His Mafia Queen

A Muse From the Past

RILEY

As it turns out, feature writing isn't so awful. It's actually pretty fun, and my editors love my work.

In the couple of months since I started the new job, I've written about lots of interesting people. And, surprise, surprise, they're all happy to see me and to read my stories.

"Quite a change from the crime beat," I deadpanned to Gabriel when I mentioned this observation one morning when we were both getting ready for work at his house.

"Either way, you're a great reporter and writer. That's all that matters, babe."

I let out a little growl. Gabriel comes up from behind and kisses my neck. "What?" he asks.

"It's just that I wanted to write about significant things. Articles that will change the world. And now I'm writing about musicians, painters, and arts initiatives. It seems so inconsequential, considering what's going on in our country right now."

He kisses me again. "Have you ever considered that you are making a difference by writing about fun, happy things? Why does only the bad news make an impact? Can't you be influential in writing about art? You said yourself that your article about the kids art program that was going to close was saved because of your article. The city would've never refunded it if you hadn't written about that."

"True."

"Don't be so in your head about everything, Riley. Sometimes you have to enjoy the here and now."

"In speaking of here and now," I turn around and wrap my arms around him, "what are we doing this weekend?"

Since it's Friday, Gabriel usually lets me know if we have any parties, fundraisers or obligations. I'm even enjoying attending those, especially since he recently gave me a credit card to buy new evening wear (a move on his part that I strongly protested, but then relented since I didn't want to look like a ragdoll in public with him). Going to these parties has also helped me network for more articles, something he encourages.

"Oh, uh. Tonight." He frowns. "I might have some work stuff. Gotta meeting later in the day that might go long."

Whenever he's evasive like this I flash back to that night I saw him stripping off the bloody shirt. "Okay," I say quickly. "No worries. Maybe I'll just hang out at my house, I have some things to catch up on."

"Yeah, um, we'll definitely do something tomorrow, okay? And Sunday. I'll think of something special. Maybe that farmer's market you wanted to check out?" He smiles and looks at me through those long lashes, and my heart skips a beat.

"So you don't..." I stop talking. Don't be so needy. You don't have to spend every Friday night with him. "Perfect!"

He cups my face in his hands. "You're amazing, you know that?"

"So are you," I whisper, and kiss him.

But as I go to work and sit in my office, I wonder what he'll be doing later tonight, and whether he's going to hurt someone.

***

At the newspaper, I settle into my desk with a coffee. Today I'm working on an article about a new gallery owner, and I'm scheduled to visit her later in the afternoon. Which means I have time to screw off for a few hours, another perk of my new job.

As it turns out, the editors aren't as demanding in the features department, which means I can read all of my favorite websites and newspapers, and catch up on the gossip on a particular reality TV show that Gabriel can't stand. He claims it dulls his intelligence, but I say it's entertainment.