to her heart. “I’m just wrapping up here. I should get back—”
“Hang on,” he interrupted. A small wisp of cloud moved over the sun, momentarily removing its warmth from the window, leaving only a smudge of light across the sea. Something in Gabe’s tone had Mariella bracing for bad news.
“Gabe?” Her voice was quiet; it hid the panic that was rushing through her. Was it Harrison?
“Have you seen the TV?”
Mariella shook her head. The sun was back, but she didn’t feel its warmth now. “No. I... I haven’t had a chance.”
A small pause showed Gabe was weighing his words. She knew her nephew well; he was trying to spare her more pain.
“Just say it,” she said with quiet strength. Whatever it was, she’d be okay. She’d manage.
“There are reports that there’s going to be an exclusive interview with Harrison playing soon. Do you know anything about this?”
Frost sledged through Mariella’s veins. “That’s ridiculous,” she rejected, her words a grim rejection. “You and I both know he’s in no state to give an interview.”
“It’s being promoted heavily. I wouldn’t think they’d go to those lengths unless they had something—”
“Gabe,” she cut him off, “it’s not true. It’s a ploy for ratings, that’s all.” Ice gave way to volcanic lava. Fury was in her bloodstream, burning her from the inside out. “You know what the media’s like. They want to keep the story going, so they’ve invented more drama.” She swallowed, uncertainty plaguing her. “It can’t be true.”
“No, no, I’m sure it can’t be,” Gabe agreed.
“I just spoke to the clinic.” A frown pulled at her red lips as she thought of the conversation she’d had hours earlier with Dr. Malone at Whispering Oaks. “A while ago, anyway. This morning.” She thought with guilt of her hesitation to go to her husband’s bedside. If she’d been with him instead of drinking cold coffee and contemplating his business secrecy, then perhaps she could have subverted all of this. “They didn’t say anyone was there. Isn’t that why he’s in a place like this? To avoid accessibility? It’s just not possible.”
“Still, it’s a pretty bold move if it’s fake.”
Mariella expelled a breath. “You need to go to the clinic, Gabe. For all we know some member of the staff is blabbing for cash. Can you go and figure it out? Check on Harrison?”
“I’m calling you from the car. I should be there soon. I’ve spoken to Elana. She and Rafe were on their way when I spoke to her. Luc was going to follow them.” There was a pause as Mariella digested this, and as though he understood the direction of her thoughts, Gabe explained, “They took separate cars to create a diversion in case they were followed. Though it probably has more to do with the fact Rafe and Luc can’t be in a confined space without wanting to knock each other out right now.”
“Jesus,” she swore softly, running her fingertips over her necklace, pulling the pendant from side to side distractedly. “Let me know once you’ve arrived.”
She disconnected the call but stayed where she was, staring out at the ocean. It was beautiful, yet she saw only pain now. This ocean had witnessed her days and nights. It had wrapped around her biggest triumphs. It had been the backdrop to her life—a life that was falling apart.
Her children were at war? Why? Why now, of all times, would they choose to give vent to their differences? She took a breath to calm her nerves and plastered a smile onto her face. Veronica was standing as Mariella returned to the table. The older woman missed nothing, but her eyes scanned Mariella’s beautiful face and saw none of the inner turmoil that plagued her, because Mariella was an expert at obfuscating.
“Is everything okay?” Veronica asked, and Mariella understood that a desire to learn the latest motivated the inquiry. An unpleasant suspicion formed like a lead weight in Mariella’s gut. The timing of Veronica’s wedding meeting had seemed inconvenient and thoughtless to Mariella, but what if it had indeed come with a lot of thought? What if Veronica had wanted to position herself at the heart of the drama that was spreading like wildfire across the country? Was it possible that the society doyenne had just wanted news?
“Everything’s fine,” Mariella said with the appearance of calm.
Veronica’s eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “I’m so glad.” She lifted her Hermès Kelly off the table and looped it over her shoulder. “Shall we?” Veronica had moved around the table and put a solicitous hand on Mariella’s forearm. Suppressing her temper, Mariella nodded, walking beside Veronica toward the stairs.
“How is Harrison?” Veronica asked as they neared the top step.
Mariella moved to the banister, glad to break the physical contact with the woman who was morphing from inconvenient pest to gossiping bitch in Mariella’s mind.
“He’s—” She moved down the stairs slowly. An image of Harrison buffeted her, almost knocking the wind from her. His pale face, bruised, bloodied, scratched deeply. “He’ll be fine,” she said unconvincingly. She needed to do a better job than that, but Mariella hadn’t been prepared for the question. How foolish to come to a meeting such as this without expecting there to be some interest in her husband’s accident.
“Will he?” Veronica sounded almost as though she had some inside information.
Telling herself she was being paranoid, Mariella continued walking, a calm smile on her face that she certainly didn’t echo in her heart. “He’s Harrison Marshall,” Mariella said as they reached the bottom. She turned to face Veronica. “He’s never come up against anything he couldn’t beat.”
She moved in for a dismissive air-kiss, but Veronica gripped Mariella’s hands and stared at her intently. “You seem very calm, all things considered.”
Mariella’s heart turned over in her chest. “My husband was in a car accident. I’m concerned for him, but it’s not serious.” She wished, fervently, that her words were the truth.
“You haven’t heard, then?” Veronica said with what could have been sympathy or delight.
Mariella compressed her lips, waiting for Veronica to continue, knowing that the older woman was going to run like a freight train now.
“There’s some talk that it wasn’t an accident.” Veronica leaned closer, lowering her tone to an urgent whisper. “I’ve heard that his car was run off the road. Deliberately.”
“What?” The word escaped as air leaving a balloon. The very idea was anathema to her. It was impossible, surely!
“That’s what they’re saying...”
“What who’s saying?” Mariella demanded, but inside, there was a tornado of anger and doubt, of worry and grief.
“Well, everyone at the salon this morning.” The salon. The word was imbued with as much inference and scandal as possible. How could two small syllables contain such secrecy and gloating?
Mariella had to employ every single tool in her arsenal to remain unaffected. She shook her head slowly and rolled her eyes heavenward.
