Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance (50 page)

“No.”

“Like, not forever of course? I have a few more at the studio for you. You can have them when they’re dry…”

“No, Margot. No!”

“Well, I have to, don’t I?”

“No! You don’t have to!” she shouted, her face all shiny, tendrils of purple hair already plastered to her forehead. “You’re just getting rolling here, girl!”

“Yeah, I know! I’ll be right back, just making some connections that Declan knows.”

“He has no right!”

Instantly I bristled. “I’m not a piece of property, OK, Bridget? Nobody has
rights
 to me. I can do what I like.”

“Beg to differ, pumpkin,” she shot back. “I have
exclusive
 rights to your work.”

I cough-laughed at her audacity. “You have exclusive
U.S.
 rights,” I reminded her in a vicious hiss.

I planted my hands on my hips, mimicking her posture, but inside I wanted to take it all back and start the conversation again, but better.

“OK, that came out totally wrong,” I started, holding my hands palm up. But I could see her stiffen and quake where she stood. It was too late to turn it around.

“Do not do this,” she warned.

“Bridget, it’s just for a little while,” I said in a softer voice. “I just want to see what’s out there, OK? You’ll get your cut.”

“Fuck you,” she spat. “I don’t need you buying me off. You have
commitments
, Margot. You have
promised
 me this work, and I’ve been patient
as fuck
 with you while you suck off the whales who were supposed to
buy your work
, Margot!”

“You have totally been patient,” I agreed carefully.

“And
have they
 bought your work, Margot?” she yelled, stepping toward me as I stepped back. “Has it escaped your cum-addled brain that they haven’t actually done shit for you but fuck you sideways?”

“No, but Declan--”

“FUCK Declan! FUCK Jackson! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

She stalked off, stilting incautiously on her lucite heels in a tight circle, then coming right back to face me. My heartbeat hammered in my ears. I had never seen her so genuinely furious.

“Fun is fun, Margot, but you have got to stop!”

“I’ll be back in a week,” I lied, not really knowing when I would be back at all.

“You won’t! That’s not their game, sweetcheeks!”

I squinted at her, hard. If I let her keep going, I knew she would say something she couldn’t take back.

“It’s not a game. Declan really does want to--”

“See if he can get you to totally do whatever he says?” she finished sarcastically. “See if you’re a complete doormat with no opinions of her own? See if you’ll trash your career and follow him to fucking Dutchland--”

“The Netherlands,” I corrected her automatically.

“THE FUCKING NETHERLANDS!” she yelled maniacally. I watched her pulse shooting across the vein in her forehead like a bolt of lightning over and over.

“You don’t even really
exist
 for them, you fucking idiot!”

“All right, Bridget, that’s enough. Come on…”

“No! You need to hear this,” she shouted, pointing a finger at my chest. “Because you do not seem to be catching on, like at all. This has been great fun, and oh aren’t you just such a daring, extravagant
arteest
, but you need to know - they’re not like us. You are a
diversion
, Margot.
A fucking toy.
 And your scrawny, worn-out ass is going to run out of cute little tricks to do like any minute now. And
that will be it.
”

I shook my head stubbornly. “That’s not true.”

“It’s. Fucking. Gospel,” she spat.

“No, Bridge… you don’t know.”

“I’ll bet you Declan is laughing about what a boring little cooze you are right this very second!”

I bit back a whiplash of insults that I wanted to hurl at her.

She’s just mad,
 I reasoned.
Don’t let her get to you.

But she saw my hesitation and narrowed her eyes, coming close enough I could smell the bitter waft of her lunchtime coffee.

“He’s already said something, hasn’t he,” she snarled.

“No, actually Jackson asked me about making, like… Us… About being a couple or something.”

“Ha!” she barked. “You’re avoiding the question. Fuck Jackson. He’s too good for you. Too good
to
 you. You want the one who’s going to treat you like shit. I saw the way you were hating on Anneka at dinner. You already know, don’t you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know Declan is bored,” she accused, her voice edging up triumphantly. “You know he’s looking for something new to do, and you’ve gone into full Margot-desperation-mode to get his attention.”

“No,” I shot back.

“Oh yeah,” she nodded, raising the outside of her botox-paralyzed brows. “You’ll follow him to fucking Siberia now if he dangles a little hope in front of you!”

“Bridge--”

“You’ll fucking
burn your life to the ground
…”

“Bridge!”

“And I’ll bet Jackson really did say something real to you, right? But you can’t even hear it because you are so asshole-addicted that you’ll do just anything for Declan’s douchey attentions, right? Am I right?”

“No. Fuck you,” I hissed, waving my hand in the air between us. I left my hand in an upright Stop position as I turned around and started walking toward the door.

“Don’t you walk away from me!” she yelled after me, clacking as fast as possible across the polished concrete floor.

“I’ll send you a postcard, Bridge,” I shouted without looking back.

“
Don’t you fucking walk away from me!
”

As I pushed the door open the sunlight socked me right in the face, momentarily leaving me dazzled and blind. I squinted hard and stumbled toward the driveway so I could get to my Saab. I knew I should turn around and apologize, but it was like a tide had just plucked me off the beach and carried me out to sea. There was no way available but forward, anymore.

***

When I got home, it was dark and quiet. The living room lights were on and I stalked silently through the front door and down the hall.

It’s your house, dummy. Who are you hiding from?

I stood in my studio for a few minutes, looking at the paintings that were slowly drying against the wall. Bridget would like these, I knew. Maybe she would even forgive me. Probably. Maybe not.

But probably.

Finally I walked out to the living room and looked around. Following my usual route I paced the perimeter, glancing at each photo along the way. Images of Aunt Winnie and my mother, people who were probably cousins, maybe even my father looked out of old photos.

What was I looking for? The same pictures, the same route, yet something was missing.

Even though I had seen them thousands of times, I still couldn’t quite connect to them. They were my family, yet they felt like strangers, props I had accumulated. Maybe I had seen them too often, rendering them strange and unfamiliar. Or maybe I really was as unmoored and disconnected as I felt.

I found Jackson sitting outside in the dark, by the pool. The underwater lights were on, casting him in a bluish, ethereal glow.

“Hey you,” he said as I sat down on the chaise next to him.

“Hey,” I sighed, suddenly very tired.

“Nice night.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, as the water slapped gently against the sides of the pool.

He stared past the pool toward the valley. I watched the reflection of the city lights in his eyes and every so often, a small breeze ruffled his hair. I could smell the orange blossoms and jasmine heavy on the air.

The last amber rays of the sunset melted into the violet sky as we sat, saying nothing. After a while I noticed our breathing was in sync. I smiled at his profile and he turned to me grinning, his hand hovering in mid-air.

“You’ve got something on you, there,” I teased.

“Oh yeah? Where?”

“Right… just about
there
. You’ve been velvet-boxed,” I cautioned him.

“Oh geez,” he sighed. “I knew I felt something.”

“Yeah,” I said sympathetically. “Those things can really sneak up on you.”

He held out the box flat on his fingertips and I stared at it. A bubble of teenagery excitement percolated in my ribcage as he reached over with his other hand and opened it. A pair of perfectly blue-white diamond drop earrings glittered like they were lit from within.

“What’s this for?” I breathed excitedly.

“Traditionally, earrings are for the ears,” he replied.

“Ha! Oh you don’t say… May I?”

He nodded. “I think you’d better. Unless you’re concerned about the consequences of being velvet-boxed, yourself.”

“Oh, I’m willing to risk it…”

I pulled the silver hoops out of my ears and reached for the box, plucking each piece from its mooring and then pushing them through my earlobes. The earrings felt solid but light, and I could feel them swaying against my skin when I shook my head.

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re beautiful, Margot,” he said watching me with a happy, open smile. He leaned forward, sliding his hand behind my neck and pulling me toward him. His lips found mine and he sighed into my mouth, kissing me tenderly, deeply. I felt the tension of the day slipping away from me like sand through my fingers.

“Thank you so much,” I sighed happily.

“You’re welcome,” he said, pulling back and brushing the hair off my forehead. “I just wanted to give you something you could keep close to you, like I’m whispering right in your ear.”

“Well that sounds sort of naughty,” I murmured, wriggling in my seat.

Actually that sounds really Nice,
 I remarked inwardly.

“Could be,” he shrugged. His hand reached out, lacing his fingers against mine as he shifted to look up at the sky. I followed suit, staring into the blurry smudge of grey and black, illuminated by the half moon.

“No stars tonight,” I mused. Sometimes you can see them, but usually the light pollution of LA dims the sky to a charcoal velvet. “Can you see the stars in Amsterdam?” I wondered aloud.

I heard him turn his head toward me. “Well… It’s still a city, so, not as much as you can other places. But better than here I guess.”

I nodded. “That makes sense.”

“If you want to see stars, I can take you to Montana,” he murmured. “Or Tahoe. Up in the mountains, they really do seem closer. Brighter.”

“Really?”

“Of course, really. We can go anywhere you like.”

I nodded, staring up at the sky, trying to imagine what it would look like if those dim pinpricks of light were turned on full blast.

“Are the stars upside down in Australia?”

“Yes,” he answered confidently. “And backwards.”

“Oh that sounds confusing.”

“And in Japan, you can read the whole sky like a newspaper.”

“But in vertical columns,” I added.

“Naturally.”

“I would love to see that.”

“As you wish, princess,” he said, his voice sincere.

“OK,” I sighed. “So, after Amsterdam, you guys can show me a world full of stars?”

I felt him flinch, slightly.

“Sure,” he said slowly, settling back on his chaise and training his gaze on some distant point.

“Wait, what? What did I say?”

He shook his head. “You’re coming to Amsterdam,” he said quietly, matter-of-factly.

“Well, yes?” I said, startling myself with another declaration that sounded like a question. “I mean, yes. I should.”

“Really? What gave you that impression?” He worked his mouth around like there was something sour in it.

“Declan told me there were people I should meet. Connections to make. You know.”

He shrugged.

“It’s business, Jackson.”

I peered at his profile, lit from the light of the pool. He was angry? Or something? I couldn’t really make out his expression and he didn’t seem to want to share it with me.

“I have a
job
,” I sulked. “I’m not sure why Declan is the only person who seems to understand that.”

“OK, if that’s what you think,” he sighed, sitting up and pushing himself away from me.

“Hey, wait, are you going?”

“Yeah, big day tomorrow,” he muttered. “You should pack.”

I coughed in the back of my throat, trying to think of what to say. He had just closed up like a flower and I found myself grasping at empty air, wanting to pull him back.