Whiskey Sharp: Torn

She shouldn’t think on it overmuch at that point though. Let it be magic. Magic was lovely.

CHAPTER EIGHT

GALLERY SILVERA SAT on a corner, next to a wine bar and across from a café. It was the perfect sort of place to wander after enjoying a glass of wine or a cup of tea. There were several other galleries within a four-block radius, all having a different perspective and emphasis. It created a lovely, artsy atmosphere.

Cora’s town house was close enough that she usually walked during the warmest months. But more, she herself was part of the neighborhood she worked in. When she chose what went on the walls in the gallery, what could be seen through the big windows facing the street, Cora expanded her gallery outside. Connected with those other places, and through Seattle Center, they were part of something vibrant, pulsing with music and art and dance.

It’d been in the current location in the shadow of the Space Needle for thirty years. Most of them had been as a moderate success. Her father had originally bought it as a gift for his wife—and as Cora believed, a way to give Walda roots. To give her a sense of place to build a life and a family. Which she’d done, but in her own way because no one told her mother how to live.

Like any kid who grew up in a family that ran a business, she and her siblings had spent a lot of afternoons and weekends at the gallery. It had brought color and creativity into her life at a very early age. She’d learned her multiplication tables while tucked into a back corner. A young painter who now had an established, successful career had helped her with a book report. Their dining table had always been surrounded by artists, art lovers and all manner of exciting, interesting folk.

The gallery and the people who came through it were what she always thought of as another room of her childhood home.

She would get dressed and in makeup in her office once all the last touches were in place. For the time being she was in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt and wore sneakers as she rearranged some of the bouquets and floral baskets while making sure all the descriptions and associated materials with each piece were free of errors.

The caterers and bar staff had arrived and were beginning to get set up when she finished up all she could do for the event.

Maybe knocked on the door of Cora’s office not thirty seconds after she’d gotten her clothes and accessories for the night laid out. “I brought you a coffee,” Maybe told her, kissing her cheek as she handed the travel mug over.

Her friend was not only a fantastic hairdresser and barber, she also did makeup for her friends on special occasions. Maybe had shown up with her case, ready to work.

“You’re my favorite,” Cora said as she got into the chair.

“Naturally. You can tell me about the pumpkin patch and the sex you had afterward while I’m doing your hair.”

“How the hell do you know we had sex?” Cora looked at herself in the mirror, carefully making sure she hadn’t missed a love bite or something embarrassing.

“You have the glow. Your hair is looking fantastic. It’s got sex volume. And you didn’t deny it immediately. Also, you seemed pretty hot for one another and so it was a natural assumption.”

Maybe began to do her magic on Cora’s hair while she sipped her coffee and sighed happily.

“He was cute at the pumpkin patch. He pulled the wagon without complaint. Then he made me three different kinds of tacos while I decorated. Then we had terrific sex. Like stick your finger in a light socket electric sex. And in the afterglow what do you think we did?”

“Ate more tacos?”

Cora sighed. “I hadn’t even thought of that. Hell, eating more tacos totally would have been a wise choice. But no, after he fucked me silly, he helped me with some of my pumpkins. We even carved some before I had to leave to get here. Oh, and he’s coming tonight.”

Cora kept her eyes closed as Maybe worked. Pinning, curling and spraying her hair before moving on to makeup. At some point, Rachel arrived and Cora recounted the same story, catching her up.

“He’ll be more comfortable because he knows everyone already except for Beto and Finley.” It was less pressure that way. If, for whatever reason, he hit his limit on Cora time, or their chemistry cooled or soured, there’d be other people around to make it easier to avoid one another.

“Finley is curious about him. She’s done some internet sleuthing so be ready for all her questions about his, um, more colorful days,” Rachel said of Cora’s sister.

“She runs a tattoo shop. She’s around colorful people all day long. Hell, she is one.”

“Don’t get defensive. She loves you and you’re the baby,” Rachel reminded her.

She didn’t want that feeling lodged in her gut just then. Resentment and maybe a little bitterness. She adored Finley, who’d always been there for her. But if she was so concerned, why not help with their mom?

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. He’s charming. And it’s not like I’m harvesting his organs for dinner or anything. We’re just having fun,” Cora said.

“Hold your breath I’m getting ready to set your hair with spray,” Maybe told Cora.

They helped her get into the dress without smearing makeup, mussing hair or getting deodorant on anything. A bonus was the way the high neck and illusion panel on the front accentuated her boobs without having them in danger of falling out of anything.

It was a grown-up, sexy dress and she couldn’t deny she chose it with Beau in mind.

“Dayum, baby. You lookin’ good,” Maybe said as she circled Cora slowly.

The three friends laughed as they headed out to the main gallery floor where the candles were lit, the wine had been decanted and music played in the background.

It smelled like cinnamon and oranges so she knew her brother was around somewhere, a mug of Market Spice tea in his hand. She followed her nose and found him setting that cup of tea down so he could open the doors for their parents as they approached the gallery.

Before she could head to them, Finley stepped into her path. Her sister wore an amazing jumpsuit that would have looked awful on most other people. Her forearms and chest were mainly bare, all her ink on display. Her dark brown hair was pulled away from her face into a loose knot at the base of her neck.

Finley was unique. She had an edge, but she put makeup on it, winged its eyeliner and used her tattoos like jewelry. Her sister was a badass. Gorgeous. Fierce and deeply thoughtful. Her artistic nature was the closest to control freak of the sisters.

She loved hard, including her family. They weren’t perfect. The Silveras could be total assholes to one another. But their connection was bone deep. Their commitment and loyalty to the family was something Cora never doubted.

“So. Where’s the dude?” Finley looked around before settling back on Cora. “Oh, and you look particularly dishy tonight.”

“I clean up okay,” Cora told her. “Digging that jumpsuit. We need to go shopping soon. As for Beau, I told him not to show up until after eight. I think he’s going to check in with Gregori and Wren since they’ll be here tonight too.”

When Cora took a look around the space, she noticed immediately that her mother had begun to move things around, and at first, Cora stood, furiously stock-still. Walda had nothing to do with the gallery events by that point and hadn’t for several years. She knew nothing about what hung on the walls. But that didn’t stop her from coming in and fucking shit up because why not? Her mom always wanted her way.

Clearly, it was obvious to her friends because Rachel sighed, getting Cora’s attention back. “You’re going to pop a vein,” Rachel said, pushing her toward Walda. “This is your gallery. Your event. You’d never let anyone else do this. I’m not saying you should punch her in the face,” she snorted. “Just be in charge. You got this.”

Finley sighed before linking her arm through Cora’s. “She’s right. If you don’t stop Mom now, she’ll only get worse. You know how she is.”

Maybe cocked her head, saying nothing but lending her support with a smile.

“You stay here,” Cora told her sister. For a long time Finley had worked really hard to get their mother’s attention and affection. She’d been the bridge between the older two kids and Cora and Beto. Their oldest sister’s lieutenant when their mom was focused elsewhere. Cora had watched over and over as their mother took things for granted or her attention wandered. She did say thank you from time to time, but that need for approval had never been filled completely.

The energy between Finley and their mother was often tense because their mom either just didn’t get it, or overreacted to something, launching a passive-aggressive period that blew up into an argument.

And then Cora would have to fix it.

She took a gulp of coffee before handing it off to Maybe, straightened her spine and headed over.

“Hey, you two,” she said as she approached her parents.

Her father kissed her cheek. “Ta bom?” he asked in Portuguese. Are you okay? Are you well? Is everything all right?

The words, his tone, always centered Cora. It was his way of checking in. Something he’d done their whole life.

She smiled in response to his question and began to undo all the stuff her mother had done when Walda was paying attention to something else.

Until she noticed Cora and turned, pointing an accusing finger her youngest daughter’s way. “What are you doing? I just did that.”

“I’m putting it back the way I had it. Better flow, if anyone is wearing long sleeves they won’t drag through the candles and start a fire. The breeze from the doors opening and closing will also be far enough away that they won’t constantly blow out.”

“You don’t need candles.” Walda turned back to undo what Cora had done.

She very nearly gave in and just let her mom have that moment. It wasn’t that big a deal in the larger scheme of things. But she remembered it wasn’t just about a candle right at that moment, but about how she wanted her future to look. She needed to stand up for herself.

“I like them there. So I don’t need them, I want them.” Cora attempted to sound matter-of-fact as she got between Walda and the candles, putting them back to rights.

Her mother narrowed her eyes at her, not very used to being told no. Cora just smiled and gave her mother a hug, leading her, along with her father, toward where the others still waited, pretending they hadn’t watched the whole thing.

“You look nice tonight,” Cora told her. “I didn’t know you were coming. It’s a happy surprise.”

And it would give a bit more attention to the artists whose work was being sold, which was a very positive thing.

Walda meant well. Usually. Cora just had to remember that while she continued to work on ways to find her own place in the next phase of her life.

Even so, Cora’s heart still beat fast in the wake of pushing back against her mother’s interference. It was ridiculous for her to be so anxious about it. She wasn’t weak in other areas of her life.

For a long time, people thought they could tell Walda no and she’d hear it. But her mother wasn’t there for hearing things she didn’t like.

Cora could steer her mother, which is what she did to manage her. To keep her out of trouble. But now, she had to tell her mother no, not as an employee, but as a daughter. A younger woman. And one, Cora saw in Walda’s gaze, who was a potential rival.

Cora now had to step away from her role as Walda-keeper and, as she’d been reminded by several people in the last week alone, into the gallery full-time. She knew more about this gallery from an artistic perspective than anyone other than her father. The time had come. She felt it to her toes.

Both women, mother and daughter, were undergoing a huge change. Cora wanted to deepen her roots professionally and socially.

Beto approached with his suave-ass smile that charmed oh so many men. He handed Cora a glass. “Vodka and soda with extra lime. Drink up, sweetheart.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You did well with her,” he murmured.

That made Cora feel better. “I’m trying. Thanks for the drink.” Cora held it up in salute before she took a healthy gulp.

“The place looks fantastic. You did a great job with everything. Even though most of it was over the phone or internet when you were gone, you still handled it. I do notice. So does Pai.”

One of her goals was to be sure her father had faith in her leadership of the gallery. She’d needed to hear it.

Beto tipped his chin to where their parents stood with Maybe and Rachel, who’d been keeping Walda busy so she couldn’t get back to messing with things. “Those Dolan girls are good friends.”

“They really are. Okay. I need to get circulating. Be nice to Beau when he arrives.”

Her brother’s eyes widened slightly. “Can’t wait. Not going to lie, Finley and I looked him up on the internet and saw all his modeling shots. He’s not hard to look at.”

Cora nodded. “Not at all. Naked, he’s like one of those magical things you’re not supposed to look at directly or you get ensorcelled.”

Beto laughed, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “We haven’t had much time to check in since you’ve been back. I can see you have a lot to say.”

“I’ve been mulling. I think I might be ready to share. Let’s all have brunch soon. I want to talk to Finley about it too.”

He nodded and she headed off to do her thing, mask firmly in place.

* * *

THOUGH HE’D PLANNED to play it far more cool and make his way to wherever Cora was in a casual, nonchalant cruise, Beau saw her the moment they walked into the gallery and there was nothing but his desire to get to her.

A dress of midnight blue skimmed from midthigh up over her body in a caress that displayed the curves beneath. The neck was high and it had no sleeves. The combination worked, hinting and showing off equally well.

With her hair pulled back he saw the lines of her face better, noted even in the lower lights the darker lip and the dramatic eyes. He liked it when she was in jeans and T-shirts, but this dressed-up version was hot.

When he drew close, he listened to her speak about the artist of a series of pen-and-ink drawings she stood in front of.

This wasn’t just the boss’s daughter. Cora clearly loved what she was doing, but also had a sound foundation on which to speak about art. She was intelligent and quick-witted. Intuitive.

She was far more complicated than he’d given her credit for at first glance. Every time he saw her, he learned something new. Something more.

After the people she’d been speaking to moved on, she looked up and their gazes locked with a sensual punch.

He cupped her elbow as he leaned down to kiss her. He’d been intending on a cheek kiss but ended up with a brush of his mouth against hers.

“Good evening,” he said, stepping back but not very far. “You look fantastic.”

Her smile seemed to light her from within. “Thank you. So do you.”

“Do you have time to give me a tour?” Beau indicated the gallery’s contents with a wave of his hand.

“Of course.”

She led him through the gallery, pausing here and there to show him something or answer his questions.

All the while, her friends and her mother all watched them with undisguised curiosity.

“You’re aware your friends and I assume more of your family are clearly waiting for you to introduce me to them,” he asked her when she paused in front of a hyperrealistic painting of a scarlet leaf swirling toward a drain.

“Finley’s been playing internet sleuth. She and my brother have been looking at your modeling shots online. They’ve all seen your butt and tasteful shots of your dick.”

He nearly choked on his spit at that but she was amused so he could relax a little. His life had included a period of time when people took pictures of him to sell their products. Clothes, shoes, fragrance, lifestyle based products, he’d done them all. And there were pictures to prove it.

“If it helps, they both think you looked hot in the pictures,” she told him, a smile on her face. Damn. He wanted to kiss her again and then once more.

“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t.”

“You remember that my mother is a kook, right? I mean, look—” Cora lowered her voice “—she might bring up the, uh, way you grew up. I mean, I’m sure my father coached her not to, but, she does what she wants. So. I apologize in advance.”

Adorable. Good god. This woman was beyond adorable.

“I’ll be fine. Whenever you’re ready.” But it looked as if one of them was going to bolt and come over to them if they didn’t get a move on.

She stood taller and gave him a look. “All right then. You were warned.”

He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “You made up for any potential issues with your family earlier this afternoon if I recall.”

Her blush charmed him.

“We’ll see what you think after you meet them.”

“I’ve met your mother,” he said.

She snorted. “Dude. You met W. Silvera. Another famous person who lived in the same complex. That woman over there? That’s Walda, my mom and also the queen of this space.” Her tone held a bit of bitterness and it tugged at him. “She’s the gatekeeper, or so she thinks. It’s different.”

Cora smiled at some people who passed by before turning back to him. He could see that bitterness had been swept aside.

She was also correct that this time, coming into contact with her parents and siblings was different. Which he’d been in denial about until that moment and now a little anxiety churned in his belly.

Regardless, he understood Cora enough to know her family was important, and if he meant to be around her, he’d have to accept it. And have them accept him.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” he said.

With a smile, she took his hand and they walked over to where the Silveras stood, not even pretending they hadn’t been watching him with Cora the whole time he’d been there.

“Everyone, this is Beau Petty. Beau, you already know my mom and some of the others, but this is my father, John.”

Her dad gave Beau a once-over before giving him a firm handshake. Walda gave him a far more imperious look before she held her hand out.

“It’s nice to see you again. You’ve aged well. Why are you in Seattle?” Walda continued her regal look like that was how everyone met new people.

“I’m Finley.” A tall, dark-haired woman who shared the same eyes as her little sister stepped forward, interrupting her mother’s question.

“Nice to meet you. And you’re Alberto?” Beau asked, turning to her brother.

“Yes.” His handshake was firm, his look assessing but not hostile. “Call me Beto—everyone else does.”

“You were going to tell us why you were in Seattle,” Walda repeated.

“I’m in Seattle for work. I’m writing a cookbook, creating my new show around it. And for personal reasons. I have several close friends in Seattle. I find it easy to relax here. There’s a great food culture.” Beau gave Cora a look. “And now I’ve got even more reasons to stick around.”

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