Stepbrother Thief (16 page)

Gill's waiting for me outside my room the next morning, leaning against the door in his usual wear—T-shirt, jeans, gun—his eyes hooded and thoughtful. When he turns to look at me, I feel his gaze scorching through me, burning away the navy jumpsuit I slipped into this morning, his attention lingering on my cleavage, on the curve of my waist, on the cutout detail that exposes my bare back as I turn and close the door softly behind me.

I'd been hoping to get up early enough to catch Aveline before she left this morning, taking last night's shift from Gill so he could finally get some sleep. So far, whoever this Karl guy is, he hasn't sent any more of his people after us. I'm hoping at this point that it was just a random fluke. A fluke that almost ended with me getting a bullet to the head, but hey, if it doesn't happen again, I'm willing to overlook that.

“
Bonjour,
” I say, smiling tightly as I cross my arms over my midsection and wait for Gill to say something, explain what he's doing here. When he doesn't respond, I decide to ask. “
Qu'est ce que tu veux?
”

“I wanted to talk to you about something,” he says, his voice tight and laced with an emotion that I can't quite place. It's not jealousy this time, although I'm still trying to figure out what that was all about. It sounds a little bit like … anger. I reach up and adjust my messy bun, noticing that Gill can't take his eyes off my face, my lips. I guess the haul of MAC makeup that I had Aveline bring over for me is worth its weight in gold.

I went simple but dramatic today—a little bit of liner, a dust of blush, and red, red lips. Pretty sure that's what's really getting Gill's attention.

“Is this about a cell phone?” I tell him, raising my brows. “Because Fia Levine could really use one to call her sister.” Gill waves his hand dismissively, like he doesn't give two shits about my desperate need to talk to Anika or Leilani. I stare at him, at the preoccupied expression that's taken over his strong face. “Not about a cell phone then.”

“I thought you might be open to going to breakfast with me. Aveline'll be here with Dad and Solène.” I purse my lips and tuck my hands into the stylish side pockets on the jumpsuit. On my feet, a pair of nude Jimmy Choo pumps stares up at me.

“Gill, every time you ask me to do something with you—take a walk, have a cup of coffee—things seem to go south pretty quick. What'll be different about today?”

“I want to talk about Solène.”

Ice travels up my spine, curling at the base of my neck and giving me an instant headache.

I stand completely still, refusing to let my body language give anything away.
You son of a bitch.
For years,
years,
I wanted Gill to look at our daughter and see
us
in her face, her eyes, her hair, her intelligence, her bravery. I wanted him to know without my having to tell him. I know it might seem selfish, foolish even, but knowing Gill the way I do, it shouldn't have been hard for him to figure out. He didn't
want
to see it.

The question is: does he see it now? Does he see
her
now?

“What do you want to talk about? Did something happen?” I ask, knowing full well that's not what this is about. Gill stands up straight, a veritable badass with muscles and a gun, a cold stare and a ruthless heart. I know it's ruthless because I've seen the edge of that cutting blade hit me right in the neck.

“I don't want to have this conversation here,” he says, his voice little more than a rough whisper. I study his clenched fists, the rise and fall of his chest as he takes several deep breaths. If he's finally figured out that Solène's his daughter, he sure is having a strange reaction to the news. Gilleon's on edge, obviously, but there's something else there, that weird anger I keep picking up on. “And anyway, I'd love to take you to breakfast.”

Love to.

What do I make of that?

I reach up and touch the diamond pendant for reassurance. I wish I were half the mother that my mom was. Even if Anika might disagree with me, I know Elena always did what she thought was best. Letting my sister move in with her grandma, that almost killed her. But she did it because she didn't want Anika to hurt anymore, didn't want the sting of losing our father to snap back and blind her a second time. My sister didn't want a stepfather; I don't know how I'd live without him.

“I'm not sure what you mean by that,” I begin, trying to gauge Gill's facial expression. He holds my gaze, but gives me nothing to go off of. I lift my hands up in surrender and let them fall to my sides. “But I'm up, I'm hungry, and I'm willing to hear what you have to say.”

I can be an adult about this, can handle it like the thirty-one year old capable adult that I am.

“Thank you, Regina,” Gill says, his voice rough, sliding across my skin and diving deep until I can almost feel the words reverberating in my bones. He tries on a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes, giving me a sad, sad glimpse of the teenage boy that he used to be. “I'll try not to be an asshole today, okay?”

“Okay,” I say with a false smile of my own. Deep down though, a tiny thread of hope stirs inside of me. If he has made the connection about Solène, maybe he'll handle it like an adult, too. Maybe, just maybe, we can conquer this once and for all.

It'd be a good start for my new life—a great start.

The car ride to the restaurant is a bust, a void of sound and conversation that makes my ears ring.
Talk to me, damn it,
I think, wishing Gill would just bring up the subject and get it out there for us to discuss. I want to know what he's thinking, if this is all really about what I think it is. There's no way I'm bringing it up first.

I glance over at Gilleon, at the tightness in his jaw, at his hands wrapped so firmly around the steering wheel. There's that anger again, showing in his face as it bubbles up inside of him again. It seems like the more he thinks about this, the worse he starts to feel. That's what happens when you internalize feelings like that.

I am going to handle this situation with grace and poise. I'm calm and I'm ready for this.

I touch the diamond pendant again.

“That was your mom's, right?” Gill says finally, snapping the bubble of silence wide open. Sounds rush in around me—the whir of cars outside the window, the splatter of rain on the roof, the gentle buzz of the radio in the background.

“It was,” I say, leaning back against the seat and closing my eyes against Gill's scent. Even after all this time, he still smells like bergamot oil, like a really good cup of earl gray tea. Strong, masculine, but with this undertone of sweetness that makes my mouth water. Shit. “Why do you ask?”

“I remember her wearing it is all.”

And then he stops talking again, bringing up our past like it's nothing, and dropping it just as quick.

It's a relief when we finally get to the restaurant, and I scramble out of the car before Gill can come over and try to open my door. He did it when we got in and it just made things that much more awkward. I don't want to see any shallow examples of chivalry from him.

“Two please,” he tells the waitress when we step inside the café. She nods and takes us to a table in the back, right up against a bank of windows overlooking the street. Plants hang from the steel beams overhead and crowd the boxes in the corners, filling the room with a sweet, floral scent. The floors are cement, the tabletops made of reclaimed wood. Yep. We're definitely in the corner of eco-friendly and industrial chic.
Welcome to Seattle.

I order an espresso and then lean back in my chair, letting my eyes trail over the restaurant. Gill is definitely getting some looks, but so am I. I wonder if we make an interesting couple? I always thought we complemented each other well.

“The omelets are damn good,” Gill says as he copies my pose, leaning back and acting like it's no big deal that he's got a gun tucked under his black jacket. He knows exactly how to sit so that the front of the coat gapes open, but the weapon stays invisible. He even pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, making it seem like the jacket's a fashion statement instead of a necessity.

We stare at each other again, something we seem to be doing a lot of lately. It's hard to explain, but seeing someone you used to know so well after so long, after they've become a stranger, it's a weird feeling. I imagine it'd be easier to start a brand new relationship than repair one that's deteriorated to this level.

“It's been good having you around,” Gill says and my lips purse. “Even if you hate me,” he adds which just irritates me. I know he's trying to make light of his first comment, but it isn't working.

“I don't hate you, Gill. I just don't understand you, don't understand what it is that you want from me. You keep sending mixed signals. One moment, you couldn't care less, and the next, you're just staring at me.”

“Is Solène your daughter?” he asks suddenly, and I feel lightheaded, like the restaurant is spinning in circles around me and I'm the one sitting still. Gill stares hard at me, his blue eyes open and locked onto their target. “I've been watching you with her, and I can't get past the resemblance.”

“I …” It takes me a moment to figure out the expression on his face, understand the anger resting there, realize what his exact words were.
Your daughter.
He doesn't think she's his. Whether it's because of the false birthday or because he's so unwilling to face the truth of his life, I don't know.

I feel sick.

I stand up and the room shifts around me.

“Please don't walk way,” Gill says just before the waitress sets my espresso and his orange juice down on the table. She gives me a look and then scurries away like she'd rather not get involved. I decide to sit down, but not because Gill asked me to, because I have nowhere else to go. I don't have a car, don't have the money he promised me yet, don't have a phone.

“What are you asking exactly?” I ask, my voice breathy.

“Is Solène your biological daughter?”

“Yes.” That one single word burns across my tongue as I say it, and I find that I can't look at Gill, can only look down at the place setting in front of me, the cup and plate with the word
espresso
stamped all over them in cursive writing.

When I glance up, I see Gill nodding, the muscles in his shoulders tight and stiff, his teeth clenched.

“I thought so,” he says and my stomach drops. I pick up my coffee with shaking fingers and take a scalding sip, not caring that it sears over my tongue. “I'm sorry to call you out like that, but I'm … I'm not usually this caught off guard by things.”
How's this for catching you off guard—she's your daughter, too, you asshole.
“Maybe this wasn't the right way to go about it, but I needed to hear it from you.”

“Damn straight it wasn't the right way,” I whisper fiercely, my temper flaring as I clench my own teeth and squeeze the espresso mug in my hand. “You brought me here to interrogate me about it, not to talk.”

“I'm not interrogating you, Regi. I'm just surprised is all.”

“Surprised?” I blurt, feeling a rush of white hot pain as I switch my gaze to his tattoos instead of his face. I can't look at him anymore without feeling sick. “How are you surprised? You've been gone for ten years, Gill. You don't know anything about me. I could have a half dozen kids for all you'd know.”

“I …” Gill sounds like he's about to say something and then changes his mind. “I just didn't expect you to go out and meet someone three months after I left.”

I stare at him across the table, completely aghast at his statement and his reasoning.

Gill is mad. He's upset. He's jealous. And all because he thinks I went out and fucked some guy a few months after
he
abandoned me.

“You really have changed, haven't you?” I say, standing up again. I have to fight the urge to throw my espresso in his face. But I, I am a fucking grown-up, and I will handle this like one. “The Gilleon Marchal I used to know was kind and sensitive and strong, not some stone hearted asshole who was quick to judge and even quicker to condemn.” I spread my fingers and stare at my palm for a moment before turning and walking away, right out the front doors of the restaurant and into the rain.

Droplets splatter against my hair, against my bare arms and the exposed skin on my back, but I don't care. I step out of my heels, grab them, and start walking down the street, right through the puddles and the scattered yellow leaves.

I know the second he starts after me, can feel his presence like a whirlwind chasing along the sidewalk.

“Regi, wait,” he says, catching up to me and slinging his jacket over my shoulders. “Please don't walk away. I'm sorry I said that. I …” His jaw clenches again and the next words come out in a low growl. “I'm just jealous.”

“Jealous?” I ask as I stop and turn to look at him, at the dark strands of hair plastered across his forehead from the rain. “Why would you be jealous? You left me, Gilleon. You walked away from what we had and never looked back.”

“Oh, I looked back plenty,” he snarls, and I can't tell if it's me he's angry with—or himself. I watch as droplets of water cling to his muscles, sliding across the black and gray of his tattoos, leaving them shining and stark in the clear morning air. “I've been watching you for years, Regi.”