Because of Felicity, I have spent my life fearing manipulation by any woman. Now Jezebel herself has waltzed back onto the scene, and I suspect that any move I make to counter her will only send me further into her clutches. She has always been three steps ahead.
“I know, Silvano.” I take a breath. “I want you to set up street surveillance. If anyone so much as whispers her name, I want to know about it. Felicity Huffman has had years to prepare for this, and we’re only in the know now because she wants us to be. So I need all the information I can.”
Silvano nods. “I’ll make it happen.”
“Good. You can go.”
He pauses. “Do you have everything you need for tonight?”
“What do I need for a boring fundraiser other than a tux and a modicum of patience?” I inquire.
Silvano nods and leaves, and I lean back in my chair and try to relax my jaw. I should have known better. I should have known that a woman like Felicity Huffman wouldn’t give up so easily and that just because she disappeared after my father’s death didn’t mean she didn’t plan on resurfacing again.
My chest feels tight. My head aches. I want to scream at the top of my lungs, but it wouldn’t do any good. I need to keep myself together, now more than ever, even though it feels like everything in my life is slipping through my fingers.
I open the screen of my laptop and pull up the security footage from Alexis’ apartment. Just laying eyes on her starts to calm me down.
Alexis is emptying the dishwasher in the kitchen. She was offered a full staff to take care of domestic work, but she refused. She wanted to cook and clean and make the apartment a home for her and Harry. I always wonder if she is showing me the way life could be for us together; the kind of domestic bliss we could achieve away from my mansion.
“You always seem like you’re up to something,” I mutter, watching as she sets a stack of plates in the cupboard. “Even when you’re unloading the dishwasher, I assume you’re doing it with some sort of agenda.”
I have never spoken to her like this before. She has, of course, made a habit recently of addressing me through the lens of the camera, but I’ve never spoken back. At first, I feel too exposed, like my words will somehow carry backward through the wires and end up broadcasting in the kitchen.
Alexis carries on, finishing the dishwasher and then filling the small side sink with hot water and disinfectant. She starts wiping all the counters, carefully moving the appliances to get behind them.
The feeling of discomfort eases into one of relief. It feels good to say the words aloud, especially since nobody can hear me. Not Alexis, not my men, not Felicity Huffman.
I watch her pick her way through the kitchen, and the words I’ve been longing to say form on my tongue.
“I’m so angry with you, Alexis. I’m angry with you for betraying me, but I’m even angrier with you for showing me a version of life that I could have had and then ripping that away from me.”
I take a breath. On screen, Alexis starts to wipe down the cabinet doors.
“You made yourself utterly indispensable to me and then put me in a situation where I was forced to do just that. I don’t need you any less than I did a month ago, or a month before that. I need you now more than ever, but because of what you did, I can’t go to you like I want to. I miss you. I miss you every fucking day, no matter how hard I try to hate you, or how much distance I put between us.
“I wanted us to be a family so badly. It seemed like you wanted it too, but was that ever real? Did you really care for me like you seemed to, or were you just playing the game? It hurts so much to know that I was played a fool, but if I could go back in time, I can’t see myself doing anything differently. That’s the effect you have on me, Alexis. I would walk headfirst into my betrayal time and time again if it meant I got back those fleeting, perfect days.”
I take a breath, feeling not too dissimilar to a deflated balloon. Heat glides up my face, and I slam the lid of the laptop closed. I can’t believe the things I just said. The weakness I just admitted. Part of me feels relieved, but for the most part, I just feel sickened by my own pathetic admission.
I check my watch. It’s time for me to start getting ready. For once I am not entirely dreading attending one of these soul-sucking society events. In fact, I find myself looking forward to having a drink.
I hurry up the steps, ignoring the cries of the paparazzi sequestered on the other side of the velvet ropes as they try to draw a reaction out of me.
“Alone again, Gabriel?”
“You’re absolutely murdering the red carpet, Gabe!”
“Mr. Bellucci, give us a smile!”
I breeze right past them and wish Alexis was with me. The last time I took her to a charity function, she nearly got in a fistfight, and it was the highlight of my social year. She also made it a lot easier for me to interact with the various vultures and hyenas one encounters at these types of engagements. She acted as a buffer, calming me down when my temper rose, making me laugh when I needed to relax.
Most importantly, however, she warded off the banshees.
“Gabriel!” Grace VanKemp squawks as I enter the banquet hall. “It’s been far too long!”
Grace is what I can only describe as an extravagant widow. She married one of the richest men in Manhattan thirty years ago, at the ripe age of eighteen. He was sixty. He died around ten years back and has been dead as long as I’ve known her, and she clearly prefers it that way.
She leans over and pecks me on each cheek. I force a smile.
“Lovely to see you, Grace.”
The older woman whips a fan out and starts to wave it weakly at her face. She’s beautiful, with long, raven hair and big, innocent brown eyes. I imagine she would have been stunning in her youth. It is a shame that she spent most of that locked away in her elderly husband’s penthouse.
“I’ve heard all about you in the news,” she says, grabbing my elbow and leading me toward the bar. “Absolutely shocking, darling. To think that they would accuse you of something so vile. The nerve of it! Patricide!” She squeaks in distress, as though the very thought might send her tumbling into a faint. “They won’t be able to make it stick. What would be the point of being fabulously wealthy and well-connected if they could?” She orders two champagnes, though she sniffs at the vintage. “You would think they would trot out the good stuff for their generous benefactors…”
I tip my head back and down the drink. The bubbles sizzle all the way down my throat, climbing up my nose and making me want to sneeze.
Grace smiles approvingly. “That’s a good boy.” She signals for the bartender to pour another.
“It has been a long few weeks,” I say by way of explanation as Grace slides the second glass over to me.
“I wouldn’t dream of judging you, darling. I think you should get fabulously drunk and enjoy yourself tonight.”
I doubt any amount of alcohol will lend enjoyment to the evening, but the idea of getting fabulously drunk does appeal.
The vast ballroom is decorated in shades of dusty pink and gold, which makes it look more like a children’s birthday party than a charity gala. Pink silk billows from the ceiling and the few dozen circular tables shine with gold accents. At the far end of the room, a stage is set up with a projector screen behind, where, after dinner, the guests will pretend to pay attention to the boring presentation while secretly eyeing each other up for scandal.