Free Werewolf in Las Vegas by Vicki Lewis Thompson

to a third of them were now only empty frames. “She took all her recital pictures.”
    Giselle walked over to Cynthia’s wall. “She went through a lot of trouble. Why not take the whole thing, frame and all?”
    â€œToo awkward. Whatever she plans to do with those pictures, she wants to be able to transport them easily. The frames would make that tough.”
    â€œGuess so.” Giselle wandered around the room studying the display. “Sort of ruins the family photo album concept, doesn’t it?”
    â€œThe albums still exist. They’re in a vault. But the minute my dad saw this windowless room, he came up with the idea of turning it into a family gallery.” He couldn’t imagine how upset Cynthia must be to have done this. In a way, taking pictures from here was better than pulling them out of the somewhat fragile family albums in the vault. He suddenly realized he’d grossly underestimated her passion for dancing.
    â€œI love this one of you wearing your Mickey Mouse ears.”
    He glanced over to where Giselle stood surveying all the pictures of him, a smile on that lush mouth. No wonder. He looked dorky in those ears. “Yeah, well, that was my Mickey phase. I wore that hat everywhere, including to church.” She’d been right about the personal nature of this room.
    â€œWell, now that I know what she’s taken,” he said, “we can go back out and enjoy the view, if you want.”
    â€œI’m enjoying this one.” She pointed to a picture of him in a football uniform. “What position did you play?”
    â€œQuarterback.”
    â€œWere you any good?”
    He shrugged. “I guess. We took state my senior year.”
    â€œThen I’ll bet you went to college on a football scholarship.”
    â€œYou’d win that bet, but I’d rather not dwell on—”
    â€œJust trying to get a bead on you, Dalton. Bachelor’s? Master’s?”
    â€œMBA.”
    â€œI see. Football star and graduate student. Did your father dedicate another room for framed diplomas and trophies and such?”
    Luke laughed and shook his head. The lady was certainly persistent. “Yes, but we’re not going in there. It’s plain embarrassing. Let’s head back to the living room and wait for dinner to arrive.”
    â€œIf you insist.” She paused on the way out. “Is that your mom when she was still performing?” She gestured to a studio shot of his mother dressed in bright red sequins and feathers. Her headdress was nearly as tall as she was.
    â€œThat was a publicity shot she had taken right before she met my dad. She’d considered going to Hollywood and trying her luck out there.”
    â€œBut instead she married your father.”
    â€œShe did, and never regretted it. He was the love of her life.”
    â€œCynthia looks a lot like her.”
    â€œI know, and people tell her that. I think it’s part of the problem.” He sighed. “Enough family history.” He gestured toward the doorway. “After you.”
    With one more glance at his mother’s picture, Giselle left the gallery and walked out to the living room. Once there, she turned to him. “What would you have done if the poker game had gone the other way and you’d lost this?” She spread her arms to encompass the elegant living space with its stunning view.
    â€œI don’t know.” He’d played that scenario over in his head many times in the days leading up to the game. “I’d like to think I would have recovered and forgiven myself for being so reckless. But I don’t know if I would have. I’m grateful that it didn’t turn out that way.”
    â€œBut you allowed yourself to take that risk, knowing that it could turn into a defeat for you.”
    He nodded. “No matter what happened, I wouldn’t have to spend my days looking at a Cartwright-owned property