“They’re in that corner.” He guides us through the restaurant, on-lookers staring and whispering as his presence spreads.
Marco, Karen, Tasha, and another couple are oblivious to our approach until we’re at the table. Tasha turns our way first, and there’s a millisecond flash of panic before her expression is a mask of indifference. A man in a suit steps from around the corner and Marco waves him off.
“Isaac, this is a surprise.”
“This isn’t a social visit, Marco, and nothing has changed on my end. Our relationship is over.”
“If that’s your position, why are you interrupting us with a mob?”
“Marco.” Karen grasps his forearm, her eyes wide and face pale. “Look.”
His gaze passes over all of us, then lands on my chest. He stands so fast, the table tips and glasses fall. “Why the hell is my daughter’s ring around your neck?”
The other couple looks strangely at Tasha and back to me.
“Because it had to be removed before her surgery today.”
“Surgery?” Karen whispers in horror. “Is she okay?”
“No, she’s not fucking okay, but Poppy isn’t your concern.”
Marco glances at Karen and then back to me. Karen’s lips tremble as she drops her chin, guilt written all over her. I note immediately neither of them shows any confusion or surprise.
“You wanna tell him or give me the honors?” My question is pointed at Tasha.
She barely shakes her head before Marco roars, “How do you know about this?”
“Caitlyn took on the name Poppy, and she works here.” Her whisper is faint, and it’s easy to understand why when he bends into her space, fists on the table, leveling her with a hateful glare.
“Why do you know this?”
“Deal with your family drama on your own time. Right now, you’re talking to me, and I have somewhere a lot better to be.”
Dante steps up with his phone and plays the video from security on Friday night. Marco’s face remains hard, but when Poppy hits the ground, the enraged flare in his eyes gives him away. Karen isn’t pale; she’s translucent watching Poppy.
“You haven’t seen or spoken to your sister in almost eight years and you trip her?” he seethes. “Then you get escorted out of a bar by security?”
“That video is doctored. She hit me! Twice. Isaac can confirm,” Tasha defends, looking at him for help.
“Don’t see that on the video, Natasha,” he counters. “I see a bitter fucking washed-up shrew trying to save face when she’s rejected.”
Her defenses kick into place and she straightens, her eyes going red. “You bastard.”
“Bitch, you aren’t worth the trouble.”
“Where’s my daughter?” Marco breaks in, unaffected by the total disrespect toward Tasha.
“You don’t deserve to know.” Ryanne spits her hatred across the table. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay the fuck away.” Dante slants an arm over her chest to hold her back.
“I’m unsure who you think you are,” Marco’s stony gaze cuts through all of us, “Who any of you are, that think you can dictate to me about how—”
“I’m her husband.”
Karen’s head snaps up, and Marco straightens, his face twisting. “Husband? When? For how long?”
“None of your business. We’re not here to break bread and throwback four-hundred-dollar bottles of wine. Why are you in Vegas? Don’t give me some bullshit story about coming to support your daughter’s ex-boyfriend.”
“Just to clarify, only one of the Bindel daughters was my girlfriend. And it wasn’t the one who put out,” Isaac throws in cheerfully, enjoying himself.
“Natasha organized for us…” Marco trails off, slumping into his chair.
Realization dawns on his face. “You knew she was here.”
“You set us up?” Karen accuses her daughter, breaking out of her stupor. She acts the part of shocked, but the tinge of ingenuity raises my suspicions.
“Something isn’t clicking,” Dad advises in my ear.
“I don’t know why everyone is looking at me. This is all crazy.” The master of manipulation clicks into place, and fake tears pool in Tasha’s eyes.
“Cut the shit. You’re a conniving bitch.” My voice quakes with rage, and Dad’s hand presses on my shoulder. “You investigated and found Poppy for a reason. What the fuck is your agenda?”
Her tears dry up, and she glares at me with hatred.
“Tasha, what is going on?” Marco demands to know.
She tosses her hair over her shoulder, reaching for her wine and taking a sip nonchalantly without a care in the world. A growl rumbles from low in my throat, an inferno boiling in my bloodstream. Dad’s grip tightens.
“For fuck’s sake, Natasha, stop stalling. What did you do?”
It’s a snide and curt delivery on Karen’s part, but still off.
Tasha jerks, clearly not used to being scolded by her mother.
“I’m sick of living in the wake of Caitlyn’s decision to leave. She needs to step up and take responsibility for her role in this family. God, you should see her up close. She’s a train wreck. It’s time she stops twirling her toes and frolicking her life away on a useless and highly disrespectable career choice.”
It’s Dante’s turn to growl.
She sneers at him.
“I warned you years ago to leave your sister alone. You knew the consequences if you broke the agreement.” Marco’s voice flits with rage, barely containing whatever is swirling inside.
“The stakes have changed and she’s holding us back. I already received my piddly inheritance, and it’s not like you’ll fire me from your staff. That would raise too many questions. Caitlyn’s had her fun.”
“We respected her choice years ago and encouraged her to follow her desired career path. Dancing in an acclaimed Vegas production is very respectable.”
“Oh, shit,” Dad whistles, and my eyes slice to Karen, who registers her mistake immediately.
Marco may be a dick, but he’s not stupid. He pins his wife with a hard glare. “How did you know Caitlyn is performing in a highly acclaimed Vegas production? Last you mentioned, she was in California.”
Similar to Tasha, her shield slips into place. The woman I’ve imagined in my mind, the same woman that tried to bribe her own flesh and blood to accomplish her political goals, has made an appearance and is now on the scene. It’s also interesting to note Marco’s curiosity about his daughter.
“Karen?” Marco prompts.
“We’ll talk about it later.”
“We’ll talk about it now.”
“This is hardly the place.” She smiles apologetically to the all but forgotten couple, who are sitting shell-shocked.
“I want to know what the hell you’re playing at.” His voice booms, clearly done with the vague responses from his wife and daughter.
“Don’t we fucking all?” Ryanne snips.
“Okay, I’m done. Whatever fucked-up game you’re playing is over. Tomorrow morning, there will be a restraining order filed. You feel like testing your luck with that, the next thing will be an assault charge.”