Chapter 19
“Why didwe agree to meet them in abar?”Kira griped as she watched thedoor.
Marissa was a butterfly in a beehive. Too soft and frilly for the hard edges of crude language, clanking glass, and heavy music that was more felt than heard. And not metaphorically, either. When the band was in full swing, the rumble caused the shot glasses along the counter to bounce andhum.
“I don’t mind it,” Marissa lied. She lifted her glass of iced seltzer water with a wedge of lemon and a slice of lime and brought the double red straws to her lips. “Mmm…”
Kira fought back an eye roll and turned to look at theentrance.
“Hey,Kira?”
“Yeah,” she replied, eyes still set on thedoorway.
“I’m sorry for not having your back the way I should have,” Marissa said, leaning in and practically belting thewords.
Kira tipped back, held her sister’s gaze for amoment.
“I always knew Monty stole your images, but I told myself you deserved it. You didn’t, but …” She sighed, her shoulders dropping as she slid her drinkcloser.
“Butwhat?” Kiraasked.
Marissa poked at the citrus wedges with her straws. One after the next. “I envied you for being so … quick to do things most people were too scared to do—thingsI’dbe too scared to do. I told myself you were irresponsible, but then you came out here and did all these amazing things with the studio.” She shrugged. “Mom and Dad have been showing me the texts. And I realized that more often than not, you were brave. You’ve always known how tolivelife, you know? Even when risk isinvolved.”
Wow.Kira could hardly believe her ears. “Marissa,” she said, choked with an onslaught of emotion. “Thank—”
“Oh,” Marissa hissed with a nod. “They’re here. We’ll talk morelater.”
Kira spun to see the couple striding into the place like the party had arrived. Finny whipped her white, hip-length hair over one shoulder with the exaggerated sway of her long, giraffe-like neck. The woman had a list of unique features that only made her more beautiful. Exotic. After all, Finny Shea started out as a model before she designed her own clothing line and ran her namesake magazine. Most didn’t achieve a fraction of what she’d accomplished after living ninety-plus years, but that didn’t stop the determined thirty-year-old.
Kira hated to admit it, but Monty looked like a rock star. A sloppy, stayed-up-partying-all-night rock star, but one nonetheless. He swaggered through wafting smoke as flashing lights bounced off his sunglasses. He’d gotten more ink on his neck, a reptilian pattern he’d started on his chest while Kira was dating him. How she’d managed to ever find him attractive, she couldn’t say. He might have a magnetic appeal on the surface, but lots of dangerous things did. Including the snake he related himself to. After all, how perilous could a nonvenomous snakebe?
Of course, Kira had discovered for herself that there was more than one way to hurt a person. And the truth was, as she watched necks wrench and heads turn, she was still reeling from the effects of it all. She’d beenso closeto being someone. To impressing the likes of Finny Shea, her designing crew, and a handful of A-list models in the least of it. More than that, she’d have made her familyproud.
Kira straightened as they neared, patted her hair to assure it was in place, and lifted her chin. Perhaps she should have paid more attention when she’d gotten ready. Or when she touched up her makeup before coming. Finny’s pale skin glowed like she’d doused it with a million tinysparkles.
Marissa shot to her feet and extended a hand across the table. “Hey, guys,” shehollered.
Finny, always the professional, shook her hand before reaching for Kira’s. Her eyes were lavender today—no surprise; she had a new color for every outfit. “Miss Moretti. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us. It’s very gracious ofyou.”
“Hope you don’t mind meeting us outside of that rinky-dink town,” Monty said. Kira had always envied Finny’s Swedish accent. Obviously Monty had too, because he’d adapted one of his own. “The bar in Cobble Creek only lets locals take the stage. We were hoping for a little more than hicks strumming banjos and thumping coffeecans.”
The couple broke into laughter. Even Marissa joined in. Kira only stared at them and cleared herthroat.
“Anyway, we’re not here to make fun of your new life, Kira,” Monty assured with his phony accent. “We’re here to make you anoffer.”
Finny piped up, leaning across the table, her flawless face calm. “Marissa graciously agreed to arrange this so that we couldbothapologize. Upon seeing your work years ago, I knew I wantedyouto shoot in Milan. And after you accepted—and did a stellar job of it, I might add—I repaid you by calling you a liar and letting yougo.”
Finny gave Monty a nod. “Python here had me fooled at first. Or perhaps I wasn’t fooled at all. Perhaps I onlywantedto believe him. But I discovered the truth soonenough.”
“Soon enough to admit it in court?” Kira asked. Forget the shot glasses bouncing to the beat. Her heart was hammering a clash of drums andcymbals.
Monty and Finny looked at each other. “I was still denying it, Kira,” headmitted.
“That’s true,” Finny said, “but I knew better. You can’tfaketaking photographs like the ones you captured, Kira.” Finny motioned to a waitress passing by, ordered two virgin drinks Kira had never heard of, then stretched her long, slender arms across thetable.
Kira looked down at them, white against the dark wood, wondering what Finny wanted her to do. Place her hands on there, too, so she could hold them while she spoke? Nothanks.
“You have a gift, Kira. Something years of training won’t touch. And we want youback.”
