“It's nice,” I admit begrudgingly, but I can't bring myself to feel anything when I look at the house. “A little large for a single guy though,” I add, unable to keep from picking at Gilleon. He knew we were going to be staying with him, even planned for it by buying some suburban wonderland in Mount freaking Baker. I feel a childish urge to kick the back of his seat come over me but push it back. Fuck him. Yeah, that's right. Fuck you, Gill.
“Is there anyone else living here?” Cliff asks, his face scrunching up as Gill pulls into the driveway and turns off the ignition.
“No.” One word, crisp and curt. Gill hasn't spoken since we left the hotel, leaving the three of us to talk around him, his presence like a dark cloud shadowing our conversation.
“Well, it's beautiful anyway, son. You've done well for yourself.” Cliff reaches over and grips his son's shoulder. I see Gill stiffen, but I can't watch anymore of this, so I climb out and look around the neighborhood, at the mature trees with their red and gold leaves, the perfect lawns and the well-trimmed hedges. Hopefully nobody will try to shoot at me here.
“Come inside,” Gill says from behind me, his breath warm on the back of my neck. When I spin around to glare at him, his face is still a blank mask, his muscles tight with tension. “I don't expect any trouble here, but it never hurts to be safe.”
“Yeah, okay.” I step around him and move towards the front door when I feel his fingers curl around my upper arm. That simple touch is enough to make my knees weak, my head spin. “Let go,” I say, my voice strong, words clear.
“I'm sorry about what happened today. If I'd have thought there was any chance—”
“So you do make mistakes?” I ask, glancing back at him and raising an eyebrow. “Gilleon Marchal isn't as perfect as he pretends to be?”
“I'm not perfect,” Gill growls, his jaw clenching and his fingers tightening on my arm. “And I make mistakes, Regina. You should know that better than anyone.” I wrench myself from Gill's grip and try to still the rapid thumping of my heart. Rage consumes me like a flame, and it takes some considerable effort on my part not to respond to that. There are so many things I want to say, words that I've kept locked up inside for over ten years.
“Don't push me, Gill,” I tell him as I climb up the cement steps to the front door, the wind picking at my hair and sending it flying around my face like a veil. “I'm trying to stay positive here, but I'm losing patience and I'm losing it quick.”
“What can I do to make this easier on you?” he asks, coming up right beside me, using those long, strong legs of his to make up the difference in distance. “Tell me and it's done.”
“Gill,” I say, turning to look at him, hating how badly my heart aches when I look into his face. He's a man now, strong and beautiful—and he should've been mine. I should've been able to watch the transformation, to be a part of it, to shape him the same way he should've shaped me. We could've been partners, lovers, best friends. This house right here, it could've been ours. It could have been ours. “What I want is for you to stay away from me. I want you to figure out what the fuck is up with this Karl guy and I want you to do your best to make sure that Cliff and Solène don't get shot and killed over a bag of stupid shiny rocks!” My voice raises in pitch until I think I'm yelling and have to force myself to close my eyes and calm down.
I don't want to be mad at Gill, to hold onto this anger. It isn't healthy and it isn't helping, but I can't be around him. I just can't do it. I'm not sure what hurts worse: the expressionless mask he wears or the cracks I keep seeing in it.
“Get it done, Gill,” I say, opening my eyes back up and locking gazes with him. “Get it done, get us our money, and get the hell out of our lives.”
I move into the house and—despite the fact that it belongs to Gill—I slam the front door and lock it behind me.
My bedroom has a balcony and a view of Lake Washington, not to mention original hardwood floors, a small sitting room, and a fireplace. Holy crap. If I had to take a guess, I'd say this house was worth a clean million—maybe a million and a half. But then, I guess that's chump change when you're an international jewelry thief?
“This is clearly the master,” I tell Cliff again when I lean into the hallway and smile at Solène as she races around the second floor, exploring each and every nook and cranny in the house. “Are you sure you're okay with me taking it?”
“Take it,” Cliff says, smiling at me through the gray stubble on his chin. “You deserve it.” I know Cliff loves me, know that he's one of the best friends I've ever had or will have, but sometimes I feel like he does things for me to try to make up for Gill. I hate it when he does that.