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grabbed a bite to eat over
at Crustacean. Your name came up over dinner.”
    I felt
like a coiled serpent, circling and circling with no one near enough to strike
with my venom. Crying, screaming, kicking—all viable options. Brock goes to bed
with my friend the very next night after having sex with me? Okay. She didn’t
say they went home together. But it’s Brock. And Sterling. I don’t think they
wrapped up the night chatting over a game of Mahjong.
    “It’s
late,” I stammered. “I should get some sleep.”
    “Man,
you sound cranky. Get your beauty sleep.”
    “Yeah.
I’m tired. Real tired. I’ll call you in a couple days after I get settled.”
    Sleep
fought me all the way, refusing to offer sanctuary. When finally I drifted off,
the Technicolor nightmare seized control of my night’s slumber, again. The
church was the same. My gown turning to paper, and the loud music, and the fire
and the man walking me down the aisle—they were all the same. But this time
Payton stood in the corner, waving at me. And she and I were the only two not
succumbing to the flames and smoke. Payton was very much alive. Resilient to
death’s fury.
    The
sweat soaked my pillowcase. Tears, as well. I sat up and took a sip of water
from the nightstand. I don’t know what was worse. The nightmare or the remnants
of my true history creeping back into my mind.
    There
had been no wedding for me. On the eve of the marriage, a knock on my hotel door
interrupted the celebration with my bridesmaids. The uniformed officers
informed me that a freak storm had taken down the Visconti family jet. On
board: the pilot, copilot, my beloved father, my fiancé, plus a couple of his
groomsmen. No one survived impact.
    From a
second room in the suite, Sterling had heard my wails and rushed in beside me
wearing nothing but a green thong and a T-shirt. A damn Dodgers T-shirt.
    Memories.
Nightmares. Reality. I understand sadness. I even understand fear. But jealousy
is an odd emotion, isn’t it? I closed my eyes and shut out any last bit of
feeling I might have left residing in my heart.

 
    Chapter Eleven
    Easy
Money
    GABRIELLA
HUNG UP the phone after ordering Sterling Falls a set of August Horn bed
linens. A lavish gift for the lavish Visconti referral. She knew the gesture
reflected the slight insiders’ joke that Gabri lived vicariously through
Sterling’s stories of sexual indiscretions.
    Carly
Posh bolted past Gabri’s receptionist and burst into the private office. Gabri
didn’t know Carly very well. She did remember the property she had sold her in
Bel Air, rumored to be haunted. Haunted house legends meant big sales in L.A.
and Gabri knew she could sell it again with a couple of fast phone calls. Oh
yes, Gabri remembered, the woman had an interior design business, Posh
Possessions. That was her name, she thought. Etiquette equals sales.
    “Ms.
Posh, what brings you by?” Gabri asked, ignoring the brazen interruption in hopes
it would pay off. She was not to be disappointed.
    “I’ve
found a house I want to buy. I need you to handle the paperwork for me,” Carly
said.
    Gabri
felt her toes tingle. This little piggy wasn’t having roast beef. It squirmed
with delight for a juicy and rare filet mignon. Still, she was surprised. She’d
attended a Fourth of July party at Carly’s home that summer. The designer had
just furnished it with custom-made pieces and antiques from all over the world.
    “I can
sell your home, given some time and working my connections,” Gabri fudged, not
wanting her job to sound too easy. “When do you want to close on the new
house?”
    “We can
close next week. It doesn’t really matter. And I’m keeping the Bel Air house.”
    “Oh, I
see. Buying a second home? Maybe Big Bear?”
    “Nothing
like that. I’ve found a place near the Hollywood Hills.”
    “But
you’re staying in Bel Air?”
    “Using
it as more of a rental. It’s taken care of.”
    Gabri
gasped, but before she could say anything Carly