Page 32 of Afraid to Hope

“Okay,” she said, leaning against the wall opposite the door, slipping her hands into the pockets of her skirt and mirroring his stance.

“Gia’s role is the mediator. She plays the loyal friend, an effective straight shooter who isn’t afraid to speak up. How am I doing?”

“Spot on.”

“She navigates Viviane well, but there’s something about Gia that I can’t put my finger on.”

Surprised, Natasha asked, “Like what?”

Bane grimaced and shook his head. “I don’t know. Something. Maybe it’s just that she’s unusually observant, almost as if she’s trained. When she did talk during Viviane’s mostly one-sided conversation, she asked penetrating questions, like an interrogator, not a friend.”

“Gia’s always asked the deep, probing questions. Maybe that skill has become more polished now because of what she does.”

“Possibly. What does she do?”

“She’s a conservator and restorer. Books, manuscripts, art. She’s on extended leave because her mother is terminal. Gia cares for her, lives with her.”

“Interesting. No help from her siblings?”

“She’s an only, Bane. Why all the questions? You seem to be the one interrogating.”

He smiled. “I’m trying to sort through what I observed. You’ve all known one another a long time.”

“We have.”

“I appreciated that you were recounting some of your history, but I gather some of it was left out?”

Natasha pulled her hands from her pockets and crossed her arms again. “Yes.”

“You just closed up on me again,” Bane said. “Fine. I’ll tell you how Viviane struck me. She’s all about herself and oblivious to Gia’s skills, simply because she believes she’s smarter and cleverer than everyone else. Overconfidence is her Achilles’ heel. What she wants, she goes after, damn the cost of doing so. She’s strategic, controlling, and stealthy. Not to be trusted. Her inclination is to go for the jugular. Does she have any idea how accomplished you are? She’s jealous of your beauty. That she’s lost her power over you more than bothers her, and that I sleep in your bed and have your back drives her nuts.”

“You do not sleep in my bed.”

“She believes I do. Her perception colors her belief. Viviane is confident in her sexual prowess and is convinced she can make any man drop to his knees. Christ, I think she believes every guy is a tit man. She kept trying to direct me there. She’d act like a whore-dog to get me.”

“That’s crass.”

“Maybe, but astute.”

“Are you a tit man?”

“Most definitely not.” He beamed at her, pinning her with dark heat. “I appreciate them, but I love me some long, sleek legs and a beautiful, firm ass.”

Natasha looked away, flattered by his revelation yet battling the way his words, his brazenness, set her body on fire. She cleared her throat and regarded him seriously. “Are you a psychiatrist?”

“Nope. Just trained to read people. The lives of others, as well as my own, depend on my observations.” He cocked his head. “Why is Viviane your friend? I don’t get it.”

Natasha flinched at the question and the memories it brought to the surface. “Because she has always been, for as long as I can remember. We go back to when we were in diapers. Our grandmothers arrived in Morocco during World War II from France and became fast friends, and our mothers, born here, were also close. They all assumed we would be third-generation best friends, and we were. Until secondary school.” Natasha paused and looked out into space, remembering.

“Puberty, passion, and jealousy can produce a toxic mix. What happened, sweetheart?”

“Nothing really. It was a long time ago.”

Bane pushed off the door and moved to stand in front of her, lightly grazing his finger over her forehead to her temple. “Yeah, but you haven’t forgotten. It’s written all over your exquisite face.”

Her voice cracked. “It was the first cut.”

“The deepest.”

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