Page 41 of Forgotten Comeback (Parisi Family #5)
Chapter
Forty
Taylor
“My best friend’s wedding reception is this afternoon. Oh my gosh, I didn’t get her a gift,” I realize.
“When did she get married?” my therapist asks.
“I’m not sure exactly,” I say, fiddling with my bracelet. “She kept it a secret.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“My feelings are hurt,” I admit.
She nods sympathetically. “That’s understandable.”
“Maybe, but I feel a bit hypocritical because I’ve been keeping secrets of my own. Remember the man I told you about who had sex with my ex-girlfriend? I sort of went on a date with him.” I omit the finger banging and the car banging and the new apartment banging…
“And you think that’s wrong?”
“I don’t know what I think.” I blow out a long breath. “He’s inspired me to start painting again.”
“That’s big.”
“Yeah, it is,” I agree, truly believing my creativity died along with my nana. “But he’s pushing for a relationship. And before you ask, he’s like only fifty percent emotionally available. Going in, I know he’s not telling me everything.”
Earlier, Gavin said you can find anything online. Not true. I’ve searched for Gavin Webb, and nothing comes up. No school records. Arrest records. Former addresses. Speeding tickets. Social media. The man’s a digital ghost.
“Have you told him everything about your history?” she asks gently.
“No,” I admit. “But he’s seen my prescription bottles, so he knows I’m taking them for some kind of mental health issue.”
“What’s the fear if you give this man a chance?”
“That I should’ve known better. That he’ll make a fool out of me.” I count off the reasons on my fingers. “That I’ll fall in love with him, and he’ll love me back.” That last I whisper.
“And why is that scary, to let someone love you?”
Before I can fumble for a response, I’m saved by the clock.
“That’s our time. For this week, I want you to journal on that question: ‘Why is it scary to let someone love me?’”
The topic is shoved out of my mind as I drive to Kat’s condo. Checking my forwarded mail, it’s bill, bill, bill. But the last envelope from an insurance company catches my eye.
Opening it, I grab the check, my eyes going wide at the zeros. Pay to the order of Taylor McKenna. The note line includes the renters insurance claim number.
Renters insurance? Did I have renters insurance? Who cares; this will put a nice dent in my debt!
There’s a sticky note attached to the back of the check.
The family takes care of our own. Unless you’re not one of our own…
Bribed and threatened in the same breath; I should have known it was too good to be true. Unlocking the condo, I enter the kitchen, but no Bonnie. Panic floods my body.
The mob wouldn’t kidnap my cactus…right?
My fingers tremble as I pull up Gavin’s contact and send him a message.
Do you know where Bonnie is?
Bubbles appear as I pace back and forth.
Yeah, the movers took her and all your things to your place this morning.
I let out a huge sigh of relief.
Why didn’t you tell me?
Got distracted when you asked me to masturbate with you.
I roll my eyes with a grin, my thumbs flying over my keyboard.
Go fuck yourself.
Later. I can’t right now.
And I can’t help but laugh.
Locking up behind me, I drive to my favorite art gallery, browsing for a wedding gift. Nothing catches my eye, and so I stop at the art store and buy an empty frame and canvas, scrawling an IOU over it.
With a gift bag in the front seat, I follow the GPS directions down the shore, continuing my audiobook.
Hold on, Father, because I’m about to take you to heaven.
Sister straps on her dildo…
Nope, enough of that.
I arrive at a showstopper of a beachfront property, with a security guard there to greet me at the gate. He motions for me to roll my window, and I do so. “Identification,” he says gruffly.
“Um, sure,” I say, fumbling for my wallet. Handing it over, I wait for him to eyeball me before checking something off a list and returning my license.
He silently walks around my car, peering inside before returning to my window. “Pop your trunk.”
I do as he commands, but if the guy breaks out gloves for an anal probe, I’m outta here. After my vehicle and I pass inspection, I’m instructed to pull through the gate, where another security guard directs me to park.
I’m already stressed by the time I step out of my car, and I haven’t even seen Kat’s husband yet.
Reaching the backyard gate, I’m halted by yet another guard. “Purse,” he tells me gruffly, and I sigh, handing it over. He rifles through it, when I spot Kat bounding my way.
We hug, and my friend tells the guard, “She’s good.”
“Gifts stay outside,” he tells me, pointing to a cart.
No clue why, but I do as I’m told, retrieving my purse before I follow Kat inside the party. “I still can’t get over this beach house,” I say in awe. “No wonder you were MIA.”
Kat shrugs. “Told you I was dealing with family stuff.”
“By family stuff, you mean sneaking off and marrying the boss of AC.” I lift an eyebrow.
“Fabio’s a restaurateur,” Kat corrects me.
“It’s alright; you’re part of this world now, and I’m not. I get it,” I say quietly.
“Hey, you’ll always be part of my world.” She bumps shoulders with me.
“Isn’t that a song from a princess movie?” I joke.
“It’s my party, so I’ll have you know I am a princess today,” she informs me primly. “How’s my condo working out for you?”
“It’s perfect; thanks again for letting me crash until I find a new place.” The lie slides off my tongue with unease.
“Of course; whatever you need,” Kat tells me.
“Not a thing. I didn’t even realize I had renter’s insurance, so that money coming through was a nice surprise.” I test the water to see if she knew about the check and the threat that came with it.
“That’s awesome,” Kat says, genuinely excited, and I feel guilty that I no longer trust her.
“Wait, did you get a new ring?” I change the subject. “Lemmie see.” Snatching my friend’s hand, I examine the unusual brown and yellow stone. “Your hubby went the non-traditional route.”
She beams, holding up her hand and admiring the ring. “We’re a non-traditional couple.”
“Bottle up and sell some of your newlywed bliss to me, please,” I joke.
“I’ll cut you a friends and family discount,” she assures me.
Family.
That offer does nothing to assure me.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” Kat asks.
“Oh, we broke up,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry,” she says apologetically.
“Eh.” I lift my shoulder. “Easy come, easy go. Isn’t that what you told me?”
“I was full of shit,” Kat admits.
I snort a laugh. “Trust me, I knew.”
“Was it that obvious?”
“That you were falling hard for a ‘restaurateur?’ Yes.”
She chuckles. “Hey, there are a few single men here—-”
“Nope. Gonna take a break from both teams.” Another lie slips off my tongue. “I need to figure out my life.” Now that is the damn truth. “Preferably over mimosas; I’ll pick you up Sunday at ten,” I say, wanting desperately for things to be easy between us again.
“Deal; but meet me here, and we’ll let my driver take us.”
“What is your life?” I marvel.
“Right?” Kat agrees. Someone snags her attention, and she waves. “Please, go grab a plate while I play the role of perfect hostess.”
“Go do your thing,” I tell her, and she hugs me before taking off.
Nerves have my stomach twisted like a pretzel, but I get in the buffet line. I’m not hungry, but it gives me something to do.
A beautiful woman a few years younger than me marches across the lawn with military precision. She snaps her finger, and a man with a clipboard trots over. “One of the ice cream machines is broken. Find somebody to fix it or remove it. I don’t care which, but do it now.”
“Yes, Valentina.” The man scurries away.
She turns around and nearly runs into a different man; this one has mob written all over him. “Sammy, why are you always in my way?” The woman snaps.
“You let me know where to walk so I’m not in principessa’s way,” he drawls with a hint of an Italian accent.
“The deep end of the Atlantic Ocean,” she says sweetly. “But since you’re here and have more brute strength than brains, move that broken ice cream machine out of sight.” She points out the machine.
He says something quietly that I can’t hear, and it must not be very nice, because the woman smiles politely but scratches her middle finger down her cheek.
Something else is exchanged, and he saunters to the machine and, damn, picks up the heavy-looking thing by himself, lugging it around the house.
The woman locks eyes with me, her demeanor softening. “Enjoying the party?”
“It’s really lovely,” I tell her, filling my plate with food I won’t eat.
“Thanks.” She smiles politely. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Valentina Parisi.”
Valentina extends her hand, and I hate that mine’s sweating as I extend mine for a shake. With the last name Parisi, this woman has to be a relative of the feared boss of Jersey. “Taylor McKenna. Friend of the bride.”
“Ah, nice to meet you. What?” Valentina calls over my shoulder. “Excuse me. Duty calls.” With that, she marches off.