Page 3

Chapter three

Present Day

I t was the event of the year. Everyone who was anyone within the food and wine community was accounted for. Sommeliers, chefs, bakers, club owners, brewers, caterers, writers, critics, and celebrities, flocked to Flores each year to take part in the Festival of Food and Wine.

The creators of the three-day festival were none other than Paris’s parents, Mikel and Nicola DeMarcé. The DeMarcés were known for throwing lavish parties, but this party gave its guests cake and let them eat it too, and the best part was that a large portion of the proceeds went to Feeding America.

Paris could only assume from the turnout that attendees would pay virtually any cost to be there. The most expensive tickets were set aside for celebrities who wanted privacy along with all the amenities. The festival, despite being named for food and wine, encompassed so much more. It was cultural and artistic—a glamour for all the senses. Attendees could take in multiple shows, competitions, and live musical performances on three different stages. There were artistic displays, tropical flowers, and a plethora of exotic and tasty foods and beverages from around the world.

Lucky souls who worked for ADG take part in everything free of charge as a thank you from Mikel and Nicola for their hard work throughout the year.

To some, being an employee at ADG was the ‘cat’s meow,’ but for Paris, it had simply become a cage to contain her. Everything had gone south one year and two months earlier. She couldn’t seem to pull herself out of the Hell she was currently living in, but to those outside of ADG, she had it all.

“Hey, Paris!” called her angry father as he let himself in and stomped through her luxury condo. He was dressed in a specially tailored Armani tuxedo. Sighing heavily, he said, “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Realizing she was on her balcony, he asked, “Are you decent?”

Paris didn’t answer. “I’m coming out there, so you’d better be decent,” he stated. Stepping out onto the balcony, he assessed his daughter and her surroundings. Thankfully, she was covered by numerous bubbles. Unthankfully, they were overflowing to the patio below. With any luck, the downstairs tenants were at the festival and wouldn’t notice his daughter’s carelessness.

A large rain cloud had rolled in, threatening to downpour on the festival below. In reality, the possibility of rain was low, and the sun would soon be back in play. Tiny fairy lights wrapped around the railings and, hanging from the pergola, lit up the cloudy sky with a relaxing glow. He glared at his daughter, who was zoning out as she stared into the distance.

“Hello? Are you going to say something?” Mikel demanded.

“You’ve found me, haven’t you?” Paris grabbed her black bubble-soaked mane and gently rang it out.

It was day two of the festival, and she had no desire to go. All she wanted was to be left alone to drink wine and soak her cares away in her tub. As if exiting a dream, she squawked, “Dad, seriously, you can’t just barge in here. I’m in the tub!”

“If you did as was expected of you, I wouldn’t have to barge in here like a madman. You can soak later tonight, but right now, I need you downstairs,” he replied curtly. “You have an obligation to your family and the Alaries, to be present.”

In the past, her father would have never shown up in her condo unannounced, but all of that had changed two months earlier when Paris had overdosed. After that, he acquired a key to her residence and revoked her privacy privileges.

Paris tipped her head back and squinted up at him. “Isn’t Vic there? I should think his presence is enough. Perhaps I’m away on business elsewhere?” She knew this wouldn’t fly with him. He was old school. Family had to be present, and all accounted for. Too bad one of them was missing. She wished it was her. She wished so badly that she had ended her miserable life the night Alli and Brody died, or the night she took too many Percocet.

Despite her family’s beliefs, she wasn’t addicted. She rarely took the pills, but now and then, she threw her cares aside and toyed dangerously with the idea of death. Each day had turned into one brain-splitting headache after another and she had minimal desire to live. Her love for her family was the only thing that kept her present on most days.

Reaching down, her father grabbed her towel in one hand and then, averting his eyes, held his other hand out to his daughter. “Let’s go. You know you have to do this. You and Vic are hosting several events. We laid out a plan, and you agreed to follow through. This will be good for you,” he said.

Paris very much doubted it. The festival had been thrown upon her without a choice. After Alli’s death, she had given up organizing charity events. It was one thing to plan and follow through with her own job, but this was above and beyond, and it forced her to interact with hundreds of people she had no desire to be around. Since the accident, she hid away as much as possible. She knew everyone was talking. Let them talk. She didn’t care.

She reached up and took her father’s hand, letting him gently pull her out of the spa. Looking past her father, she noticed Mya was standing behind him. Stepping forward, Mya grabbed the towel from Mikel and wrapped it around Paris.

Mikel looked back at his daughter as he stopped to adjust his purple paisley tie. “Mya will help you get ready. I have to head back downstairs. Several events are starting shortly. Be sure you kick it into high gear. I don’t want to send your mother up. She doesn’t need any more stress today.” Turning, he walked out of the condo, leaving Mya to deal with Paris.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” asked Mya. Moving into the living room, she picked up a nearly empty bottle of tequila and shook it gently to make a point. “You can’t drown the pain in alcohol and drugs,” she said softly. “It’s been over a year since Alli and Brody died. When will you start living your life again?”

Paris stared at her old friend and watched as a tear ran down Mya’s face. She couldn’t speak. There were no words. There had been no words since the accident. She simply shook her head.

“Fine,” Mya replied sadly. Wiping the tear, she moved on to the master bedroom and into the closet. Rifling through dress after dress, she located an emerald green silk A-line piece. It was perfect for the occasion.

Glancing down, Mya moved on to shoes. She grabbed a pair of black lace-up stilettos and walked over to Paris’s jewelry armoire. Opening the second drawer from the top, she retrieved a pair of dangling black diamond earrings and a matching black diamond necklace. She knew Paris hated it when people dressed her, but they were short on time. Her ex-friend would look stunning in black and green with her beautiful silky hair.

Stepping out of the closet, she noticed her charge had moved on to showering. She crept over to the door and opened it a crack. “I set your outfit on the bed. Do you want me to help you with your hair, or can I trust you’ll continue getting ready if I wait in the living room?” Mya knew she was treating Paris like a child, but it seemed necessary at this point in Paris’s life. She had been Mikel’s assistant, but in the months following Alli’s death, she was constantly sent to deal with Paris. After a while, Mikel made Mya Paris’s assistant. He thought it would help ease the tension, but in reality, it had only made it worse.

It was quiet for a moment, then Paris said, “Have a seat. Help yourself to some wine or bubbly, if you like.”

Mya sat on the white leather settee sipping a glass of water, when Paris finally emerged from her bedroom. She’d helped Paris pick the settee three years earlier. It was a Christopher Guy Lafite and Paris’s favorite piece of furniture.

“This thing is still quite comfortable,” commented Mya. “As always, you have great taste.”

“I know, but honestly, you’re the one who found it for me, so you should compliment yourself,” she replied, waving her off.

Mya wondered if Paris knew how cold she acted. It had been that way ever since Alli’s death. She didn’t have the heart to leave Paris, even though she knew she didn’t deserve to be treated so harshly. Paris had been her best friend. They were like sisters once. She hoped and prayed daily that Paris would snap out of it and be her friend again, but now that an entire year had gone by, Mya was losing hope.

“Do you need anything from your place before we head down?” Paris asked.

“No, let’s get this over with.” There was a time when Mya would have been ecstatic to attend the festival, but when she was expected to watch over Paris all night, fun was no longer in the equation. She drained her water glass and hopped off the settee. Depositing the cup in the dishwasher, she paused for a moment. “Hold on. I need to use your lavatory before we go.” Mya acted like a proper lady and rarely said words such as toilet or john. Words which Paris wouldn’t think twice about using, as of late.

Ducking into the bathroom, Mya looked into the mirror to be sure her makeup was acceptable. Grabbing Paris’s brush, she swiped it through her straight, shiny red hair, which hung at her jawline. Looking over her attire, Mya made certain that her black slip dress was wrinkle-free. She had to be flawless because the media would be snapping photos of her and Paris all night long. She hated it, but photos were part of the life she had chosen. Paris had once loved the limelight, but these days, Mya was lucky if the girl got dressed and left the condo.

Emerging from the bathroom, she headed for the door. “Let’s go.” Paris followed as she exited the condo. The look on her old friend’s face was pure disgust. This day will be pleasant indeed , thought Mya, but at least she had gotten Paris dressed and out the door, which was half the battle.

Hour by hour, the day faded away. Paris emceed the ice sculpture contest and took part as a judge in the exotic baked goods competition. She and Vic hosted a wine and tapas pairing event, which was packed to capacity. Mya followed everywhere Paris went, making sure she stayed on schedule. Paris hated it but loved not having to worry about what time it was because she knew Mya would remind her.

At seven that evening, Paris was on her own. Mya found herself preoccupied with Cristo Alarie, Vic’s uncle, and one of her parents’ business partners. He was going through some sort of midlife crisis where he seemed to feel the need to express how young he felt by dating women half his age. So far, Mya hadn’t taken the bait, which pleased Paris, despite how irritating she found her to be.

Wandering through the crowds, she headed for the ballroom, grabbing a glass of Prosecco as it bounced by on one of the festival penguin’s trays. She had to hand it to her mother. The place looked amazing. A canopy of fairy lights, navy blue tulle, and magnolias hung down from the ballroom ceiling. The scent alone could make you fall in love with the first person you saw. Paris, luckily, wasn’t the type to worry about finding romance. She had her eye on one particular man and only one, but so far that evening, he hadn’t appeared.

Stopping to lean against a large pillar, she took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a Percocet and popped it into her mouth. It was the first one she’d taken since her overdose. Everywhere she looked, she half expected to see her sister.

Continuing to lean against the pillar, she sipped her Prosecco and glanced around the tent. The tables along the perimeter were covered in navy blue cloths with lit-up bowls, each containing a single floating magnolia. On the far end of the large tent sat the orchestra belting out classical ballroom music.

“Do my eyes deceive me?” sang a familiar voice. “Paris DeMarcé, what a wonderful surprise!”

Paris jumped at the sound of the voice. She hadn’t noticed anyone approaching. “Breanna! I didn’t realize you were coming home for the festival. How’ve you been?” Paris forced a smile at Brody’s twin. “How’s Juilliard?” Breanna was one of the newest teachers at the school of dance. “They let you sneak away for this crazy event?”

“Well, if by sneak you mean take a break for a few days, then yes,” she replied. “How about you? What’s new? This color is fabulous, by the way,” she said, motioning to Paris’s dress.

“Thanks. You look pretty great yourself. Red has always been a pleasant color with your tanned skin,” she replied. Breanna wore a curve-hugging red slip dress with a large slit down the right side. It was no surprise it looked good. She could pull off a dirty paper bag if she had to. Her friend the chameleon. She frequently grew her hair long and then chopped it all off. No matter the length, she always looked superstar-beautiful. “I see you’ve grown your hair out since I last saw you. How long has it been, thirteen months?” Her blonde hair had been short and spikey the last time she visited. Breanna furrowed her brow, staring back at Paris, waiting. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine,” said Paris.

“To your first comment, yes, it’s been thirteen months.” Rolling her eyes, she said, “You know my hair grows fast. To your second comment, that’s not what the grapevine is saying, but that smile looks wonderful on you.”

“Tell that grapevine to shove it.” Paris shrugged. Breanna had only just arrived, and she was already prying. Paris loved her, but she didn’t need any lectures from someone who had escaped the pain of everyday life after Brody and Alli by moving away and choosing a career path outside the family business.

“Vic tells me you go to work and party in your flat, and that’s it. You rarely join the family for anything. You barely speak to Mya. You know, when Brody died, I went to grief counseling. It really helped,” she said gently.

“I’m fine. Vic should mind his own business.” Paris knew Breanna cared, but she also felt abandoned by her, which, like many other things in her painful life, brought out further anger.

“He’s worried about you, Paris. The whole family, including my family, are all worried. They’re discussing committing you.” She gave Paris an evil grin.

“Oh, girl, now you’re reaching,” she said. “The whole family seems to get off on telling me what I can and can’t do. Vic hates me. You know that.” The last time she and Vic had spoken outside of work was at the hospital the night of the accident. Mya had told him about the fight she and Alli had. It was none of Mya’s business to tell Vic about the baby or the argument. He’d accused her of being insensitive, which, honestly, she was in complete agreement with. She also believed he blamed her for their deaths.

“Okay, you got me,” replied Breanna. “Jack is the only person I’ve spoken to, and his concern has me feeling concerned. I haven’t discussed you with the rest of the family, but Jack tells me they’re worried about you.”

“Stop worrying. I told you, I’m fine.” She wished Breanna would drop it and let her be.

“Paris, you and I both know you’re walking a fine line, and it’s only a matter of time before you fall again.”

“Whatever. Can we please move on?” The subject flared her anger, and Breanna was the last person she wanted to be mad at. Of all the people in her life, Breanna was the only person who could say she understood how Paris was feeling. She, too, had lost a sibling that night. “How long are you here?”

“I leave tomorrow night.” Breanna looked apologetic. Julliard waited for no one.

“That’s not even two days,” said Paris. “Why can’t you stay longer?”

“You know the answer to that, but I promise I’ll try to come back more often.”

Paris reached out and poked at Breanna’s nose ring. “That’s new, huh? It looks good on you.” Paris thought Brody would have loved the nose ring. After all, he had pierced both of his ears.

“I never thought I’d sport a nose ring, but I really love the look. The only downside is that I can’t wear it to work. Oh,” she said as she turned away briefly, “don’t look now, but there’s my cousin.”

“Yeah, look who he’s with,” said Paris.

“My goodness. Is that Devon Heathrow’s wife?” Breanna looked surprised. Vic had a way of charming all types of women. She should have known marital status or fame wouldn’t be an issue. Vic chased every pretty thing that came through the door, no matter if they were wearing a danger sign. If he couldn’t have them, he appeared to want them even more.

“Yeah, Devon’s been playing in the World Series of Poker Tournament all day at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas. He sent her here because he didn’t want any distractions. I wonder if he knows what she does when they’re apart?”

“I doubt it,” said Breanna. “He doesn’t seem the type to put up with such nonsense.”

Paris considered Meagan. She wore Louis Vuitton from head to toe. She even carried a black Louis Vuitton clutch, but the most impressive part of her outfit had to be her shoes. They were exquisite. Beautiful brown Louis Vuitton Star Trail ankle boots, and Paris bet they were just her size.

“We should go over there,” said Breanna as she removed a small bottle of perfume from her black and red Prada and spritzed herself. The purse matched her dress perfectly.

“I don’t mind moving closer, but I don’t care to socialize with Vic,” replied Paris.

Breanna furrowed her eyebrows and stared back at her friend for a moment. “Don’t you two have to speak regularly? You work together still, correct?”

“He’s a jerk. Everyone at work’s afraid of him because of his temper. I avoid him as much as possible.”

“That’s not the Vic I know,” she said as she looked over at him and Megan. “He always acted considerate of his coworkers. He’s the guy most people wanted to work for because he loved handing out promotions and bonuses.

“People change,” said Paris. “It’s different for you. You’re his family. He treats you like his sister. I’m not the only person with a different attitude since the accident.”

Breanna winced at Paris’s statement. “I think we’re all one enormous family. Don’t you agree?”

“I don’t have a family anymore.”

Breanna shook her head. “That’s cold, Paris. I’ve always looked at you like a sister. We grew up together and have a history. We did all the things sisters do.”

“We aren’t children anymore. We’re adults. Why don’t you go talk to Vic? I need another Prosecco,” she said as she turned away and left Breanna gawking after her. Retrieving a glass from another passing tray, she decided to take a seat near the orchestra where she could listen to the music and keep an eye on Vic, Breanna, and the naughty Mrs. Heathrow.

She watched as Vic and Breanna chatted for nearly an hour. Then Mya appeared. Grabbing Breanna by the arm, she guided her away. Most likely to schmooze it up with some up-and-coming actors. Paris continued to watch Vic and Meagan. They seemed awfully close. She watched as he brushed what must have been stray strands of blonde hair, behind her ear. She placed a hand on his wrist. Leaning in, she whispered something in his ear and lightly bit his earlobe as she pulled away. Vic reached down and cupped her bottom while she reached back and grabbed his free hand to lead him out of the tent.

Paris waited until Vic and Meagan exited, and then, scooting off her chair, followed safely behind them. She watched as they practically skipped out of the festival. Paris thought perhaps they were headed for one of the gardens, but no, Vic was leading her back to his place. Predictable, she thought. Everything with Vic led to sex.

Paris continued to follow. She knew this location well. He was in the condo at the opposite end of the hall from her. She hadn’t been inside his place in years. As she continued on, an idea came to her.

She waited for the elevator door to close behind Meagan before she got into the second car. Pressing twelve, she followed them up. They were halfway down the hall when she exited. She watched from a distance as Meagan jumped up and wrapped her legs around Vic, devouring his mouth with her ferocious pink lips. They slammed into the wall outside the condo, knocking a print askew. Meagan squealed with excitement. Paris worried they might not make it inside before stripping naked. Thankfully, he only paused for a moment before refocusing his attention on opening the door and carrying her out of sight.

After the door slammed shut behind them, Paris slunk further down the hall until she stood directly in front of Vic’s door. She couldn’t hear anything. Slowly, she reached out and turned the handle. It was unlocked. Pushing the door open a crack, she paused to listen. The noises she heard were coming from the bedroom. Pushing her way inside, she quietly closed the door behind her. She was shocked to see that his condo had been completely updated. She didn’t recall any furniture being hauled in or out. How had she missed it?

Wandering around, she looked at the art and tested out the furniture. He appeared to have decent taste. She wondered if Mya had helped him decorate. The colors were shades of blue, which matched his Van Gogh replicas. He had a cushy coffee black couch with some beautiful grey and brown distressed wooden coffee tables. His area rug was in colors that mimicked Starry Night . The place felt clean and comfortable. Not the bachelor pad she recalled from earlier years.

Creeping toward the hall, she could see light emitting from the bedroom. She scanned the room, but didn’t see Meagan’s boots anywhere. Paris felt disappointed. She must have made it into the bedroom, still wearing them. She decided then and there that she would go after them. She marched down the hall past a pedestal holding a decorative vase until she stood in front of the bedroom door. Getting down on her hands and knees, she gently nudged the door open enough to see inside. Sure enough, Meagan had removed the shoes and tossed them to the floor at the foot of the bed. She cringed at the thought of going into the room, but Meagan’s back was to her, and they were making so much noise she doubted they’d notice.

Inching the door open halfway, she crept toward the bed until she was close enough to snag her prize. Reaching out, she grabbed them by the laces and maneuvered her way backward. Her heart pounded in her chest as she closed the door and continued to back away from the room. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d felt so alive. In her excitement, she completely forgot about the pedestal. Knocking into it, the vase tipped and crashed to the tile floor, breaking into several large pieces.

“What was that?” she heard Meagan chirp.

“Stay here,” said Vic as he barreled through the door and nearly tripped over Paris, who was still crouched on the ground. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, his face turning crimson. “Oh. My. God. Are those her boots? Paris! What the hell?”

At the mention of her boots , Meagan, wrapped in the sheet, came bounding into the hall. “You know this woman? Is she seriously trying to steal my boots? I’m calling the police!”

“Now, hold on,” said Vic. “Do we really need to bring the police into this?”

“She’s trying to make off with my thirteen-hundred-dollar boots!” shrieked Meagan. “It took me forever to talk my husband into buying them!”

Paris couldn’t find her words. Her mouth hung open as she stared at Vic, who was completely naked, and only two feet away from where she sat on his floor. She had to admit, the guy had it going on. He donned a six-pack and a solid five inches flaccid. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

Realizing she was staring at him; Vic walked back into his bedroom and pulled on a pair of sweatpants. “Better?” he asked. “I think this,” he said, motioning to his body, “is the least of your worries.”

“Yes, I need an officer sent over immediately,” Meagan said into her phone. “What’s your address?” she asked Vic.

“2100 Primrose Garden Place, Building A, Unit 1201,” he said. Continuing to scowl at Paris, he motioned for her to stand.

Meagan hung up the phone and looked at Paris. “The police are coming for you. You’re so screwed. What kind of idiot tries to steal another woman’s shoes while she’s in the room? I don’t know who you think you are, but you’d better get yourself a damned good lawyer. Thief!”

Not knowing how to respond, Paris said, “Yeah, well, at least I’m not a slut!”

Meagan let out a growl and lunged at Paris. Pulling away, Paris hauled back and punched her smack dab in the center of the nose, which made Meagan yelp and hit the ground with a loud thud.

“You, bitch!” Then, gasping for air, she said, “Oh, my God. I think you broke my nose! What will I tell my husband?”

Trying to calm her, Vic picked Meagan up and led her into the living room, leaving Paris standing in the hall once again, with her mouth agape. She’d never hit anyone before. This was not good. Why’d I hit her? Paris groaned. Backing up, she leaned against the wall. She didn’t know what to do. She could go to her place, but most likely, the police would simply follow her there. Paris didn’t want to cause any further trouble, so she stayed put.

Five minutes passed, and two officers arrived at the condo. Visiting Meagan first, they got her side of the story and then came back to ask Paris for her version.

“Mrs. Heathrow is accusing me of stealing her boots,” she said. “I didn’t steal them.”

“Um, miss, are those the boots in question?” asked the officer closest to her. He was sporting an impressive handlebar mustache.

Looking down, she realized she was still holding the boots in her left hand. Great .

“Yes, but I haven’t left the apartment with them. I’m not planning to leave the apartment with them, so technically, I haven’t stolen anything,” replied Paris.

“Did you attack Mrs. Heathrow? She says you broke her nose,” chimed the second officer, who was none-to-happy about her response. His face looked as if it were stuck in a permanent scowl.

“She attacked me, and I defended myself,” said Paris. “I hit her out of reflex.”

“I don’t see any marks on you,” said handlebar-mustache.

“No, because I defended myself before she could hurt me,” said Paris through gritted teeth.

“Have you been drinking?” asked the scowling officer.

“Seriously! If you’re planning to arrest me, just do it already!” yelled Paris.

“Our pleasure,” replied the scowling officer. “Read her, her rights,” he told handlebar-mustache while he proceeded to place the handcuffs on Paris’s wrists.

Vic reappeared in the hallway and, taking in the situation, said, “Whoa, is this necessary? I mean, she really didn’t mean to hurt Meagan.”

“Oh, really?” spouted Meagan. “They should arrest you too, you jerk!”

“Now, now, Mrs. Heathrow. Let’s calm down,” replied handlebar-mustache. “Vic, we have to take her in. We have her on attempted theft, breaking and entering, and assault and battery. If you want to bail her out, you’ll have to come down to the station.”

“This is my home; don’t I get a say? She didn’t really break in,” said Vic. “The door wasn’t exactly locked, and she lives next door.”

“Sorry, kid, we still have her on assault and theft,” replied handlebar-mustache as he led Paris toward the door.

Sighing, Vic said, “Fine. Paris, I’ll be right behind you.” She could hear the irritation in his voice, but was thankful he planned to come after her.

“You’re bailing her out?” screeched Meagan. “Why?”

“For more reasons than I care to admit,” he replied sharply. “I think you’d best be going. Don’t you have a husband to get back to?” he asked, pointing her toward the door.

“Vic Alarie, you’re a real jerk!” she hissed as he slammed the door in her face.

“That’s what they all say,” he said quietly.

Walking over to his fridge, Vic grabbed a beer and proceeded to flop down on his couch. What the heck just happened? Had Paris lost her mind? Despite his general distaste for her, he had to attempt to make things right. The last thing he needed was the press to find out about his affair with Meagan and Paris trying to steal her shoes, then decking her in the nose. It was a bad situation.

Finishing his beer, he retreated to the bedroom to find more suitable clothing. Once dressed, he called for his driver and began the jaunt down to the main floor.

It only took fifteen minutes to arrive at the station. When the car came to a stop, he lowered the window separating him from the driver. Leaning forward, he said, “Ricky, if I’m not back in thirty minutes, come check on me, please.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Alarie.”

Opening the door, he stepped out of the limo and adjusted his suit coat and tie. No need to look like a vagrant walking through the doors , he thought. Pausing for a moment, he took in the station’s exterior. Built of brick, it looked cold and unfeeling. He couldn’t help but think he and the building had something in common. Pulling his wallet out, he checked to see how much cash he had. More than enough. “Let’s do this,” he said out loud.

It was eleven in the evening, and the festival was still in full swing. Paris’s parents, Nicola and Mikel, and Vic’s parents, Dom and Jessamine, were relaxing in a tent listening to a jazz group and enjoying the fruits of their labor. They were deep in conversation about the success of the festival when Dom’s phone vibrated. Glancing down, he saw it was the local police department. “Excuse me a moment,” he requested of his friends.

Walking away from the crowd, he picked up the call. “Dom speaking.”

“Hey, Mr. Alarie, it’s Brett. We’ve got a minor problem. I’ve got your son down here at the station.”

“Super,” replied Dom. “I didn’t even realize he’d left. What’s the damage?”

“Yeah, you might want to sit down for this.”

Twenty-minutes passed before Dom returned to the table, his bald head looking as red as a tomato. The others stared back at him, waiting for him to speak.

Cracking his knuckles, he said, “Vic and Paris are in jail.”

“What?” asked Nicola.

“Not again,” said Mikel, shaking his head.

Jessamine narrowed her eyes. “Again? What do you mean again?”

Dom, looking at Nicola and Jessamine, said, “Paris entered Vic’s apartment while he was with Meagan Heathrow and attempted to steal Meagan’s boots. When Meagan confronted her, Paris punched her in the nose.”

“She hit her?” Nicola asked, her green eyes widening.

“That girl has a problem with stealing, and now she’s becoming abusive. It’s shocking that she hasn’t been arrested more times. How’d Vic end up in the cell with her?” asked Mikel.

“Oh, you’re gonna love this,” said Dom. “He bribed a cop.”

Jessamine’s head dropped into her hands as she let out a groan. “Why didn’t he call us?”

“He just did,” replied Dom. “Apparently, I need to better teach him how to handle these types of situations. Anyway, I told Brett to leave ‘em in there tonight to think about what they’ve done. We can deal with them tomorrow after the festival has ended. Brett will keep things quiet for now. No use causing a commotion in the middle of our largest event of the year.”

“What about the media?” asked Jessamine. “Won’t Meagan talk?”

“Nah, unlike our son, I know how to deal with these situations properly. I called our lawyer. It’ll probably cost us a little, but tonight’s episode won’t reach the media. Little Mrs. Heathrow has enough to lose. She dropped the charges for fear that her husband might find out the truth. Spending one night in county won’t kill Vic or Paris. If anything, it’ll make them think twice before acting out next time.”

“Tomorrow, we need to sit down and have a real discussion about how to handle our children,” said Mikel.

“What do you mean, our children?” questioned Jessamine.

“Jessamine, come on,” said Dom. “Our son isn’t much better. He’s constantly losing his temper at work. He sleeps with a different woman every other night. They’re both on a destructive course. If we aren’t careful, something much worse than a night in jail could happen. The papers have picked up on his demeanor and Paris’s. They know about the overdose and that she’s accused of theft. Anyone who isn’t blind can see she’s been separating herself from the family as much as possible. Mikel and I have had to talk her out of trouble more times than we care to admit. Our children have been a growing disaster ever since—” stopping, he let out a deep sigh and shook his head. “You know what I’m saying.”

“Yeah,” replied Mikel. Reaching out, he patted Dom on the shoulder. “We all hoped they’d snap out of this destructive behavior, but they haven’t. It’s time to do something before we lose them too. Tomorrow, we meet early to discuss a plan of action. We’ve all enjoyed too much drink tonight to launch any serious plans. Let’s try to salvage what’s left of this evening. The kids are safe, for now.”

Raising his glass, Mikel looked at his partners. “A toast to change, my friends. Tomorrow’s a new day.” The wheels within his mind had already begun to spin.