DARIO

Gwen was curled into a ball on the chaise lounge, a cup of coffee in hand. He stopped before her, holding out his hand. “Help me with these links?”

She carefully set down the cup of steaming coffee and reached forward, fastening the buttons and cufflinks with quick efficiency.

He nodded at the clock. “Shouldn’t you be heading out to lunch?”

She made a face before settling back against the padded upholstery. “I’m just putting it off as long as I can.”

He moved to the sofa, picking up the open laptop. “Did we get the projections from Tim?”

“Yeah. I left them open. Twelve percent higher than the Britney show.”

He said nothing, scrolling down the document, his eyes moving over the numbers.

“One of us should meet with them.”

He grimaced. “In San Diego?”

She reached for her coffee, studying the caramel depths of it. “You didn’t come home last night.”

He lifted his eyes off of the screen and looked at her. “Work ran late. I caught a few hours of sleep in one of the suites.”

“With who?”

He closed the lid of the computer and stood, coming to stand before her. “What’s wrong? You don’t ever ask me about that.”

She shrugged, lifting the ceramic mug to her lips. He reached forward, carefully pulling it out of her hands.

“Is it the waitress?”

He shook his head. “I ended that. This is a new girl.”

She bit the edge of her bottom lip, a crack in her composure before she shot him a wry glare, one that fit their normal roles. “My husband, breaking hearts all over Vegas.”

He didn’t smile, didn’t respond to the playful tones of her barb. Something was wrong, a chink in their seamless arrangement. He knew what the issue was on his end—he was falling in love with Bell. But he didn’t know what was going on with her. And both of them having issues … that was a situation that needed to be resolved. He set down her cup. “Talk to me.”

Her eyes met his. “I could say the same to you. Is something wrong?”

He ran a hand over his face, smoothing the skin, and giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts. “I like her.” Nothing for you to worry about. He couldn’t voice that lie. Already, he could see the pool of trouble that Bell was going to cause.

“You. Like. Her.” Gwen said the words slowly, as if her mind was trying to translate them. “Like. That’s it?”

“Yes.”

Her gaze found his and he felt exposed in the heat of her stare, the way she examined every tic of his face and looked for more. But she didn’t know what deceit from him looked like. Not when he had never lied to her before, had never needed to, had never risked their marriage in this manner before.

“Don’t worry.” His words came out strong and powerful, protection wrapped in every syllable. He interrupted her examination with a kiss, leaning forward and pressing his lips against her forehead in a solid and firm movement.

It felt wrong and, for one of the first times in their marriage, he felt dirty.

GWEN

Her father sat across from her, his head down, focused on the rack of lamb falling victim to his knife. He cut it with quick and short precision, the blade flashing in the afternoon sun, each crunch of gristle and bone giving her a fresh shot of panic.

Every lunch with him was the same. A sixty-minute session of nerves and anxiety, lies and promises, threats and fulfillments. How had she ever survived twenty years under his roof? How had she emerged in one piece? What would she have done without Dario?

Three questions Gwen asked herself constantly. Three questions that never produced answers.

“Everything okay with you and Dario?”

She looked up from her wine to find him watching her, his lamb spared, his eyes pinned on her. She forced a smile. “Of course.”

But it wasn’t. For reasons unknown to her, their ground was shaky, the foundation cracked. Dario was failing to fix the issues, to right their heading. She thought of their conversation this morning, the way his voice had changed when he had brushed off his newest fuck. He had told her not to worry, had promised her that everything was fine. But it wasn’t. Something was off. And chances were, this girl was the reason.

“I can keep an eye on him, if you’d like.”

Her father’s offer was a red flag, the sort she’d heard all of her life, a casual suggestion that had always ended in disaster.

I’ll talk to him about your grade. Professor Vance, showing up in class with a cast on one arm, his eyes down, hands trembling when she approached his desk. The shiny and perfect A that had appeared on her report card, paired with a glowing recommendation letter for colleges, unrequested and filled with descriptions that sounded nothing like her.

She shouldn’t disrespect you like that. Her friend Charlotte, who made a mistake and kissed Gwen’s boyfriend. He’d broken their relationship off, Gwen had cried, and Charlotte had disappeared, her remains found nine months later, her bones picked clean by coyotes and vultures.

No date for prom? How can that be? The singer from the Backstreet Boys, who had shown up on their doorstep, a rose in hand, fear in his eyes. She had hoped for a kiss, but he’d practically sprinted away at the end of the night.

Her father was a man with unlimited means, yet violence was always the answer.

“I don’t want you to keep an eye on him.” She spoke emphatically, trying to get through his psychotic head, but her father’s lips tightened, some idea behind the gesture. She reached out and touched his hand in an attempt to catch his attention. “Dad. My marriage is fine. Dario is great. I don’t want you doing anything to mess that up.”

He didn’t respond, and her touch tightened. “Dad. Promise me that you’ll leave Dario alone.”

His gaze finally moved to her face and he gave a slow grin that only alarmed her further. “Of course. I’m not going to touch a hair on Dario’s head. Why would I?” He spread his hands and raised them in the air. “Why would I? I love that kid.”

And he always had loved Dario. It was one the reasons their marriage had worked. Her father had embraced Dario like the son he’d never had. He’d blessed their marriage and left them alone, never seemed to snoop around, or ask questions, or have any idea about their extracurricular activities.

So why the questions about her marriage? Maybe he had a plant out at the ranch, someone who had seen her and Nick. They hadn’t exactly been discreet, hadn’t felt the need to be on the three-thousand-acre ranch. And they hadn’t wasted a single hour of last weekend. She swallowed a smile at the thought of Nick, naked in the sunlight, the muscles in his arms when he’d moved above her, the taste of his kiss in the morning before breakfast.

It hadn’t been fair for her to press Dario about his feelings for this new girl. Not when Gwen had fallen for Nick years ago, their passion rekindled with every trip she made, her visits more frequent in the last year.

“Dario’s the only one who’s ever made you smile like that.” Her father spoke softly, almost tenderly, and she looked up from her plate, unaware that her face had given away her thoughts about Nick.

She nodded tightly, letting him believe the lie.

“You know I would never jeopardize your relationship with him. I’d do anything to protect it.”

She swallowed, reaching for her wine and lifting it to her lips, grateful for the distraction. She caught a glance at her watch and breathed a sigh of relief at the time. Lunch, almost over. Another grenade, almost avoided.

I would never jeopardize your relationship with him. I’d do anything to protect it. His words pounded through her head and she gulped at the wine, finishing the remainder of the glass.

BELL

I was running, feet smacking against the pavement, vintage Dr. Dre thumping through my earbuds when my phone rang. I wove around a brochure-passing stripper and pressed the button on my headphone cord, answering the call.

“Hello?”

“You sound busy.” Dario’s voice crackled through the earbuds.

I slowed to a walk, and glanced down the street where I could see the towers of The Majestic sparkling in the sun. “I got a minute.”

“I’m heading to San Diego tomorrow, just for a night. Want to come?”

A seven-foot-tall transvestite tottered by on uneven platforms. I moved aside to give her some room. “Flying or driving?”

“Driving. The plane…” His voice fell off and I wondered, for a moment, if I’d lost him. “The plane would cause too many issues for us, right now.”

“So we’re talking about a road trip. You and me.”

“Yes. I’ll try my best to keep both hands on the wheel.” There was a smirk in his voice and I grinned in response, the decision already made.

“I’ve got my last exam—I should be done around eleven. After that, I’m in.” I turned back, picking up my pace and jogging toward my car. A night away from my issues and his marriage, on a trip all our own… it would be nice.