Grace walked into the hotel's restaurant; she was dressed much more conservatively than she'd been with Sands. She found Michael right away, he was more than eager to draw her into a hug. She pulled back, feeling her skin crawl.
"Can you not touch me, please?" she asked.
"You let him touch you," Michael snapped.
"He hasn't stolen from me."
"Let's have a seat, shall we?" Michael followed the hostess to their table, Grace walking behind them. When the hostess started to hand them their menus, Grace declined hers.
"I already know what I want," Grace said.
"Oh?" Grace nodded. "Acquired a taste down here already?"
Grace's thoughts flew to Sands. "You could say that." She fought against smiling as best as she could. Michael looked over his menu and made a quick decision. When the waiter approached their table and asked for their orders, Grace smiled and said, "Puerco pibil, por favor." The waiter nodded and wrote down her order. "And the biggest strawberry daiquiri you have."
Michael ordered enchiladas, then started talking. "Grace, I never would have taken from you if it wasn't absolutely necessary."
"What made it necessary, hm?"
"I owed some people – the wrong people – a large sum of money and if I wouldn't have gotten it to them…"
Grace cocked her head. "Michael, what did you get into?"
"Is that really important now?"
"Yes!"
"Shh. Grace, people are staring."
"I don't care! You stole from me because you were doing something you shouldn't have been and you have the gull to come here and think that I'll…"
"Grace!" Michael said in a shouted whisper.
"How did you find me, Michael?"
"Don't worry about that…"
"This is ridiculous!" Grace got up and stopped their waiter. "Please send this to my suite."
"Grace, where are you going?" Michael asked.
"Away from you." Grace stormed out of the restaurant, Michael hot on her heels. She took the stairs, not wanting to get stuck in the elevator with him. Michael kept calling Grace's name, but she didn't stop walking – her pace had her almost at a jog. She wanted to get back to her suite…back to Sands. She fumbled for her room key, but she wasn't quick enough.
"Grace, you're coming home with me," Michael insisted.
"What the hell are you on?"
"Who is he to you, Grace? Why did you leave Cassie to come here and…"
"Will you lower your voice?"
"Afraid he's gonna hear me or something? Are you fucking him, Grace?"
"It shouldn't matter to you."
"I want you back!"
"This is a pretty shitty way of showing it. Listen to me, I want nothing to do with you."
Sands heard the voices outside of the door and got up from the couch. Touch her and I'll fucking kill you…
"You had everything with me, Grace."
"I had nothing with you."
"Ungrateful bitch!" Michael slapped her face. Grace yelped and that was enough for Sands. He opened the door, causing Michael to be anything but happy.
"Did you just hit her?" Sands asked, his voice oddly calm. Michael was silent. "Did you just fucking hit her?" Michael was still silent, but Sands could hear Grace's ragged breath. "Gracie, go inside."
Grace went to move, but Michael held her back. "She's not going back in there with you."
Sands smiled, now having his bearings on Michael. He swung out his fist and made hard contact with his jaw. Grace took that opportunity to go inside. "Run before I send you straight to fucking Broadway."
"You're a lunatic," Michael said, holding his jaw. "You say you're in the CIA and you don't have a fucking clue as to who I am."
"I may be a lunatic, but if I don't know who you are, it's not worth knowing." Sands balled his fist again. "Run along now before security comes to take you."
"She better be worth it to you."
"Worth what?"
If Sands were able to see, he'd have noticed the oily grin on Michael's quickly bruising face. "Everything." He got up and made his way to the elevator. When Sands was sure he was gone, he went back into the suite, shutting and locking the door behind him.
"Gracie?" She didn't say anything. "Gracie, are you all right?"
"I'm having my dinner sent up…it's your favorite." Her voice came from the couch; Sands made his way to her as quickly as he could.
"Are you all right?" he asked again, now sitting beside her. Grace swallowed, but didn't answer. Sands wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly against him. He kissed the top of her head, realizing that the inner battle he had been fighting was over. He felt her body begin to shake and he knew she was crying. "Gracie, did you maybe…not mention something about Michael to me?"
"I always felt that something wasn't right," she said through her tears, "but I never really thought too much of it. There was always talk about him…but when you love someone – or think you love them – you don't listen to it…"
"Gracie, what's this guy into?"
"Everyone always said things about the mob, but…I mean, that's all T.V. and movies, right?"
"It's life too, Gracie. It's what I deal with every day…and it's what killed Rachel. You still haven't answered my question: are you O.K.?"
Grace pulled back a little. "I just feel stupid…he never hit me before or anything, I didn't think I had a reason to worry about…" She got up. "You must think I'm an idiot."
"No." Sands got up as well, finding her right away. He put his hand on her face. "I need to make some phone calls. Do you want to…"
"I think I'm just going to go to bed. Eat my dinner when it comes, O.K.?"
Sands leaned in and kissed her, he was as gentle as he could be with her. "If you need me…"
Grace smiled. "You really are going soft on me, Jeffrey."
"Hey, I just punched a guy!" he said proudly.
Grace kissed his cheek. "Thank you. Your hand O.K.?"
"Takes a lot more than a punch to hurt me." She hugged Sands tightly. "Night, Gracie."
"Goodnight, Jeffrey." Grace headed off to bed, while Sands began to make some calls to find out what he could about Michael.
Meanwhile…
Michael was in a limousine, an icepack on his jaw. The same man that had been watching Sands and Grace in the restaurant the night before was sitting across from him.
"What do you want done, Mr. Crivelli?" he asked.
Michael wasted no time in responding. "I want him dead."