Page 5

Chapter Five

Blaze

I have no idea what Ma has planned. All I know is that I’m the first to arrive. Sitting with my back against the unforgiving wooden pew, I slip the red invitation from the inner pocket of my suit jacket for the second time this morning.

I unfold it and reread the swirling calligraphy: Join me for a reunion, followed by today’s date, the time, and the address.

Family reunion? Nah. Haze is currently stuck in Italy. Can’t have a family reunion without the favorite son. I wonder what she has planned.

If my brother Haze had a reunion, he would host a black-tie midnight party under the stars on the banks of the glittering Italian lake, serving chilled champagne and oysters.

My idea of a reunion involves being in the Bronx with Paulie’s fresh sausage links sizzling on a charcoal grill set on a crumbling concrete patio in someone’s backyard. Cans of light beer nestle in coolers full of ice. Crazy kids running around chasing each other while the parents yell at them to stay away from the hot grill.

Ma’s idea of a reunion? No clue. That woman has more tricks up her sleeve than David Copperfield.

I didn’t even know this shindig was at a church till my driver pulled up to this stone cathedral.

She instilled in me the importance of always being well-dressed. Thankfully, I threw on a suit this morning, ironing the white button-down I wore underneath. I even used starch; Cleo would be proud.

I glance at the sunlit stained-glass windows depicting miracles. The cool stone walls feel rough under my fingertips. Back in a church, I’m reminded of my brother’s wedding.

Haze looked happier than I’d ever seen him. He couldn’t take his eyes off his beautiful bride, Ophelia.

My focus was on Cleo. I heard she and Keith were on a break, and I seized the opportunity. She succumbed to my charms, and we ended up having sex in the back of the church.

And later, in my bed.

God forgive me for my sins.

At least our parents had divorced by then, so we weren’t related at that time.

I have only a few days left here in New York, and then I’m back to the real world, my responsibilities, and the beautiful Italian estate by the lakeside where I now live. I’ll return to work, put these few days of partying behind me, and push my feelings for Cleo down.

Always there. Always simmering just below the surface. Always under my control.

I almost lost myself in that kiss. I wanted to do so much more to her than touch her. I wanted to taste her—everywhere. When she left the hotel, I refused to wash my hands until necessary, bringing my hand to my face every so often to inhale the intoxicating perfume that is her.

I’m going to miss teasing Cleo. It’ll be a while before Ma pulls another stunt to bring me back to the city.

Haze and I have a good thing going in Italy. I didn’t know I had a half-brother until a few years ago, and I can’t seem to get enough time with him. I’m the unashamed Labrador puppy at his feet, following him everywhere he goes.

He’s a good man, and I’d do well to follow in his footsteps. However, I won’t be getting married. Only one girl on this Earth could ever captivate my attention for eternity.

Speak of the angel and she shall fall from heaven. Looking every bit as glorious as the sun-streaked heavens above, they sing her praise.

She wears a cute little blue dress with short, lacy sleeves that flutter at her shoulders.

Please tell me Ma didn’t ask the family of every man she married.

Cleo turns to me. I’m caught off guard by the low-cut sweetheart neckline I hadn’t noticed earlier. My favorite pair of boobs are on elegant display. My cock aches. Don’t stare at her chest.

Do not stare at those beautiful breasts.

I rise from the pew to greet her, offering her a smile as I call out her name. “Cleopatra. My queen.”

She startles when she sees me, instantly blushing in a way only I can make her. Sometimes, when I’m falling asleep at night, I fantasize about making that rose color come to her cheeks. I make her blood rush; that’s one thing she can’t deny.

“Oh, hey!” Her brow furrows. “Wait—what are you doing here? My dad invited me…”

Her words trail off, and we stare at one another. A beat later, we come to the same realization.

“Here comes the bride,” I sing off-key. “Again.”

Moaning, she buries her face in her hands and gives a muffled cry. “No way. They cannot remarry!”

Massive life changes with no warning are Cleopatra’s nightmare—her absolute version of hell. “Hey, good news! We’ll be stepsiblings again?”

“No!” she whines. “We can’t go through another Sharon-Falcon breakup. Do you know how much meat he went through? He ate enough pastrami sandwiches to feed a small village.”

I’d be offended, but I assume she is more upset at our parents' irresponsibility than at being related to me again.

I think .

I hope.

“Hey, it’s not that bad. Right?”

“What could make them think that when their marriage didn’t work the first time, it will work now?” She briefly eyes my white shirt. “Hey. Did you do that yourself?”

“Yeah. Once upon a time, a little cutie taught me how to iron.”

“I don’t know about the cute part, but nice work.”

“I also had one of those vitamin-packed protein shakes you recommended for breakfast when we lived together.”

“Did you? I guess something good came out of us being related after all.” She smiles approvingly, that warm, pretty grin that makes me feel like the ground softens beneath my feet. It quickly turns sour. “You have got to talk some sense into them before your mom and my dad…” Her words trail off, and her gaze wanders.

Ma is choosing this moment to breeze over so smoothly it appears there’s a damn escalator hiding beneath her.

“Someone talking about me? My ears are burning.” A waft of her familiar perfume reaches me. She wears a cream-colored suit tailored to her figure, and her highlighted hair is styled to perfection. She looks good.

“Hey, Ma.” I lean over and kiss her cheek.

She’s positively glowing. I eye Cleo. Surely, she sees how happy she is.

Ma offers me another smile. “Your brother couldn’t make it? ”

It’s okay. I’m getting pretty good at not being offended for not being Haze. “Only one of us could leave work.”

“I thought you ‘made’ men make your own rules,” she sniffs.

“Not always.” I attempt to cover a very real concern about what’s going down in the Bachman world with a joke: “And we all know I’m your favorite, so I got to come.”

Falcon joins Ma. Cleo’s dad is a big man with a thick neck and salt-and-pepper hair that curls just above his ears. The deep lines etched into his suntanned face light up with a warm smile as he strides down the aisle in his beloved worn leather Ariat boots. He welcomes his daughter with a big bear hug; the soft creases of his well-loved brown leather blazer crinkle as he envelops her in a warm embrace.

“Sweetheart! You’re as pretty as a peach. Man, I’ve missed you.” He gently kisses her cheek.

“Dad!” She rises on the balls of her feet, smiling for him as she reciprocates the kiss. “I know. With the move, I haven’t been able to see you much. How’s Arizona?”

“Hot as balls!” Falcon gives a giant belly laugh.

Ma smiles, linking her arm with his. “Just another reason he’ll be moving back to New York with me after this wedding.”

He runs a big hand over his graying beard, his grin twinkling in his eyes. “Surprise! I’ll be moving back in with Sharon. ”

“Two big surprises in one day.” Cleo tries to smile, but it’s clear she does not like surprises.

“Shall we?” Falcon puts a hand on my shoulder. “The four of us will be at the altar. Bride, groom, and my lovely daughter Cleopatra and my son Blaze as our two witnesses.”

“Let’s go.” I glance at the priest, hoping he’s not going to ask the whole ‘if anyone should know a reason these two should not be wed’ question.

There’s a small crowd of guests in the pews. The four of us head to the altar for the brief ceremony. Cleo quickly moves beside her father, as far from me as possible. Fine. I was gonna stand by Ma anyway.

Afterward, Falcon and Ma kiss, but this time, there seems to be a deeper connection behind their embrace. Years ago, it was a lustful smooch too X-rated for church. Today, they gaze into one another’s eyes for a long time before they come together for a serene kiss.

I’m touched. Cleo’s face creases with worry. The priest looks at his watch.

Our five minutes are up.

Cleo says nothing, her eyes raising to Christ on the cross, probably praying for all of our already lost souls. Ma and Falcon go to a small table in the corner to fill out paperwork. It shouldn’t take too long since they’ve done this once. They should know where to sign.

Abandoned at the altar, Cleo and I stand awkwardly in silence. The few people Ma invited sit in the pew behind us, chatting quietly. Cleo’s phone goes off, interrupting the quiet.

“Whoops, forgot to silence it. Didn’t know I’d be at a wedding.” She slips the phone from the pocket of her dress—one glance at the screen and her brow knits, pain displayed on her face.

It’s got to be Keith.

“Don’t answer it,” I command.

She looks up at me, pensive. She silences the call. The phone goes back in her pocket.

He’s the only serious boyfriend she’s had. I could see a situation where she gets back with that asshole because it’s comfortable. My stomach twists in knots just thinking about her being back with that gremlin. He doesn’t deserve to live after what he did to her, much less get even one second of her attention.

The thought of being a world away in Italy, with no control over him and no way to convince her otherwise, makes me physically ill. I blurt the words out before I think them. “You’re coming to stay with me for the summer.”

“No. I’ll stay with Seraphina. I’ll be fine.” But she’s pulled her phone back out of her pocket. She’s glancing down at the screen, her fingertip itching to dial.

I take her phone from her, slipping it into the inside pocket of my suit jacket.

“Blaze. What are you doing?” She reaches out to take it back .

I kiss her hand, then place it back down at her side. “You don’t want to be with him. I know you don’t. You crave familiarity. You’re a creature of habit.”

She stares up at me. “What do you mean?”

“We may have only lived together briefly, but your breakfast never changed. OJ, toast, a slight smear of strawberry jam, and no butter.”

Her eyelids flutter. “You remember my breakfast?”

“You carried the same purse and wore the same pair of shoes every day, while most girls your age had full closets of accessories. And I know money wasn’t the issue because though you’re incredibly thrifty, we’ve got a great Salvation Army in our hood, loaded with donations from the Upper East Side you could have chosen from.”

“That is a good thrift store,” she agrees.

“And your weekend routine was the same. Every time. Study on Friday. Late-night movies, junk food, and giggling in the living room with your girlfriends on Saturday night. Church on Sunday.”

Her face softens. “How do you remember this stuff?”

I shrug. “Dunno. But I do.” When it comes to Cleopatra, I remember everything. “You’re staying with me,” I say again, my tone even firmer this time.

She shakes her head. “No. I won’t go back to him. I promise. I may be weak, but I’m not stupid.”

“Serphina is a photographer. Won’t she be working non-stop in the summer? ”

“Yeah, you're right.” She stares up at the window of Jesus multiplying loaves and fish. “But it’ll be good to have some quiet alone time. It’ll give me time to decompress from the school year.”

She doesn’t like sleeping alone. I’d even caught her passed out on the couch with all the lights on. Of course, like any good stepbrother, I tried to get her into my bed to sleep with me. She refused. Weird, I know. “I’ll bet she has a big apartment. Could be spooky.”

“I’ll be fine.”

I wonder if Keith knows all this stuff about her. I wonder if he even cares. If she were my girl, there wouldn’t be a single night she’d be out of my arms. I’d never let her out of my sight. She’d never be scared or lonely or?—

“I’ll be fine. Promise.” Cleopatra interrupts my mental declaration of love with her final argument for staying. “Besides, I have a friend’s wedding I’m going to over the summer.”

“Who?”

“Lydia. We went to college together. Same teaching program.”

“When is it?” I ask, offering, “I’ll bring you back for it. I could be your date.”

She sniffs.

I balk at her sniff. “You’re too good to be seen with me?”

“No,” she laughs. “You’re too hot to be seen with me. People would talk.” She rolls her eyes jokingly. “Especially Seraphina. ”

“Why?” My brows waggle involuntarily as I tease, “Has she got a thing for me?”

“No. But the fact you’re even asking reminds me of another reason I’ll not be moving to your Italian mafia lair. You have a rotating bedroom door. I saw it myself the other day at your hotel. I’m sure Italy is no exception. I’d only be in your way.”

“I’m not as much of a slut as you make me out to be,” I argue. “I’ve never even had a girl at my current Batcave.”

“Batcave?” she asks.

What’s wrong with wanting a Batcave? “You mentioned my lair. I’d prefer you to refer to it as my Batcave. Lego Batman is my favorite movie, after all.”

Her brows knit with surprise. “It is?”

“Why is that surprising to you?”

“Um… you’re a major player in a crime organization that controls New York City and is now expanding to Italy. I’m picturing you watching, I don’t know…” She shrugs. “Sopranos… The Godfather? Something a little heavier than a kid’s movie.”

I stare at her.

Does she really not understand the humor and charm of the Lego Batman movie?

I make my first point. “I would think a teacher of all people would A, not stereotype me.” Then my second point. “And B, you would understand the joy of media and not place an age on it. ”

“I apologize,” she says. “I’m sure you wouldn’t exhibit stereotypical criminal behavior.”

“Right.”

“Like breaking into a man’s apartment and attacking him. You wouldn’t do anything like go all-out mafia on my boyfriend?—”

I hold up my hand to make a necessary correction. “Ex. Boyfriend.”

“Threatening him? Punching him in the face? Attacking him in his home?” She plants her hand on her hip.

“Let’s get back to your OG argument for not coming.”

She gazes up at the ceiling. “What was it again? I’ve forgotten, Batman.”

“Girls.”

“Ah.” She snaps her fingers. “That’s right! The girls.”

“There are none,” I say. “I work when I’m home. There’s little time for play. I spend as much time as possible with Haze and Ophelia. Ophelia and I just hit the highest level on our game.”

She cocks her head to the side, giving me that teacher-investigator look like she’s trying to figure out who took a bite out of the pink Play-Doh. “Family time, huh? No girls?”

“Why is that so surprising to you?” A nagging irritation creeps up the back of my neck.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “When you joined the Bachman Brotherhood, I just kinda pictured you sleeping with Italian olive oil heiresses, their surgically enhanced busts dripping in diamonds.”

“Boobs, enhanced or otherwise, are awesome, but I prefer natural. And you happen to have the prettiest pair I’ve ever seen?—”

She heaves an exasperated sigh, her chest rising, proving my point. “Stop right there, please.”

“I’m curious what other fantasies you’ve had of me. Any naughty ones?”

“You, sir, are insufferable. And no. No… ‘naughty fantasies,” she lies. “Though I have pictured you and some big guys clad in black leather smuggling buckets of cocaine into the country via super yachts?”

“I’ve seen too many friends lose their futures in the projects.” I shake my head. “You know I don’t touch drugs.”

After a brief pause, her lovely eyes meet mine. “I'm sorry. That wasn’t fair of me. I know you would never do something like that. I let my imagination run wild, inspired by Hollywood.”

“It’s all good.” I find it hard to stay upset with her for long.

Still, she tests my patience, returning to detective mode and asking, “What do you do, exactly?”

“Come stay with me and find out.” I run the tip of my tongue over my bottom lip, hoping to entice her.

“No, thank you,” she says firmly .

She’s softening to the idea, which is good. Cause she’s going to be on that jet tomorrow, even if I’m carrying her over my shoulder, kicking and screaming.

“I feel like a bad word for making the smuggling drugs comment. I know you’re fiercely loyal to your family. I love that about you.”

Please. Cleo. Tell me more about what you love about me…

“I don’t doubt you're spending every moment with Haze, catching up on lost time.” She looks down. “I am sorry. Truly. It’s not fun when people make assumptions about you.”

“You know what they say about assumptions?” I tease. “They get your ass spanked.”

Pretending her face didn’t just heat to 300 degrees, she ignores my comment. “I’m just saying, I know how stereotyping feels. Everyone thinks I’m some goody-goody two-shoes.”

Staring at her, I blink. Twice.

“What?”

“You are a goody-two-shoes.”

“Not always! I can… I can be… bad.” Hearing herself, she does a full-body cringe.

“You’re very, very good. I like your goody-goody ways.” I move in, my hot breath tickling her ear. “But if you ever want to play the bad girl, I can help. And if you do try to contact that son-of-a-bitch ex of yours, I will punish you. And a delicious orgasm will not follow. ”

I pull back so I can enjoy the show, taking in her adorably sexy reaction.

She was speechless, with rosy cheeks and shining eyes. Oh, what I could do to her in the back of this church right now. I reach for her waist?—

Lucky for her, my phone rings.

It’s my brother. I pick up on the first ring. “Haze.”

“Blaze. Listen closely.” His voice is deep, laced with the heat of danger. “Get everyone out of there. Now.”