Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100493 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Not comforting.
I trace her steps through into the kitchen. A large window overlooks a roll of iced mountain tops. It’s the same as one side of my bedroom, only a different vantage point.
“When Asher was little, I watched him do all sorts of tricks on his board. It didn’t take long before the ramps were built and his little brother wanted exactly what he had.”
The sun catches the gold in her hair, and her tanned face stays eerily smooth when she reaches for a glass, not a single crease around her eyes or mouth.
I stop behind the oval kitchen island. “Did you bring them up in Chicago?”
“No.” She answers over her shoulder. “We moved there when the boys were small. I always wonder if Asher would have grown to be the man that he is today if we hadn’t.”
She dries the glass and places it on the counter, turning to face me and resting her back against the sink.
“I love my boys, but I’m not blind. You are a very beautiful woman, and you have all the attributes that I’m sure he thinks he needs.”
She keeps pouring shots into the cocktail shaker, but my head hasn’t left that bathroom. Whatever lives between us started from the same rotten place. Me, married. Him, engaged. And she’s still here, still attached to him like a second skin.
Now he’s upstairs, fucking her into a coma.
Anger simmers under my skin as my grip tightens around the stem of the cocktail glass. I was never good at emotional regulation, because I always drew from the only kind I knew. Hate. For men, in particular. Older ones.
Elea glances at my grip, then back at my face.
Now I have to watch the only man I’ve ever felt anything for parade whatever she is to him in front of me while I wait for the next ball to drop.
She gestures to the side. “Come on. I want to show you something.” She’s not quite reached the threshold when she calls out, “And you’ll want to bring your drink.”
I follow her, shoving my phone into my back pocket. The clean white kitchen gives way to dark moss walls. Ornate black frames hang around the room, with a chandelier dangling overhead. A round table sits beneath it, ringed by seven chairs. Seven. That number’s going to drive me crazy.
Elea pulls out a seat and sets two full glasses on the table, then turns to the cabinet behind her. Photo frames sit behind locked glass doors, rows of frozen smiles and rigid poses, and my eyes catch on each one as I sink into the chair opposite her.
I nod toward the cabinet. “Family portraits?”
She chuckles, stepping around the table. “Something like that.”
I twist the ring clasped around my finger, wondering if she’ll continue.
She lowers her glass and places down a leather-bound book. “I lost someone recently too. Actually,” she chokes on her laugh, “I’ve lost so many people in my life that I’m beginning to think I’m cursed.”
Her laugh dies as she slides it across the table, tapping the cover. “Here. I thought I’d show you some photos of Atlas and Asher when they were children.”
I flick over the next page, and two boys stare back at me from a snow-blasted slope, both strapped to snowboards. One throws a hang-loose sign with a grin that’s all teeth, the other has his middle finger aimed square at the lens.
“Ha!” Elea points to the photo with the hand holding her drink. “Now that was an interesting day. They both took the highest mountain in the world. Caused me a lot of grief. Boys. They’re reckless.”
She pauses and I flip to the next page. A woman and a man sitting in front of an old farmhouse. Same kind eyes as Elea, same smile.
“You were beautiful.” I peer up at her. “Still are.”
I was so distracted by her that I missed who was beside her.
Thick beard. No. Not thick.
I squint.
Familiar. So familiar it drags up the memories of him on the yacht. No. How did we miss this?
I rein in my spiraling questions, steadying my heart and showing not a single flinch across my face.
My silence must be obvious because she shifts in her chair to look at what has my attention. “The boys’ father.”
Parker was Asher’s father. Not friend—fucking father!
Did she know what she was doing showing me this? Answering a question she knew her son wasn’t giving me?
I push the book back towards her. “You have a lovely family.”
What did this all mean? How could Asher be Parker’s son without us knowing all this time?
Silence.
If I wasn’t so lost in my own thoughts and focusing on not displaying it, I’d maybe had noticed that she was staring at me sooner.
“Thank you.” She tips her glass in a cheers. “Ivanya?”
“Mmm?” I say, letting my face go soft and open. It always works. The perfect way to look unassuming is to play Innocent.