In contrast to Malcolm, Charlotte turned out to be equal parts funny and charming, regaling us with stories of her family’s flower shop, including how there had been an unfortunate mix-up with the deliveries for a funeral and a wedding.
“Thankfully, I managed to make it right with a minute to spare,” she said, shaking her head. “At least the funeral home didn’t have to wonder for too long why someone had sent a mammoth bouquet with a banner saying Congratulations, and thank God the bride-to-be never saw the condolence wreath. Phew.”
Like Victoria, Hugh had been an attentive host, refilling glasses, helping her with dinner and, alongside Lewis, insisted on cleaning up. Still, I couldn’t help noticing how flustered Victoria became when she’d tipped over a glass of water, how she’d apologized to Hugh far more than Malcolm, to whom the drink had belonged. The trend of her seeming nervous and on edge around Hugh had continued, and she’d gone out of her way to please and appease him.
I pushed the jumble of thoughts about Victoria and Hugh’s marriage to one side and headed for my bathroom, turning back when my phone rang. It was almost eleven thirty, late for anyone to be calling, and although I didn’t recognize the number, I still answered.
“Hello?”
“Stay away from my daughter,” Stan said. “Do you hear me? Stay away.”
“You don’t get to tell me—”
“Yes. Yes, I do. I said from the beginning I don’t want anything to do with you.”
“I’m not having anything to do with you.”
“I don’t know what you think you’re playing—”
“I’m not playing—”
“What, you mean you coincidentally ended up working for Victoria? And Hugh?”
“It wasn’t—”
“What do you want? What’s your endgame?” Stan said quietly, and when I heard a dog barking, and a police siren in the distance, I knew he’d slipped outside to call.
“I don’t want anything from you. Not anymore.”
“Oh, come now,” Stan said through clenched teeth. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that everybody wants something. You’ve been a good strategist, and I underestimated you. My bad, as they say. What’s it going to take for this to end?”
“Why are you so desperate to make me go away?”
“What do you want?” he repeated. “Tell me now.”
“I want a relationship with my sister. That’s all.”
“Half sister,” he snapped. “And under false pretences, no less. I wonder what she’d say if she knew who you really are.”
“I wonder, too,” I said without missing a beat, “and what she’d make of you buying off my mother and making this big a decision for her.”
His voice rose, his tone exasperated. I’d hit a nerve. “If you tell her—”
“Careful, Dad,” I said. “It almost sounds as if you can’t handle not getting your own way. How does it feel? A little uncomfortable, I’d imagine.” As the line went dead, a smile stretched across my face. I’d got to him. Again.
Ten minutes later when I knocked on Lewis’s door with newfound energy, I felt victorious, a little dangerous, even, as if I could do anything I put my mind to.
“I thought you’d changed your mind,” he said, nuzzling my neck and leading me inside.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been in his apartment but I paid minimal attention to the decor—bright white walls, a brown sofa with cream cushions—before I took him to his bedroom and pushed him onto the bed. As I straddled him, unbuttoning his shirt and loosening his belt, letting my hands wander, he groaned.
“You’re killing me,” he said, his hands moving over my hips. I lowered myself to kiss his chest, slid my lips downward as I worked on the buttons of his jeans, shivering at the thought of my hang-ups disappearing, no longer worried about the lights being on. Lewis could see me. I wanted him to. It meant I could see him, including his expression—one full of lust and desire, and which I’d put there.
* * *
I awoke the next morning to the aroma of fresh coffee. When I pulled on Lewis’s shirt, which I’d ripped off him the night before, and walked to the kitchen, I found a blue-and-white polka-dot coffee mug on the counter with a neatly penned note underneath.
Hey, Sleepyhead,
New client = early start. Stay as long as you want. See you tonight?
Lewis x
P.S. Hope you approve of the mug. It made me think of you.
I filled the cup with black coffee and wandered around Lewis’s apartment. His place was far nicer than mine, its walls freshly painted, its kitchen refitted, the taps still shiny. There was no water-stained ceiling or patchy carpet, either. He’d told me he’d done some of the work, and I wondered if he’d chosen the accent pieces or if it had been a former girlfriend. The blue of the heavy linen curtains complemented the other soft furnishings dotted around the living room—the cream cushions and a fuzzy beige blanket folded over the back of the sofa. Black-and-white framed pictures of misty mountains and the ocean hung on the wall, giving the place depth rather than sullenness. The photographs were of professional quality, and they made me want to grab my Nikon and go out for a walk so I could get some long-overdue practice.
Smaller framed pictures stood on a teak sideboard. One was of Lewis with a group of guys, all dressed in army uniform. Another of an elderly lady sitting in a restaurant in front of a giant plate of calamari—his Spanish grandmother. I picked up the third photo, one of an older couple hiking in the mountains, people he’d told me were his mother and stepfather. Would I meet them, I wondered? If Lewis and I stayed together, would we fly out to Colorado at some point? The thought made my palms clammy and I put the photo down, wishing I was able to introduce him to Dad, too, and the sudden stabbing pain made me well up.
Although grateful I could imagine Lewis in his own environment when I heard him moving around upstairs, after sitting on the sofa for a few minutes I began to feel self-conscious. I needed to get to work if I was going to meet Hugh’s project expectations, and I’d be up late most nights if I wanted to polish Victoria’s site, too, getting ready for her company’s launch.
Last night after Malcolm and Charlotte had left, and Hugh and Lewis were discussing their favorite Netflix shows, Victoria had confessed she couldn’t stop freaking out after quitting her job.
“Do you really think I did the right thing?” she said, and chewed on her lip.
“Yes. Why? Don’t you?”
“Yes, well, mostly. I’m not sure at times. I’m not that confident—”
“Are you kidding me? You’re one of the most confident people I know.”
She glanced at Hugh, shook her head and whispered, “I’m not. It’s all an act. Most of the time I’m scared shitless everyone will figure out I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like a downright fraud most days. Does that ever happen to you?”
“All the time,” I whispered back, albeit, I suspected, not exactly for the same reasons.
“Apparently it’s called impostor syndrome.” She looked at me and I made myself hold her gaze. “And it’s exactly what I am. An impostor.”
“No, you’re not. And you’re going to be great.”
“Come with me.” She reached for my hand and jumped up, pulling me into the hallway. “I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise?” I said as I followed her.
“I was going to wait until you finished the website, but...”
Laughing, she ushered me into their bedroom, which was almost as big as my entire apartment. A king-size bed with a padded sapphire velvet headboard stood on the far wall. The white bedding looked crisp, with the word Hugh embroidered in blue on the left pillow, and Victoria on the one on the right. Books filled his bedside table whereas hers was bare, except for a heavy-looking paperweight made from turquoise glass. A cream-colored ch
aise longue sat in the corner, and I imagined her draped over it, sipping a green tea or a foamy cappuccino, reading a book on a lazy Sunday morning.
One of the pictures hanging on the left wall drew my eye—a black-and-white photograph of a naked woman’s arched back, her hands loosely tied behind her with a string of pearls. Although the curve of her hip, buttocks and left breast were barely visible, it made the photo more intimate, more erotic somehow. Eleanor caught my stare.
“Oh, God,” she said. “How embarrassing.”
“It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Hugh went through this phase of taking naked pictures of me. I didn’t enjoy it much, to be honest, but it made him happy.”
I forced my gaze away and looked around. “This is a lovely room. It’s huge.”
“Thanks. The pillows are a bit over-the-top, aren’t they? I mean, it’s not as if we’ll forget which side of the bed we sleep on, but they were a present from Charlotte. Anyway...” She gestured for me to join her at the dresser, where she slid open the top drawer, making the duo of silver rabbit ornaments standing on top of it wobble.
Curious, I peered inside the drawer, my eyes going wide. “You have a gun?”
Victoria laughed. “Yeah, but don’t worry, that’s not your surprise.”
“But...why do you have a weapon?”
She shrugged. “Dad bought it for me years ago, insisted I learn how to shoot. It’s a SIG P226.” She picked it up and held it out. “Want to hold it? Don’t worry, it’s not loaded.”
“Uh, no, thanks. Guns really aren’t my thing.”
“Yeah, mine neither, but Dad said it was for—” she made quotation marks “—‘self-defense.’ Anyway, never mind that stupid thing. This is what I wanted to give you.” She set the gun down and picked up a small parcel wrapped in gold paper, complete with an elaborate ruby-red bow. “It’s a small thank-you for taking on my project at stupidly short notice, and, well...for becoming such a good friend.”
“Victoria, I can’t—”
“Yes, you can.” She pushed the parcel into my hands. “It’s not much. Open it.”
I tore into the paper, uncovered a black velvet box the length of a deck of cards. Fingers trembling, I opened the lid, blinked hard. Inside was a silver necklace with a diamond-encrusted infinity-symbol-shaped pendant and matching earrings.
“I can’t accept this,” I said, looking up.
“Why not?” Her smile faded, replaced by abjection.
I wanted to tell her I couldn’t take her beautiful gift because I’d stolen her ring. Why hadn’t I brought it with me tonight? I could’ve hidden it somewhere in the apartment, hoping she’d find it, but I hadn’t had the courage in case she caught me with it somehow.
“Don’t you like them?” she said, her voice faltering.
“I love them.” My fingers grazed the precious stones. “But it’s...it’s too much.”
Victoria closed my fingers over the box, pressing it further into my palm. “No, it isn’t, I promise. If it helps, they’re zirconia, not real diamonds. Oh, and before I forget...” She walked to her closet and pulled out a white plastic bag. “I went through my clothes the other day and, well, I hope this doesn’t sound weird or anything, but I found these tops. I bought them on a whim but they don’t suit me, the color isn’t right, you know? I think they’ll look great on you.”
She opened the bag and pulled out two sleeveless V-neck shirts, both of them a different shade of red. The first one had little black embroidered roses, the other spirals of tiny sequins sewed into the satin fabric. I saw the label, recognized the brand and shook my head.
“Victoria, I can’t take these. You should return them and get your money back.”
“I can’t,” she said. “I don’t have the receipt. Besides, they’re worn.”
“Still...they’ll be too small—”
“Take them,” she insisted, pushing the bag into my hands. “They’re a bit big for me. I bet they’ll fit your lovely curves perfectly. You’ll look amazing, trust me.”
Still, I hesitated. “You’re sure?”
“Positive. But do me a favor?”
“Of course, anything.”
“Can you not mention the gifts to Hugh?” She fiddled with her wedding ring, spun it around her finger with her thumb. “He, uh, said I spend too much, especially with me quitting my job... He’s not too happy about my lost jewelry, either, because I was careless.”
“I won’t say a word to anyone, I promise.”
In a heartbeat Victoria threw her arms around my neck and hugged me hard, the scent of her floral perfume enveloping me.
“Thank you,” she whispered, giving me a peck on the cheek before pulling away, as if embarrassed by her sudden display of affection. “I knew you’d understand.”
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“Of course you can. Anything.”
“It’s... Well...uh, is...is everything okay between you two?”
“What do you mean?” She blinked, her voice light, but a trace of a frown on her face.
“Sometimes I can’t help wondering—”
“Oh, we’re fine,” she said, her eyes darting around the room. “We’re great. Gosh, I’d better get back and make more coffee. Put the shirts and jewelry in your bag, okay? And please don’t tell Lewis, either, in case he mentions it to Hugh. Those two seem to have hit it off.” As she turned, her elbow knocked one of the rabbit ornaments over, and it fell onto the carpet with a thud. I bent over and picked it up.
“Thanks,” she said. “Jeez, these stupid things keep falling. Just put it in here.” She opened the drawer and after I’d placed the rabbit inside, she led the way back to the living room.
I wasn’t sure if she’d avoided being alone with me afterward, or if it was through circumstance, but I continued watching her with Hugh, and I knew she’d noticed. The way she put her hands on his shoulders, how he draped an arm around her waist, both of them the perfect, attentive couple. Was there actually any negativity between them? I’d asked Lewis his opinion.
“They seem like a great couple,” he’d said as we’d walked home. “Happy. Solid.”
And yet, here I was, sitting on Lewis’s sofa the next morning, and the thoughts remained, burrowing deeper. I finished my drink, washed the mug and scribbled a quick note.
Thanks for the coffee.
Message me later? xoxox
P.S. Love the mug
I hesitated before adding a drawing of a woman with curly hair blowing a kiss, and writing another set of x’s and o’s beneath.
Once downstairs, I retrieved the velvet box from my bag, admired the necklace and earrings before carefully putting them on and looking at myself in the mirror. It had been an unexpected and thoughtful gift—making my heart melt, and my gut contract with guilt.
I walked to the bedroom and retrieved the folded tissue, taking my time to unwrap the contents, staring at Victoria’s ring as it lay twinkling in the palm of my hand. I wished I’d never taken it, that I’d handed it in without being so impulsive, so stupid. What had Hugh really said and done when he’d found out she’d lost it?
On the surface he appeared doting and kind, both toward Victoria and everyone else, but something was wrong between them, I could feel it. Whether it was abuse—mental, physical or both—I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t noticed any bruises when we’d been at the spa or since. Then again I hadn’t seen her in her underwear as she had me, but I knew from experience there didn’t need to be physical evidence for someone to be suffering.
The longer I stood there, my fingers touching the delicate chain around my neck, my other hand grasping Victoria’s ring, the more determined I became to figure it out. I felt a compelling need to ensure she was safe. Including from her husband.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
&nb
sp; LEWIS AND I SPENT Saturday night together, but much as we wanted to stay under the covers all Sunday, duty called. “I’ll see you soon,” he said as I left his apartment, kissing me deeply, his lips tasting of the breakfast he’d surprised me with in bed. When I’d woken up to the sound of him moving around in the kitchen, the sweet scent of cinnamon sugar in the air, he’d walked into the bedroom holding a tray filled with plates of French toast, tangy raspberries and grilled bananas. Once we’d finished eating, I’d thanked him for his perfect hospitality by pulling him back under the covers and removing his boxers.
I practically skipped down to my apartment and collapsed on the sofa. Over the past weeks I’d not only opened my heart to the gentle giant upstairs, but I’d also let my guard down—had chosen to let it down—giving him more details about the relationship with Amy and my mother, including the lurid story of their failed blackmail plans.
“Have you spoken to them since?” he’d said as we lay in bed.
“No, and I don’t intend to,” I said, rolling onto my side. “Anyway, enough about them. Tell me more about your mom and your stepdad.”
“Jackson’s a rancher, through and through. Mom’s a psychiatrist.”
“God, how was that, growing up? Did she psychoanalyze you?”
Lewis chuckled. “All the time, but she was clever. I never caught on until I was much older, by which time it was too late. She’s a master at reverse psychology. She actually wrote a book about it.”
“And you never wanted to move to Colorado?”
Sister Dear Page 24
