She sighed and sat on the bed.  She reminded me of a sulky teenager, with the way she curled her lip at me.  “Jack said something,” she guessed.

I nodded, mouth tight, fists clenched.  “He said he saw you kissing.  Tell me the truth.  Are you seeing him?”

She rolled her eyes.  “I don’t want to talk about this.  You and Tristan!  God!  I refuse to talk about him with you.”

“Are you seeing him?” I asked again through clenched teeth.

I wanted to shake her, or worse, though I knew the true source of my anger wasn’t her.  It was him.  She was my sister, but it felt like the real betrayal was coming from him.

Logic had left the building.

She let out an annoyed little grunt, exactly like a teenager.  “I’ve started seeing Adair, okay?  Tristan still comes around, helps with Jack, gives him some of the male attention he needs, but anything that happened, anything between us, ugh, it’s over.”  She grinned suddenly.  “I know what you’re thinking; I’m making my way through the entire band.”  She laughed like that was funny.

My eyes were wide on her and filled with horror.  “That is not what I was thinking.  Is that what you’re doing?”

She laughed again.  She was way too amused by all of this, when I wanted to tear my own hair out.  Tear her hair out.

“No, that’s not what I’m doing.  It’s just, you know, how it probably would look to some people.”

“I’m not asking how it looks.  I’m asking how it is.  What happened between you and Tristan?  Why did Jack tell me he saw you kissing?”

She waved that off.  “I don’t want to talk about it, and like I said, whatever it was, it’s over now.”  Her eyes narrowed on me suddenly.  “You don’t get to throw him away and then decide who he gets to see.  I never would have thrown him away.”

My heads translation for that; he’d dumped her.

I was livid.  “You have no clue what he and I have been through, no clue why I had to walk away.  This is none of your business, but I did not throw him away.  I barely made it out of that relationship intact.  And yes, he and I are done, but there are rules to this kind of thing.  You and him…no, that’s just wrong.  You’re my sister.  He is not allowed to go near you.”

“Relax, okay?  We’re just friends now.  I’m seeing Adair now, and it’s going really well.  And I am done talking about this.  You turn into a nutcase when it comes to Tristan.  And vice versa.”

She wouldn’t talk about it anymore, no matter how I pried, but that didn’t mean it stopped bothering me.  It ate at me, because I still didn’t know what had happened, and probably never would.

CHAPTER FOUR

His name was Milton Sagar.  He was an NFL quarterback who’d just been drafted to play for San Diego.  I met him at a gallery showing in L.A. on a Friday night.  He came to visit me in the Vegas gallery on the following Monday.

He was charming, intelligent, good-looking, and very, very interested, and for the first time in a long time, I found that I was genuinely interested back.

Not good on paper interested.

Heart rate accelerating interested.

That hadn’t happened to me since Tristan.  I wasn’t sure if I was relieved or horrified by the development.

He was very persistent.  I turned him down twice.

He had huge arms, gorgeous black hair, kind blue eyes.  He even had dimples.  He probably flirted in his sleep.

He was just the type of guy I should avoid.

The third time he very charmingly asked me out, I said yes to having lunch with him in Vegas, on my break at work.  He flew in just to see me.

I had no intention of letting it go one step further than that.

“So you live in Vegas, but you work in L.A. a lot?” he asked me over appetizers.

I shook my head.  “Just the opposite.  I live in L.A., but I’m in Vegas quite a bit at the moment.  I’m managing both galleries until I can train someone here.”

“L.A. isn’t too far from San Diego.”  He smiled.

I smiled back, admiring his dimples.  I told myself I was utterly whacked in the head.

His smile faded just a tad.  “I have the strangest question for you.  I hope you don’t mind my bringing this up, but a buddy of mine told me something that’s been…bothering me.  I guess he knows your ex-husband.”

I was taking a drink of wine and nearly choked on it.  “My ex-husband?!” I asked, trying hard to sound casual.  “This friend of yours has the wrong girl.”

Only a few people on the planet knew I’d been married for one hot, dysfunctional minute.

He looked surprised but not displeased.  “Oh yeah?  Well, that’s good.  Obviously I can defend myself, but he had me spooked.”

I couldn’t leave it at that.  It was just too bizarre.  “What’s the name of this friend of yours?”

“Tristan Vega.  I’m sure you’ve seen him around.  He does the magic show here.  It’s really good.”

I felt myself pale.  Very carefully, I set down my glass, placing both hands carefully into my lap where I could clench them as hard as I needed to without looking crazy.  “What exactly did Tristan tell you?”

“Oh, so you do know him?  Not much.  He just kind of…warned me off, in a vague sort of way.  He said you had an ex-husband that was liable to stab me in my sleep if I laid a hand on you.  He said he was huge, and insanely violent when it came to you, or rather who you date.  He basically told me that your ex would go to jail for murder before he’d let you go out with a guy like me.”

The sheer gall of that, the utter hypocritical nerve of it made me want to scream.

I smiled tightly.  “Tristan has a twisted sense of humor.  He was just messing with you.  I was never married.”

We did, unfortunately, run into each other occasionally, but that night was the first time I’d sought Tristan out deliberately since the accident.

Working at the hotel got me backstage before his show, and eventually, his dressing room.  It was very handy to be on a first name basis with every security guard on the property.

He met me, his jaw clenched, at the door.

I barged in, fuming.  I waited to speak until he closed the door, giving us privacy.

“How dare you?!” I hissed, shaking.  It felt surreal to be alone in a room with him.  The only thing that made it bearable was my unadulterated rage.

“I know why you’re here,” he said calmly.  “I can explain.”

“Oh please do.  I would love to hear it.”

He took a few steps toward me, but I backed just as many steps away, keeping my distance.  “Don’t you dare try to touch me.”

He looked down, taking a deep breath.  “Of course, Danika.  I know how you feel about that.  I take it this is about Milton?”

I nodded, biting back several sarcastic things that came to mind.  “Of course it is.  Why else would I be here?”

I wanted to say so much more, about how my love life wasn’t his business, about how he didn’t get to kiss my sister and God only knew what else and then try to interfere in my life, but I held my tongue.  It was a herculean effort, but I did it.  I would not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much that bothered me, how it had kept me up at night, the doubt, the uncertainty.  Had I ever even known him at all?

“Why else indeed?  Listen, I told him that because—“

“I can’t believe you told him I was divorced!”

He met my eyes.  His were steady, his jaw so stubborn that I didn’t know if I wanted to slap it or kiss it.  “You are divorced.”  His tone was chastising.

“That marriage was a joke.  It didn’t even count.”

He flinched, not even trying to hide it, one hand shooting up to rub at a twitching temple.  “I told him that because he is not the guy for you.”

“How cute.  You think you know what’s good for me?”

“He’s a womanizer.”

I laughed.  It was so bitter that I wanted to stop, but I couldn’t change it, couldn’t keep it in.  “Look who’s talking.”