Burned Bridges: Oliana Mercer Prequel

Chapters 9-10

My trip to the grocery store was short and a cold reminder of what had happened to Olivia. Her mug shot was on the front page of the Denver County Daily accompanied by a short blurb about the shooting.

I forged ahead past the newspaper stand and used the shopping cart to hold me up as I trolled the pasta aisle for Marc's dinner.

I was not up for cooking him something to eat. In fact, the information I had learned before the party came rushing to the front of my mind and sat idle as I chose the items I was going to fix.

How dare he insist that I cook him dinner after he spent the weekend banging his little temp while I watched my friend blow her brother away?

It was time for me to confront Marc and find out the truth. I wanted him to tell me that he was not having an affair and assure me that he would never do such a thing. More than that, I wanted to be able to believe him.

So he thought he could just snap his fingers and make me cook for him? Fine. I'd cook. I'd make Karin's special spaghetti sauce. It was a dish no man soon forgot.

I bought what I needed and was soon back in my kitchen getting dinner together.

As the thick, chunky sauce simmered on the stove, I cut up mushrooms and three peppers, just as he liked them and added them to the saucepan. I inhaled the aroma, but it only made my stomach queasy.

I ran my fingers over the bag and deliberated if I should add the final pepper. The special one. The one so spicy that no one stood a ghost of a chance ignoring it. The one that made Karin's sauce so unforgettable.

I dumped the bag and cut up the fourth pepper. Exhaustion crept up on me, draining my energy with each slice of my knife. Finally, I left the sauce to simmer and rested on the couch, studiously ignoring the news on TV while I waited for Marc to arrive.

When he arrived, he was dressed as if he had just come from the office.

"All dressed-up for the weekend," I said.

"I had somewhere to be and drove straight here. Is dinner ready? I'm starved."

"Have a seat, and I'll make your plate."

He took off his coat and sat at the table. "What did you make?"

"Spaghetti."

"Spaghetti? I was hoping for a broiled steak."

"I told you I was tired. You want steak; we can go out."

"It'll do. Did you at least add my favorite peppers?"

"You bet."

I watched him out of the corner of my eye, wishing I could dredge up enough boldness to confront him. Damn him to hell. I loved him so much.

"You took Stephanie on this trip with you?"

Marc fidgeted with his cufflinks. "Dana needed time off."

"But the law firm no longer has a contract with her. So, who's paying her?"

Marc raked his fingers through his hair. "Checking up on me?"

"Can't you understand why I'm concerned?" I placed his plate in front of him.

"Not really." He stabbed the spaghetti with his fork, twirling it around until strands of pasta cocooned the tines.

"Why won't you answer my question?"

"I took Stephanie because I needed someone who was focused. Dana's personal issues are having an impact on her work performance."