Page 85 of Que Será, Syrah

“What about me?”

“What about you? Do you really think I don’t want your respect, too? Do you think it’s not killing me, having to stand here and listen to you explain all the ways in which I don’t measure up to your impossible standards? You really don’t need to keep hammering it home. I’ve been letting people down my whole life, so I’m very familiar with the process at this point.”

I shake my head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I mean, is that all I am to you—one of the mistakes of your past, something that you want to make amends for? Or is it even worse than that; was I danger to you—to your sisters and your winery? Was I just another threat that had to be neutralized? Is that why you were sleeping with me?”

“You are not seriously asking me that.”

“You used your stepsister’s fiancé to take her off the board because you perceived her as a threat to your mother.”

“Omigod, that’s what you got from that story? Great.”

“And you were willing to marry that dickwad so you could hold your own sisters hostage. So, it’s not really a stretch, is it? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer? Protect the bottom line?”

“That’s it. I’m outta here.”

As she turns towards the door, my protective instincts belatedly kick in. It’s my fault that she’s upset, and I cannot send her out into the night like this. “Okay, wait. Hold on a minute. Stop.”

“What is it now?” Her arms are wrapped around herself, so tightly—as though that’s the only thing that’s holding her together.

“You’re upset,” I say, trying to soothe her—badly and, again, belatedly. “Why don’t we…sit for a minute. Or, just, I don’t know…wait until you’re calmer? You shouldn’t be driving right now; it isn’t safe.”

She shakes her head, eyeing me pityingly. “You know what’s sad, Clay? Once I would have thought you meant that. That you were actually concerned about my safety. Just like I believed that my uncle had my best interests at heart when he orchestrated my reunion with my mother. Or—ooh, here’s a good one. Once upon a time, I thought Nico was a friend who would never dream of betraying me. Now I know better.”

“Yeah? So, what do you think you know about me?”

“I think your primary concern right now is how my driving might reflect on you. If I get into an accident when I leave here, it’s possible someone might claim it’s your fault; that you shouldn’t have let me leave, that you should have stopped me somehow.”

“That’s not?—”

“But you know what? You can fuck all the way off, because I’m done with that bullshit.”

“Legs!”

“No! No, Clay, you do not get to call me that anymore. I told you, way back at the start, that’s something my friends call me. And we are not friends.”

“But—”

“Do you have grounds to stop me? No, you do not.” Raising a hand, she begins ticking the points off, finger by finger. “I’m not drunk. I have no violations. My paperwork’s in order. My car’s not unsafe. So, the only way you’re going to keep me from driving right now, Deputy, is if you arrest me.”

“I’m not gonna arrest you.”

“Good. Because don’t think for a minute that I wouldn’t have shown up in court to contest the ticket, or that I wouldn’t’ve been happy to explain to the judge exactly why I was upset with you in the first place. And while I’m on the subject, don’t you dare even think about using any of this as an excuse to come after my sisters for some imaginary infraction. Because that’s one thing you should know about me by now. I protect what’s mine. And that might not be you anymore, Clay Romero, but it will always be them.”

Chapter 18

Clay

“So, you and Allegra Martinelli,” Miles says—causing me to nearly stumble over my own feet.

I eye him narrowly. “What do you know about that?”

After last night’s disastrous encounter, I texted Miles, asking if he’d be willing to meet with me (unofficially) to discuss some problems I’d encountered. He seemed like a logical person to confide in, seeing as he has a foot in both worlds. He knows what I’m up against at work, the risks I’ve been running. And he knows the family. He texted back, suggesting I join him for his usual early morning run—a five-mile circuit around Oak Creek Park before the sun’s fully up. And here we are. I like to think of myself as being in reasonable shape, but if I survive this run, I’ll be amazed.

Miles shrugs. “To be honest? Not that much. But Allegra lives with her sister, and Bianca is one of Millie’s best friends. So, you do the math.”

I add another point to my mental tally—the one where I keep track of how often Millie’s name gets dropped into conversations. Usually, it’s an amusing diversion. But this morning, it’s hard to find the humor in anything. “I think I fucked up.”

“How so?” Miles asks, and then, when I don’t respond right away, he slants me a glance, then nods. “Oh. It’s like that, huh? Well, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

---