His Mafia Queen

Call Me

Riley

Catherine notices that I'm staring over her shoulder, at the house, and she slowly turns to look in that direction as well. When she sees Gabriel, she turns back to me, her face illuminated with a wide smile. Then she shifts to watch him walk toward us.

"I didn't expect to see you here today," she calls out. "I thought you'd be busy, which is why I came to keep Riley company."

Something in her chipper tone makes the jealousy bubble inside me. "Hey, you," I say to Gabriel, who is walking toward us. I slap on my widest smile because I don't want him to think I'm feeling sick. I am, but not from my kidney issue.

He doesn't say a word as he stalks over. He's still in his suit pants, dress shoes, and white button down, but he's lost the jacket and the tie. His sleeves are rolled up, revealing his muscular forearms, and I can't help but think about how handsome he looks while he's walking. Like a wild panther, moving as few muscles as possible while pursuing his prey.

As he walks past the lounge area on the terrace, then alongside the pool, I'm struck by how the scene could be a fashion ad in GQ.

"He always overdresses," Catherine murmurs. "He's been that way since college."

The fact that she knows this, and points it out, ratchets up my discomfort.

When he reaches us, both Catherine and I stare up at him — we're each lying on a lounger, our upper bodies propped up.

"Hi, sweetie," I say, intending to claim him with my term of endearment. I am so petty sometimes.

"Riley. I was looking all over for you inside the house." He's positively glowering, which makes me wonder if he's uncomfortable with Catherine and I spending time together. There could only be a few reasons for that, of course; namely, that she harbors secrets that he doesn't want me to know.

But given all that I know about him already, how much more awful could his secrets be?

"Andre knows where I am," I say crossly.

"Have you taken your antibiotics?" he demands.

It's embarrassing to have this conversation in front of Catherine, like he's my parent. It underscores how much younger I am then they are — ten years — and that I'm not as responsible. My cheeks feel hot, and not because of the sunshine making everything suddenly seem too-bright.

To my surprise, Catherine begins to giggle, breaking the thick tension in the air. "What's that face? You look constipated. Have you pooped today?"

The way she says it, in an exaggerated, girlish voice, makes me want to laugh. Gabriel's nostrils flare, and I slide a glance at Catherine. She flares her nostrils, too, and I can't hold it in any longer. Even though I'm annoyed at her and wary of her motivations with Gabriel, her expression is too funny. It's like she's openly making fun of him. Few people would dare.

I snort-laugh and Gabriel turns to me. My laughter dies in my throat, but I snicker a bit. Catherine is shaking, she's chuckling so hard.

"What are you doing out here? Why aren't you in bed?" he demands.

"I'm..." my voice trails off, and I sneak a glance at Catherine, who by now is wiping her eyes. When we make eye contact with each other we begin giggling again. "I'm chatting with Catherine. She brought me a gift. See?"

I hold up the pens and the coloring book. Gabriel presses his lips together. "It's hot out here. You're going to get dehydrated. Are you drinking water?"

"Oh for God's sakes, Gabriel, stop hovering over her. She's an adult, she knows what's right for her body." Catherine rolls her eyes as she climbs to her feet. "I need to be going, anyway. The gallery party is in a few hours. I didn't mean to stay so long."