Читать книгу Secrets Of The A-List Box Set, Volume 3 - Майя Блейк, Dani Collins - Страница 13

Chapter Four

“You need to stop reading the tabloids, Tía. You know it’ll only upset you.”

Mariella whirled around to face her nephew. From behind the desk in her home office at Casa Cat, Gabe stared back at her with calm, steady regard.

Not for the first time, she wondered how he could remain so dispassionate, act like this was nothing but a storm in a teacup, when the tablet in her hand was trembling from the sheer force of her anger and outrage.

It didn’t matter that she’d relied on Gabe’s unruffled strength so many times in the past, and on many occasions in the last few terrible weeks. Right now, she would’ve loved to see a little of the righteous anger twisting inside her reflected in his eyes.

She’d thought the furor about the wedding would come before the occasion. This was turning out to be the bullshit after the storm. How could the media treat her this way? Not a single one of the wedding guests had turned down the lavish gifts offered to them. Many had even tweeted and Instagrammed their good fortune. Every single person who’d attended the Marshall-Scott wedding had left happy.

Except the media’s portrayal of it suggested the opposite, ripping into them about every tiny aspect of her daughter’s special day. How unnecessarily extravagant the whole affair had been. One had even called the whole thing gaudy, for heaven’s sake.

And not just that.

So what if she’d blown the twice the budget she’d intended to spend? They’d worked damn hard to earn every single dime of that money.

Hadn’t they?

The thought brought her up short, reminding her there was so much she’d taken for granted that she hadn’t known before. Renewed anger flashed through her bloodstream. Was there something the media knew that she didn’t? Something else waiting in the wings to sink its poisonous fangs into her vulnerable existence?

“Damn right it upsets me! Why aren’t you upset? Look at this.” She stormed over to the desk and thrust the tablet in his face, let him see for himself the damning headlines blazing across the screen. “They’re not letting this go. All the newspapers have been ripping the wedding to shreds, and it’s been over a week since Elana and Thom got married. This wedding was supposed to reestablish us as being stronger than ever. That we were forging ahead despite our adversities. Instead, they print this crap!” She almost spat at the words blazing at her.

Marshalls Flaunt Shameless Wealth While Harrison Lies Dying!

Marshall Bride Dragged to Wedding as Groom Suffers Cold Feet

A Diamond for Every Guest? Get Real, Elana Marshall!

Has Mariella Won the Crown of Most Garish, Over-the-Top Society Wedding?

“Garish! How can they take something so beautiful and trash it like this? There’s nothing in there about how beautiful my baby girl looked on her wedding day. Nothing about the love and laughter in the room. All everyone’s talking about is how much money we spent! What the hell business is it of anyone’s how much the wedding cost? It’s not as if we stole or borrowed it.” But could she say that with absolute conviction?

“Tía—”

“And what is this crap about Harrison lying dying? The news anchor’s report was supposed to shut down endless speculation.”

Gabe leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. “The paparazzi will always go for the most attention-grabbing headlines. You know that. This will all blow over very soon.”

Mariella shook her head, anger and panic welling up higher inside her. “I don’t think it will, Gabe. Not this time. And not until Harrison wakes up, at least.”

“Keep calm, Tía. Give it another week and it’ll be yesterday’s news.”

Mariella tossed the tablet onto the sofa, uncaring that it almost bounced to the floor. Hands on hips, she stalked back to where her nephew sat.

“That’s just the problem. What if this time next week, they’re still on this...this witch hunt? What if it’s even worse by then? They’re already damaging our brand, Gabe. A few of the hacks have started speculating as to whether our restaurants are overpriced. They’re questioning the quality of our business, whether we bribed our way into our last Michelin star. Can you believe that nonsense? It hasn’t affected our bottom line in any substantial way, yet, but I’m not prepared to sit back and watch them decimate our brand or our livelihood. Hell, a few of them are even wondering if with Harrison out of the way, I have what it takes to keep the business going. The utter gall of them!”

Gabe shrugged, still nonchalant. “Then give them something else to talk about.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Surely you don’t mean another scandal? If so, need I remind you that there are still questions about Harrison’s health?”

“Of course I don’t mean an exposé on Uncle Harrison. Come on, give me some credit. I meant give them something positive to talk about. Something that will either impress the pants off them or bore them out of their minds so they move to something or someone more salacious.”

Mariella took a few minutes to mull the suggestion over. Then she snapped her fingers. “That’s a brilliant idea, although I’m more in favor of impressing them, since apparently my daughter’s tasteful and beautiful wedding didn’t quite make the cut. We could throw a charity gala.”

Gabe’s nod was less than enthusiastic. “Or something more exciting?”

She tapped her forefinger on her bottom lip. “Well, it’s October. Halloween is almost here. Last year the Templetons threw a killer Halloween party that had everyone talking for weeks. But I know I can do it so much bigger and better...” Her finger tapped faster. “How about a masquerade ball somewhere attention grabbing? A-list invites only, of course. We sell the tickets and give the proceeds to charity. They can’t very well throw me to the wolves when there’s a worthwhile charity involved, can they?”

This time her nephew’s agreement was more energetic. “No, they can’t. And this could work very well. I have a few contacts in the media who owe me favors. I’ll make sure they’re invited. That way we’re guaranteed fair reviews.”

Mariella’s lip pursed, her hands back on her curvy hips. Against her stylish, off-white Chanel skirt suit, her perfectly manicured nails flashed an icy pale pink. “I don’t want fair. I want wow in capital letters and goddamn exclamation points.” She jerked her thumb at the discarded tablet. “I want those headlines to be wiped from everyone’s memory as soon as humanly possible.”

Gabe cracked a smile. “You ask for the world, Tía, and I will deliver it to you. Starting right now.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

Placated and less panicked now, Mariella even managed a small smile of her own. “You’re so good to me, querido. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

He looked up from his phone. “I promise you, you’ll never have to find out.”

They shared a solemn, bonding look. Then a ringing phone shattered the atmosphere. It was her personal cell phone. Mariella turned and headed for the large wall cabinet where she’d dropped her purse. As she fished the phone out, apprehension gripped her nape.

Then she exhaled sharply when her fears were confirmed. “It’s the clinic,” she blurted, fear climbing into her throat and paralyzing her.

What if Harrison had taken a turn for the worse? Or, equally disturbing, what if he’d woken up? In that exact moment, Mariella wasn’t sure which scenario she preferred. Dios mío, was she a bad person to even wonder about that?

“Answer it, Tía.” Gabe was standing beside her, calm and composed as ever, his voice a touch authoritative. In that moment, he reminded her a little of her husband.

Her finger slid across the screen and she raised the handset to her ear. “Mariella Santiago-Marshall.”

“Mrs. Santiago-Marshall. I hope I’m not disturbing you—”

“You’re not,” she cut across the chief medical officer’s voice. “What is it? Is my...is there any news on my husband?”

“Oh, no. Well, yes, in a way,” Dr. Malone answered.

“Yes or no? Get to the point, please.”

“I have good news, Mrs. Santiago-Marshall. Dr. Aebischer, the doctor from Switzerland, just arrived at the clinic. He’s here to treat your husband.”

Mariella frowned. “But I thought he wasn’t able to work here—he said we’d have to transport Harrison to the clinic in Zurich?”

The administrator laughed. “Well, so did we, but it turns out his schedule has suddenly freed up and he is able to bring some of his equipment and materials. Much to our good fortune, wouldn’t you say?”

She wasn’t sure why the “good” news didn’t please her as it should. Her gaze darted to Gabe, who was staring back at her with those steady, inscrutable eyes. “Yes, it’s wonderful news. How soon can he start?”

“Right away, once you give your consent for him to examine Mr. Marshall.”

“Yes, of course. Give him immediate access.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Santiago-Marshall.”

Mariella lowered the phone, a little relieved at the readiness with which she’d given her consent. She wasn’t a bad person. She wanted the best for her husband. She wanted Harrison to wake up.

Although...

* * *

Gabe knew what was coming even before his aunt pressed End on her phone. Knew it and girded his loins against it. Mariella had grown suspicious of everything and everyone ever since she found out her husband hadn’t been as open and honest with her as she’d thought.

Suspicion was a good thing, up to a point. But he couldn’t afford for her to start probing too deeply into his affairs. He already knew she was obsessed with finding out who the Fixer was.

“Did you know that this Swiss doctor was coming to Santa Barbara?” came the predictable query. “According to Dr. Malone, he just turned up at the clinic,” she murmured.

He produced the shrug he’d been mentally practicing. “I all but ruled him out when he stormed off. But this is great news, right?” He smiled and ran his hand affectionately down his aunt’s arm. “Harrison now has the best care possible.”

Mariella returned her phone to her purse, straightened. When she smiled, it was genuine and a lot relieved. “God, yes. Finally, something is going our way. Can you believe it?”

“Sure I can. Uncle Harrison is a good man. He deserves only the best.” And he’d worked hard to make it happen. Dr. Aebischer now knew the consequences of saying no to the Fixer. It was a shame he’d had to find out the hard way.

A little carefully applied pressure, a hint of blackmail and a sudden investigation into his clinic’s practices by a particular medical board had seen the good doctor’s Swiss practice shut down for the foreseeable future.

Did Gabe care that several of the doctor’s patients in dire need of attention had been left in the lurch? Hell, no. When it came to his mentor and the only father figure he’d ever known, Gabe would breach the depths of hell itself for Harrison. And woe to anyone who dared stand in his way.

* * *

“Luc, the wedding planner’s here. Are you coming down?” Rachel’s voice filtered through from the hallway, preceding the sound of her footsteps.

In the bedroom, Luc clenched his teeth for a single second before he neutralized his features. He wished he could shake off the vile mood he’d been in since his sister’s wedding.

“Sure, I’ll be right there,” he called out, hoping that would stop her from coming in to find him.

It didn’t.

She appeared in the doorway of his dressing room, a wave of displeasure sliding over her face as she took in the towel wrapped around his waist. “Baby, you’re not even dressed! Stefano’s been waiting for ten minutes.”

Luc met her irritated gaze in the full-length mirror he’d been standing in front of for the last five minutes, staring at nothing, and tried to stem his own annoyance.

“I was kinda hoping, what it with being a rare Saturday off for me, to not have to go traipsing around wedding venues. And with respect to Stefano, we’re paying him to deliver a service, not the other way around. I don’t give a fuck how in demand he is. He can wait a damn minute for me to get my pants on.” Luc took his time to select a pair of Versace cargo pants, a black T-shirt and his favorite Italian loafers.

He was pulling his leather jacket from the hanger when she approached and stopped in front of him, a full-mouthed pout on display. Her small hand trailed up his abs to rest on his chest. “Luc, I’m the daughter of a congressman. I can’t just get married anywhere I please. There are expectations. This wedding has to be perfect. Besides, you promised you would do this for me, remember? That we would do this together.”

Yeah, a promise made when he was more than halfway to getting hammered after almost unmanning himself with that garter fuckup with Vanessa at Elana’s wedding. Even days after the incident, he couldn’t think about it without feeling equal amounts of arousal and humiliation.

Luc could barely remember the so-called promise he’d made to Rachel afterward on the way home. But he couldn’t bring it up now, not without the risk of setting off the volatile spark he’d seen in his fiancée’s eyes after the incident. No, that was one subject he was going to leave the hell alone. And if that involved pissing away his Saturday venue hunting, then so be it. But he didn’t intend to be joyous about it.

He tugged on his jacket and grabbed his wallet and phone.

“Lead the way, honey. I’m all yours,” he said with as much false enthusiasm as he could muster.

The pout disappeared, and her trademark killer smile made an appearance. She slid her arms around his neck and angled her hips against his crotch with unmistakable teasing intent. “I would get down on my knees right now and show my appreciation, baby, but—”

“The esteemed Stefano is waiting. Yeah, I got that.”

Undeterred by his droll tone, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her mouth against his. “I promise to blow your goddamn mind later. But for now, know that I love you, Luc Marshall. So much.”

He should return the sentiment. Say something equally mushy. But the words stuck in his throat. So instead, he slid his arm around her waist and pushed his tongue into her mouth. By the time he lifted his head a minute later, she was flushed and her eyes glazed.

He let her take his hand and lead him out of the dressing room and downstairs to meet Stefano, the wedding whisperer.

A mind-numbing forty-five minutes later, after their driver had meandered through enough hills to make Julie Andrews burst into ecstatic song, he looked up from his phone as they drove through the gates of a sprawling ranch that wouldn’t have looked out of place on that old show Dynasty his mother used to love watching.

He read the sign as they passed under it.

Red Horn Stud Farm

Jesus fucking Christ. Was his fiancée really planning for them to get married at a stud farm?

He swallowed his irritation as the limo drew to a stop in front of what looked like a plantation house. The mansion was impressive, even by California standards, he had to admit. But still. What the hell was wrong with a priest in a church or a hotel, with a reception in a ballroom just like his sister had done?

He was still wearing the dagger marks from the glare Rachel had slashed him with when he’d suggested the very same thing last night. Apparently a hotel wasn’t good enough. And what had she said this morning? Oh, right. His future in-laws had standards to uphold. Because clearly marrying a Marshall wasn’t enough.

It had to be the château in France like the one he’d been roped into viewing online last night, a private island somewhere in the Caribbean or this here ranch.

Luc stifled another curse and threw open the door. He alighted to be greeted by the smell of horse shit. Fucking hell. Was he really supposed to take his vows while inhaling the aroma of freshly turned manure?

“Isn’t the house amazing? Wait till you see inside,” Rachel gushed as she slid her fingers through his. “It’s been in the same family for four generations.”

“Hmm,” he responded noncommittally. For a moment, he wondered whether he should give his mother a call, let her deal with this venue-chasing nonsense.

He sighed inwardly. He couldn’t call, because she was pissed off that Rachel wasn’t using a wedding planner from MSM. Stefano was her mother’s best friend’s, and she was going to be the bride, so... He fingered his phone all the same, the need to scroll through the wedding pictures his mother had sent to him this morning biting hard again. There were a couple in particular he hadn’t been able to stop looking at or thinking about. The one where Vanessa was standing alone, staring at the bubbles in her champagne glass. Fuck, she’d looked so gorgeous, basked in a single spotlight—

“Luc, are you sure you’re okay? You barely said a word on the ride over,” Rachel muttered heatedly under her breath as the owners of the mansion—a husband and wife wearing almost identical Stetsons, plaid shirts and jeans—led them through the endless reception areas on the property.

“I was thinking we probably should’ve taken the chopper instead of driving. We could’ve been done with this fucking thing an hour ago,” he replied, then belatedly bit his tongue.

He’d just invited another mood killer.

Predictably, Rachel’s expression dimmed. Flashing a fake smile at their hosts, who were busy drawing back drapes to show them yet another landscape, she turned her back on them and glared at him.

“This fucking thing? You mean our wedding? Or am I getting married to myself here? You said you wanted this. You said you didn’t want to wait to get married. Were you lying to me?” Her voice wobbled along with her bottom lip.

Jesus. Here come the fucking waterworks. The last thing he needed.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry, Rach. Of course it’s what I want.”

“Then what’s wrong? You’ve been grouchy all week. Did I do something?”

He rubbed a weary hand over his jaw, suppressing a sigh. Not even the thought that Rachel usually followed every did-I-do-something? query with a very physical demonstration of an apology could shift his mood. In fact, he was relieved they were in public so she couldn’t do anything like that.

The reason behind his relief darkened his mood further.

The wedding photos Mariella had sent weren’t the only things bugging him. He’d been unable to stop thinking about Vanessa since he walked out of Elana’s wedding. And the couple of times he’d gone to Casa Cat this week, he’d been damn sure she’d gone out of her way to avoid him.

What irritated him more than anything else was the fact that his head and heart couldn’t seem to take the hint. Why the hell couldn’t he stop thinking about her?

“Luc?”

He refocused on Rachel. “No, you didn’t do anything.” He attempted a smile, breathed a sigh of relief when the pinched look left her face. “I’ll do better. Promise.”

He followed her into the next room, made the right noises. Right up until they started discussing which brand of soap Rachel would prefer her bridesmaids to have in their bathroom. Fuck that.

He mentally checked out. Spent a not-so-blissful twenty minutes inside his head as the tour moved from the kitchens to the pillared terrace that overlooked a manicured garden almost as big as the one at Casa de Catalina.

“Mama says the guest list could get as high as fifteen hundred. Do you think we’ll need three or four tents? Luc? Luc!”

He jerked away from the pillar he’d been leaning against. A quick glance showed their hosts again at a discreet distance.

He preempted another outburst from Rachel by diving straight into it. “Look, it’s not you. It’s me. You’re right, my head isn’t in the game.” Wow, could he sound any more like one of the actors from D-grade rom-coms Rachel made him watch?

If he’d thought his answer would placate her, he was seriously deluded. She widened her eyes, arms folded, waiting expectantly for him to elaborate.

He latched onto the most obvious excuse with a pang of guilt. “I’m worried about Dad.”

Her face immediately gentled. She started to reach for him. They both stopped as his phone blared to life. Relieved, he glanced down at the screen, then his gut clenched.

“Rafe. Everything okay?” He couldn’t stop the snap in his voice. Luc knew his brother wouldn’t call him just to shoot the shit.

“Did Mom tell you about the new doctor?”

“Yeah, I spoke to her this morning.” It’d been after that phone call that his mother had emailed him a bunch of Elana’s wedding photos. “Apparently his schedule freed up. Great news for Dad, right?” Rachel, hearing his side of the conversation, smiled encouragingly.

“I guess. Let’s hope he performs his miracles sooner rather than later, though. This shit can’t go on much longer.” He heard the hope in his brother’s voice and couldn’t help but absorb some of it for himself. “Anyway, I’m at the house. Mom wants to know whether you’re visiting Dad today.”

“Yeah. Tell her I’ll swing by the clinic later, check out the new doctor.”

“Cool.” His brother hung up.

Luc slowly returned the phone to his pocket, then his gaze swept over the terrace and gardens. He wasn’t sure he believed in miracles. In his opinion, hard work and cold cash in the bank trumped faith any day. It was what had made the Marshalls a success. It was what had made him the man he was today. Except this time, he found himself hoping for just such a miracle for his father.

“He’s going to be okay, Luc. You’ll see.”

He turned at the sound of Rachel’s voice. Stared at the woman he’d asked to marry him. She was beautiful, poised and respectable, and their sex life was unbelievable. And yet, he felt no joy at the prospect of making her his wife. Was he making a mistake? What kind of man thought about another woman while picking out wedding venues with his fiancée? The kind who had probably jumped before he was ready?

“Rachel, I think we should postpone the wedding,” he said before he could stop himself.

Her face slackened in shock. “What?”

He held up his hand. “Hear me out. My dad already missed Elana’s wedding. I don’t want him to miss mine. I don’t think he’ll want to wake up and realize he’d missed not just one but two of his children’s weddings. I don’t think that’s fair to him, do you? This new doctor is the best there is. Why don’t we wait and let him do his thing? Dad could come out of his coma by this time next week. Then we can carry on with our wedding plans. What do you say?” he cajoled lightly.

She turned away from him, looking off into the gardens the same way he had moments before. There was a displeased stubbornness to her profile that made his stomach clench in anticipation of a fight. And he probably would stand his ground, because now that he’d spoken the words out loud, he knew he wasn’t ready for a wedding. Not just yet. Not until he had his head on straight about a few things. Mainly Vanessa.

“You’re right. It would be great if Harrison woke up to the news of our engagement and another wedding in the works. It would make missing Elana’s a little easier to bear, right?”

Relief punched through him. “Exactly. Thank you, baby.”

She turned and slid her arms around his waist. “Of course. I won’t intrude on your time, but I hope you don’t mind if Mama and I keep working in the background. We don’t want to lose the momentum we’ve got going, and of course we’ll be in constant contact with your mother with all of the details. But in the meantime...” She let her voice trail off.

Relief turned to something else. Something not so pleasant. “Yeah?”

“We should get back home and think of other things that might please your father to know when he wakes up.”

Tension ramped up his spine. “Things like?”

She toyed with the collar of his T-shirt. “Oh, I don’t know. My birthday’s coming up. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a party? I know what I want. And what would possibly make everyone else happy.”

“What’s that?” he pressed reluctantly, knowing in his gut her answer wasn’t one he wanted to hear.

“Why, news of a baby on the way, of course, provided we get started right now. Wouldn’t that be the absolute best news ever for your father to wake up to?”

* * *

Nora grimaced at the unflattering hospital gown the technician had asked her to put on. Even before the material touched her skin, she knew the cotton would be scratchy and uncomfortable, nothing like the satin gown her doctor in Paris had provided before she’d been forced to switch practices.

In the not-too-distant past she would’ve gone to a much more exclusive practice than this one. But with her funds fast dwindling and the situation with Harrison still not resolved, she had to watch her spending. Much to her displeasure.

She wouldn’t have made an appointment with this ob-gyn at all. At least not here in Santa Barbara and this close to the Marshall family. While the word confidentiality was tossed about when reputations needed to be protected, she knew the chance to reap rewards from a scandal was never far away and more often than not trumped confidentiality.

She was probably being overly cautious, but after flinging herself into the Marshall family’s orbit twice in a few weeks, perhaps it was time to pull back a little. She couldn’t afford to let the cat out of the bag. Not just yet. Not when she hadn’t gotten to the bottom of where Harrison was hiding. Harrison had once told her she had an unforgettable face. Compliment or not, all it would take was some keen paparazzi to see pictures of her at the Marshall wedding for speculation to start. She couldn’t afford for her bargaining power to lose value before she had all the pertinent facts.

Anonymity was the reason she’d chosen a clinic on the outskirts of town.

She massaged the small of her back after she tugged off her Zac Posen sweater dress and draped it over a nearby chair in the sterile ultrasound room. Even that small effort was draining.

And that was the main reason she’d made an appointment with the specialist. The bone-deep tiredness had come out of nowhere. Despite her healthy diet and religious prenatal vitamin regimen, she couldn’t shake off the weariness.

For a couple of days, she’d tried to dismiss it. But now she was worried. This baby was her insurance and a passport to a far better life than she’d dreamed of. She couldn’t afford for either herself or the baby to be unhealthy. So although this was costing her a small fortune, she’d thought it best to get herself checked out before she boarded the plane back to Paris.