sending her over the edge. Gabby cried out and convulsed on top of him.

He was lying beside her now, his strong hands cupping her face, his eyes mesmerizing. Victor thrust into her, and she wrapped herself around him, pulling him closer. Suddenly he withdrew from her. He dotted kisses down her neck, across her breast, along her navel, and then . . .

His tongue found her.

She gave a pleading moan and clutched the sheets as he parted her velvety folds with his mouth. He stayed there until again she burst with pleasure.

Just as quickly, he was inside her again, pulling her onto his lap. All the while he held her in his unyielding gaze. She felt beautiful in his arms, their bodies wrapped in a harmonious dance. Again she reached a climax, and he soon followed, gripping her tight and burying his head in her bosom.

***

Gabriella awoke to the sound of songbirds. She roused slowly, grinning to herself, and reached for Victor. He wasn’t there. She looked around the room, realizing that it was just before dawn. The dark house was completely silent, and the only illumination came from the slow blinking of her phone. She had twenty-three messages—all from Derek.

“Maggy?” she called out. “Victor?”

No one answered.

Gabby dialed her sister’s number, hoping to hear it ring in the house somewhere. On the sixth ring, she got the voice mail.

“You’re in luck. You’ve reached Maggy Cross. But alas, I cannot come to the phone. Leave a message, and I might call you back.”

The phone beeped.

“Hey, Mags, just checking in. I’m heading to work, just in case you’re wondering where I am. I’ll be back around four. Give me a call when you get this.”

Gabby hung up the phone, not quite knowing what to think. It wasn’t that strange for her sister to entertain all night long, but she should have at least sent a text by now—they messaged each other every day.

She remembered that she had fallen asleep naked. Blushing, she pulled on her sister’s robe and went into the kitchen to search the place. There was no sign of Victor. Outside, the street was quiet. Her car was still parked on the road, but Victor’s ride was gone.

“Figures. Hit it and quit it.” Gabby sighed.

It was just as well. She was in no position to start a serious relationship—especially with one of Maggy’s boy toys . . . but what a toy he was.

No, she needed to get her shit together. She could stay at Maggy’s for a while, probably a few months at least. Derek could keep the house; she didn’t want anything to do with it. He could keep everything if it meant she never had to see him again.

She glanced at her phone—it was a quarter to six. As much as she loathed the idea of going to work, she was going to have to. She was already behind in her assignments and had a paper due by noon.

Gabby pulled up to the office building and cringed when she saw her boss Pete’s car parked in the lot. She had hoped to get some work done before he came in, but, as usual, he had been the first to arrive.

The building wasn’t much—it wasn’t even in Chicago’s business district. The Cago Voice was a struggling online magazine, and though Gabby knew that her talents should have landed her somewhere bigger, she hadn’t yet “broken out.”

The business of journalism was a cutthroat affair in the windy city, but Gabby had never been much of a cutthroat. She was hoping to make it with good old-fashioned talent and needed only to write that one article that would put her on the map.

She had hoped to make a name for herself with her in-depth article about the mayor’s corruption that she had written in December, but her boss had refused to publish it and instead had given her a job covering the celebration of New Year’s in twenty-below weather.

Inside, she was met by Brad Griffin, the newspaper’s head computer dork.

“Hey, Darb,” said Gabby, using the name he preferred.

“What’s up, Gabs?” he said, offering her a worried smile.

He was a short, slightly pudgy guy with forward-sloping shoulders—a testament to his hours spent hunched over the computer.

“I’ve got to warn you,” said Darb. “Pete is pretty pissed.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” said Gabby.

She hurried to her cubicle and opened her laptop. She had only a few pages left to finish of the article, and with any luck, she would get it done before noon. But before she could type the first word, Pete was there, standing outside her cubicle and scowling at her.

“I need to talk to you in my office . . . now,” he said.

Gabby followed him silently to his office, and he closed the door behind her.

“Have a seat,” he instructed her.

“Look, Pete, I was sick yesterday. I’ll have the article ready by this afternoon.”

He took a too-big seat behind his too-big desk, laced his fingers, and rested them on his belly. “This isn’t about yesterday or you cramming for today’s deadline. There is a pattern here that is disturbing. I’m going to have to let you go.”

“What?” said Gabby.

“There is a lot of talent out there,” said Pete. “I need writers who’re passionate and who want to see the Cago Voice grow as much as I do.”

“You can’t do this . . . I’ve—”

“Of course I can. This is my magazine.”

“Come on, Pete. I’ve been here for two years. Yesterday’s call-in was the first in months. I’ve never missed a deadline. For Christ’s sake, I’m the best you’ve got.”

“That is where you’re wrong. There’s a lot of good talent here, and I’ve interviewed a few up-and-comers who’re hungry,” said Pete.

Gabby wanted to scream at him. She wanted to pull out his ridiculous hair plugs and dance on them, but she kept her cool and took a slow, calming breath.

“I’ll do better . . .”

Pete simply shook his head. “You’ve had your shot, kid. Sorry, but you just don’t cut it.”

“There’s got to be something I can do,” said Gabby.

A flash of intrigue swept across his eyes, and he looked her up and down, pursing his lips in thought. “What would you be willing to do to keep your job?”

Gabby stared at him, searching his eyes for the meaning of his words. When she saw the innuendo for what it was, she scoffed.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” he said, suddenly on the defensive. “I didn’t say anything unprofessional.”

Gabby got up and went to the door. “Yeah, you’re a regular fucking knight in shining armor.”

She stormed out of his office and noted the many heads sticking up over cubicle walls. Straightening her back and lifting her chin, she went to her workspace to clean it out. Voices followed in her wake—hushed whispers basking in the drama. She grabbed her purse before eyeing her other personal effects: a bonsai tree that had died long ago and three pictures of her and Derek. Gabby tossed the frames in the garbage and grabbed her dead tree—just because.

“I heard what happened, Gabs,” said Darb, leaning against her cubicle wall awkwardly. “You all right?”

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for asking.”

She pushed past him and headed for the exit before she burst into tears.

“I’m here if you need me,” he called after her.

Gabby returned to Maggy’s house and was dismayed to find that her sister hadn’t yet returned from her date with the high roller. She checked her phone messages and found five from Derek but none from her sister. Maggy had been gone for over twenty-four hours, which, technically, was long enough to get the authorities involved. But Gabby didn’t really think that her sister was in any trouble—she could hold her own. Most likely her phone had died or gotten lost, or she was just too busy having fun to answer her pathetic sister’s texts.

The doorbell rang, and she jumped. Quickly she moved to the window and found a flower delivery man standing on the stoop. She went to the door and glanced around the street.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“Maggy Cross?” the man asked, eyeing the invoice.

“No, I’m her sister.”

“Good enough,” he said, handing her a vase of roses.

He left, and Gabby quickly locked the door. She put the flowers on the island and noticed an attached note. It read only:
MS
.

Gabby puzzled over the flowers for a time. They weren’t from Victor—that much was apparent. They were probably from some hot, rich guy who took Maggy on fun dates like Derek used to do for Gabby.

Just then her phone chimed, and she glanced down at yet another text from Derek:

I’m sorry, Gabs. Please call me and we can work this out.

“Fat chance,” she said to the empty room. She didn’t bother texting him back.

In the cellar, she grabbed a bottle of German wine that she couldn’t pronounce and poured herself a tall glass, wondering what she should do. She drank it down without tasting it much and glanced out the kitchen window facing the driveway.

Her phone chimed again.

I’m coming over there, Gabs. We’ve got to talk.

She took the gun out of her purse and double-checked the windows and doors. When she was sure that everything was locked up like Fort Knox, she retired to the living room where she could watch the street in the darkness.

Never in her life had she wanted her big sister with her so badly.

The phone went off again, startling her and causing her to spill wine on her blouse.

I’m on my way.

Derek again.

“Fuck you!” she screamed into the phone. She proceeded to write a long text that described in detail how Maggy would castrate him slowly, but then she deleted it all and wrote,
I’m calling the police
, and returned to her window vigil.