A Tiara Under the Tree

She bit the inside corner of her cheek and saw Gabe’s eyes narrow. What should she do?

“Let’s not get bogged down by irrelevant details and focus on what we can control,” Joe suggested. “We need to talk business.”

He’d seen her indecision, and Joe, practical and protective as always, was trying to change the subject. Mariella sent him a grateful smile. “You’re right. We do need to talk about what happens if Harrison takes a while to heal. Did Harrison discuss a contingency plan with you, Joe?”

Joe rubbed his jaw. “Did he discuss one with you?”

Mariella shook her head. Joe knew, as well as she did, that her husband thought he was invincible. “He thought he’d live forever. The thing is, we need someone to make the hard decisions, the day-to-day decisions. Obviously, seeing that I helped Harrison build this business, and Joe is his longtime business partner, we are best placed to do that, with Gabe’s help. I will have my PA draft a memo to all our senior staff telling them that.”

Joe held up his hand, and Mariella stopped talking. “That’s not going to happen, Mariella.”

“What do you mean?” Mariella asked.

Joe looked resigned but resolute. “I asked you whether he discussed any plans with you. I didn’t say that he hadn’t made plans. He did, and you have no power to change those plans or even give input into those decisions.”

To Mariella it sounded like Joe was speaking Mandarin. What could he mean? Of course she would always have a say in what happened at Marshall International. She traveled with Harrison as they established a business footprint internationally, opening venues in Tokyo, London, Paris. It was their company—she and Harrison had made it together. She was at every ground breaking, at every nightclub opening, at every opening night at new restaurants. Hell, their oldest and most iconic nightclub was called Mariella, in honor of her. She and Harrison were a team; they had been for thirty plus years. “I don’t understand.”

“Clearly,” Luc said, resting his elbows on his knees. “Neither do I, so I’d suggest that you start explaining, Joe.”

Joe narrowed his eyes at her eldest child. “I understand that you are worried about your father, but I’d like to, gently, remind you that I don’t take orders from you, Luc.”

“And I’d like to remind you that I’m as invested in this business as anybody,” Luc replied.

“Now, that’s not true,” Joe said, his tone genial, but Mariella heard the note of steel under the easy words. “You work six days a week at your LA practice. Rafe consults, on a very ad hoc basis, but he is in no way fully involved, either.”

“I work for the company,” Elana jumped in.

Joe reached across Rafe to pat her knee, not bothering to reply. Mariella knew what he was thinking—Elana playacted at work, doing the minimum amount to keep her from being fired. Of all of them, only Gabe showed true dedication to the company, and his blood was hers, not Harrison’s. But he, at least, knew what he was doing at Marshall International.

“I’d feel a lot more comfortable if one of us helped make any decisions that might have far-reaching consequences,” Luc stated. “We are his heirs, after all. I can scale back at the practice and spend more time at the company.”

“And I can help, as well. I can start work tomorrow,” Rafe jumped in, not wanting to feel left out.

“I am the oldest, Rafe. I can represent us, and our interests, adequately.”

And she, as their mother, couldn’t? Whom did they think she worked for? Everything she did was for them!

Rafe shook his head. “You might be the oldest, but your head is up your ass. You are so damn distracted these days that I’m surprised you haven’t run into a malpractice suit.”

Elana leaned sideways and jumped into the argument. “Why don’t you two ever consider me? I actually work for the company!”

“Do you actually know the definition of that word, Elana?” Luc demanded. “It actually means doing more than turning up and looking pretty.”

God, this was a nightmare. Mariella glanced at Gabe as her children argued. He was watching a ship on the horizon, seeming unaffected by the argument raging around him. But she could see the tension in his jaw, the rigid cords of his neck. Feeling her eyes on him, he turned his head to look at her, and she saw the profound and heartfelt sympathy in his eyes. Mariella watched Gabe’s eyes harden as the argument around them escalated.

“Shut up!” Gabe’s terse command cut through the siblings’ argument like a sharp knife through flesh. “You three are the biggest pains in the ass the world has ever known. Can one of you surprise me and think beyond yourselves? Your mother represents your interests—she always has, you morons! And can I remind you that your father is inside, fighting for his life, and you three are bickering like mean kids on a playground. Just shut the hell up, all of you!”

Shock receded, and three pairs of accusatory eyes landed on his face. When silence reigned, Gabe drew in a breath before placing his beer bottle on the table between them. “We need to think about what Uncle Harrison would want. It isn’t this.”

“How the hell would you know what my father would want?” Luc asked, private school snooty. Low blow, Luc, Mariella thought, ashamed of him. Why did Luc constantly feel the need to remind Gabe that he wasn’t really part of this family, that he wasn’t a Marshall by blood?

It was time for her, as their mother, to intervene. Mariella snapped her spine straight and sent a continue-or-die look to each of her children, holding Luc’s eyes a tad longer than the rest. “Be quiet and listen to what Joe has to say.”

Mariella placed her hand on Joe’s knee and bit her lip. That train she’d been thinking about earlier was now so close that she could feel the heat of its engine, its vibrations running through her. She was about to be annihilated, she knew that just as she knew that the Pacific Ocean beyond them was bright and blue.

Joe ignored her hand, didn’t respond, and Mariella tapped his knee. “Joe? Who is in charge? Is it me? Luc? Gabe? Rafe?”

“Me?” Elana’s voice drifted over to her, but Mariella ignored her.