Jeopardy in High Heels (High Heels #12) - Gemma Halliday Page 0,62
last time I had them checked."
Marco took his eyes off the road just long enough to shoot me a get real look. "Is that what Ramirez said?"
I bit my lip. "I haven't exactly told him yet."
He did another low whistle. "He's going to be maaaaad."
"Yeah, that's kinda why I haven't told him yet." I sighed, leaning my head back on the seat.
Marco gave me a look, like he was in pain for his leather.
"How is Fernando?" I asked, artfully changing the subject.
Marco did more tongue clucking. He was sounding more and more like my mother. "In a state."
"Still?"
"Honey, again!"
"Oh no," I said, thinking of Tina rushing off to publish her article. "What now?"
"The press! That whole 'skeletons in the closet' thing in the Informer has whipped them into a frenzy. I've been fielding calls and giving 'no comments' all day." He paused dramatically as he stopped for a light. "He even got a call this morning from the Des Moines Register. Des Moines, Maddie. That's in Iowa."
I knew. "What did they want?"
Marco shook his head. "I didn't ask. I just gave them the standard 'no comment' and sent them on their way." He sighed as the light turned green and the road captured his attention again. "But that isn't going to suffice forever. If the media doesn't move on soon, someone is bound to figure out who Fernando really is."
I feared he was right.
Marco pulled in front of the school where Max and Livvie were waiting on the steps with one of the teachers. I jumped out of the car and hurried over to my babies. I mumbled a heartfelt apology to the woman for being late (twenty minutes. Ouch.), grabbed each child by the hand, and led them to where Marco was waiting.
"You're late," Livvie said disapprovingly.
"I know. I'm sorry, honey. There was a lot of traffic."
"Why are we going in Aunty Marco's car?" Max asked.
"Ours is…in the shop," I said.
"Did you get us tacos?" Livvie asked, getting into Marco's back seat. "I smell tacos."
"No. Sorry. No tacos," I said, buckling Livvie in.
Max held his nose as he sat in his seat. "What smells fishy?"
"Mommy does," Livvie said with a giggle.
I thought I heard Marco stifle a giggle of his own that sounded alarmingly like my daughter's.
"Were you in a food fight?" Max asked.
"Of course not!" I told him as I got back in the passenger side and Marco started up the car. "Grown-ups do not food fight."
"Then why do you have lettuce in your hair?" Livvie asked.
My hands went up to my head, picking a stray piece out. "I had an unruly salad for lunch," I mumbled.
Marco rolled his window down all the way and stuck his head out of it as he drove.
"Is it that bad?" I asked.
"Dahhling, you have no idea. You're lucky that I adore you. Otherwise I'd make you walk home."
Max began to gag in the back seat. "I think I'm gonna throw up."
"Wait! I don't have any more magazines." Marco accelerated.
When we reached the house, Marco offered to fix the twins a snack while I showered. I cranked up the water as hot as I could, shampooing my hair twice. Once I was satisfied that the smell of fish and jalapeños had disappeared, I threw on a pair of jeans and a pale blue tank top. Feeling much better, I found Marco in the kitchen, just putting the finishing touches on what looked like a professionally plated charcuterie board.
"Wow. Where did that come from?" I asked, not recognizing any ingredients I had in my refrigerator.
"Oh, I just whipped it up," he said, artfully arranging a flower sculpted from a…
I leaned in for a closer inspection. Banana peel? "That isn't edible."
Marco shrugged. "It's decorative. You eat with your eyes first."
"What's that?" I asked, pointing to mystery meat artfully arranged in ribbons beside the banana peel flower.
"Bologna. Not exactly a traditional antipasto meat, but I worked with what you had on hand." He wrinkled his nose a little. "By the way, the turkey lunch meat had gone bad. Like, way bad."
I stifled a grin as I did recognize the other ingredients on his snack tray. String cheese, pickle chips, raisins, and some Paw Patrol trail mix packets to top it off. I was about to tell him the kids weren't that picky about presentation—they ate Cheetos off the floor—but I didn't get a chance, as the sound of the front door slamming interrupted us, followed by simultaneous cries of "Daddy!"