Moonlight Sins

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  Lucian started to turn away and stopped. A moment passed, and then he stepped into her. Without saying a word, he cupped her face in his hands and lowered his head.

  Her breath hitched.

  Kissing her softly, he dragged his thumbs along the curve of her cheeks. This was a different kind of kiss. It wasn’t frenzied like all the others. This . . . this felt like a thank-you.

  Then Lucian was walking away.

  Julia closed her eyes, exhaling raggedly as she placed her fingers against her lips.

  “Goodness,” she whispered, dropping her hand. Time to focus. Mentally giving herself a pat on the back, she pushed the door open the rest of the way and stepped instead, blindly feeling the wall until she found the switch. She flipped it on and light flooded the room.

  “Oh wow.”

  The room looked lived in, like it was still in use. The pretty lavender bedspread was turned down, revealing a mountain of pillows at the head. Cream-colored furniture dotted the room—a chaise and sitting chair, standing oval mirror and two dressers. There was a pair of glasses on the nightstand by the bed. Perfume bottles and pieces of jewelry littered the top of a mirrored bureau. A door to the left was open, revealing a deep closet.

  As Julia walked around, she saw that there wasn’t a speck of dust on any of the furniture. If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve thought someone did live in this room.

  But the bedroom was a snapshot in time, frozen.

  No wonder Lucian had a hard time coming in here. It was like his mother was still alive. There was even a silky blue robe laying on the bed, as if placed there by his mother to be used when she returned. . . .

  Julia frowned as she eyed the robe.

  Why would someone lay out a robe on a bed if they had no intentions of returning to use it? That seemed really odd.

  Then again, she didn’t know if their mother had laid that robe out. Perhaps Livie did. She didn’t know, but something about seeing that robe lingered in the back of her mind as she tossed the keys on the bed and got down to business.

  Julia felt weird going through the woman’s stuff, because it seriously felt like at any second someone was going to appear and yell at her. She ignored the tingly feeling along the nape of her neck and carefully rooted through the drawers, searching for signs of the photo albums or journals Daniel mentioned. The pearls had been easy to find. They were nestled in a velvet box on one of the dressers and she found a stash of super long pearls on display inside the closet. She gathered them up, placing them in a large straw basket she’d found next to the dresser.

  There were no sign of journals or photo albums, at least no place obvious. That left the stack of boxes in the back of the closet. There were large square ones, like the kind designer purses or hats were shipped in. Several brown Gucci boxes sat one on top another, next to a pile of white ones. Julia went through them, experiencing every level of envy as she uncovered several purses she’d give her left arm for.

  Moving the Gucci boxes aside, she almost didn’t see it at first. Julia leaned forward as her gaze landed on the floor of the closet. There was a section of the floor, at least three boards each about a foot long, that seemed oddly pieced together. She ran her fingers over the boards, finding that they were raised about an inch higher than the rest. They didn’t budge when she pried at them with her hands. Was something hidden under the boards or had they just been replaced for some reason? Looking around for something that could be used to pull the boards up, she didn’t see anything she could use except for coat hangers, and she doubted that would work.

  Filing that little discovery away, she reached for the next box, a white one. Peeking inside, she found what she was looking for.

  “Bingo,” she whispered. Picking up the box, she brought it over to the bed and sat down. She peeled open the lid to get a better look at what was inside.

  She had hit the jackpot.

  There were three large, black photo albums inside. Why would the photo albums be packed up in a box, though? Julia had no idea. The family was just really weird. Julia placed them in the basket and then reached back into the box, picking up a worn, red leather-bound journal with a leather strap binding the journal closed. She ran her finger down the strap, lifting the small key that dangled from the end. It didn’t go to the journal, so she supposed that it was just some charm.

  Julia tugged on the leather binding, but stopped, her finger frozen under the strap. A trail of icy fingers glided over the nape of her neck, spreading a wave of tiny bumps along her skin. Her breath caught as the hairs all over her body rose. Whipping around, she saw nothing but empty space behind her. She scanned the room, half expecting to see the apparition of Lucian’s mother, but of course nothing was there.

  Her imagination was really getting out of control. The icy air was probably just that—air kicking on from behind one of the numerous vents.

  She glanced down at the thick journal, then tightened the strap. Rising, she placed the journal in the basket and then picked up the box. Eager to get out of the room that felt like a living memorial, she quickly put the box back where she found it. Snatching up the basket, she locked up the room and then hurried down the hall.

  Julia never went down three flights of stairs as fast she did in the moment. Unfortunately it took a god-awful amount of time to find her way to the kitchen, taking the wrong hall and ending up in the same damn room more than once. But she knew she was getting close, because her stomach grumbled as she caught the scent of melted cheese and fried bread.

  God, she was brilliant.

  Got Lucian out of a painful experience and managed to get a grilled cheese sandwich. She deserved that candy, too.

  Her steps slowed down when she heard Devlin’s voice coming from the kitchen. Her stomach dipped as she glanced down into the basket she was holding. She had a sinking suspicion he would not be happy knowing Julia had been left alone in his mother’s bedroom.

  “What in the hell are you doing?” Devlin asked.

  “What does it look like?” came Lucian’s response.

  “It actually looks like you’re making a grilled cheese sandwich.”

  “Congrats,” Lucian replied dryly. “You’re able to make simple observations and report on them.”

  Julia grinned.

  “Since when did you start eating like a six-year-old with a cold?”

  Her grin started to fade. What the hell? Grown adults ate cheese sandwiches all the time. At least in her world they did.

  Lucian’s sigh practically shook the walls. “Is there something you want, Dev?”

  “Sort of. Since I didn’t get a chance to ask yesterday, how did the lunch go with our cousin?”

  “It was amazing. You know, I thought, wow, we’ve really misjudged cousin Danny-boy this entire time. And then I was like, maybe we should have him over for dinner every—”

  “Forget I even asked,” Devlin cut in.

  There was a pause and Lucian said, “Do you even care if Maddie showed any improvement? Because the question you should’ve asked was how did our sister respond?”

  Oh God.

  Julia looked around the hall. Plastered against the wall as she was, she really was afraid to move at this point. She really didn’t want them to know that she was overhearing this.

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve had other things on my mind other than the extended vacation our sister has been taking.”

  “Extended vacation?” Lucian’s laugh was harsh. “You’re an asshole.”

  Julia had to agree.

  “So, these other things on your mind? Have anything to do with the police investigating the death of our father?”

  Wait. What?

  Julia’s grip on the basket tightened.

  “Like I said, Chief Lyon isn’t going to pose a problem much longer.” Devlin sounded bored with the entire conversation.

  “You have a surprising amount of faith in our lawyers,” Lucian replied.

  If Devlin responded, Julia didn’t hea
r what he said as she stared into her basket. Why were the police investigating their father’s death? It was a suicide, wasn’t it?

  Would the police seriously investigate a suicide unless they suspected it was something else entirely? Like, for example, a homicide? Why would—

  Devlin walked out of the kitchen, and Julia’s heart about came out of her chest. Those eyes, the same color as Lucian’s but as cool as a winter’s morning, latched on to hers.

  “Good afternoon, Julia.”

  She swallowed and fixed a bright smile on her face. “Hello, Devlin. How . . . how are you?”

  “Good.” His gaze dropped to the basket, but he didn’t look inside. “And you?”

  “I’m good.”

  Devlin nodded and then walked past her. She twisted at the waist, watching him disappear around the corner. He had to have known she’d overheard them talking. Turning back to the kitchen doors, she got walking.

  Lucian was standing at the stove top, a muscle working along his jaw as he turned the gas off. Picking up a slotted turner, he moved the sandwich from a pan to a plate.

  “Hey,” she said, walking over to the island. “I . . . I found the stuff we were looking for.”

  “That’s great.” He picked up the plate and walked it over to where she stood, still holding the basket. His gaze flicked up to hers. Those eyes weren’t nearly as cold as his brother’s, but they were still closed off. “Thank you for doing that for me.”

  “It’s no problem and thank you—”

  “I know you really didn’t want this sandwich.” He placed the plate on the island. “I know what you were doing. So, I’m saying thank you and I mean it.”

  She opened her mouth, but what could she say? Besides, she really didn’t want to talk about this or what she found in his mother’s room. She had questions. Many.

  Julia didn’t get a chance to ask a single one.

  He pivoted around and left the kitchen without saying another word, leaving her there with the basket of his mother’s items. Her gaze fell to the plate, appetite completely gone, and that was a shame, because it looked amazing.

  She glanced down at her basket and then she shivered, and it had nothing to do with the sudden coldness in the room and everything to do with the brothers.

  Chapter 27

  Lucian’s sneakers were pounding on the treadmill when Godsmack’s “I Stand Alone” was cut off by Gabe’s incoming call. He’d lost track of how much time he’d spent running. All he knew was that this was the third time he’d heard this song come on and he’d been down in the home gym since he left Julia in the kitchen.

  Hell, his head wouldn’t shut down. Thinking too damn much. His sister. His cousin. Lawrence. Dev. Julia. He was trying to run the damn thoughts out of his head.

  Punching the stop button, he snatched his phone out of the holder and pulled out the earbuds as he rode the belt to the end of the treadmill.

  “How’s Baton Rouge?” he answered, hopping off the treadmill.

  “Ah, it’s been different,” Gabe replied, and Lucian frowned at the sound of his brother’s voice. It was off. “How was the lunch yesterday? I would’ve called, but time got away from me.”

  “It went okay. Not sure if Maddie responded or not, but I think it was good. Probably will have Daniel come over again.” Walking over to where he’d dropped a towel earlier, he swiped it off the ground. He didn’t think Gabe needed to know that Julia had taken things out of their mother’s room. “So, what’s going on in Baton Rouge?”

  Gabe laughed, and that didn’t even sound right. “Shit, man . . . I don’t even know where to start, but I’m going to be down here a few more days.”

  Frowning, he wiped up the sweat and then tossed the towel into the nearby hamper. Unease filled him. “Talk to me.”

  “Emma . . . she was in a really bad car accident,” his brother said.

  “Shit.” He planted a hand into the wall, back bowed. “I can be down there in a few—”

  “No. No, you can’t. You got Madeline and Julia to worry with. You can’t leave them with Dev,” Gabe cut in. “You need to be there. And I need to be here.”

  His brother was right, but Lucian didn’t like the sound of his brother’s voice. “How bad is bad, Gabe?”

  There was a long moment of silence and then his brother said, “She’s in a coma. They don’t think she’s going to wake up.”

  “Man, I don’t know what to say.” Lucian rested his forehead on his bicep. No matter what Gabe claimed, Lucian knew that the feelings he had for Emma had ran deep. “That’s why her parents called you down, so you . . .”

  So Gabe could say goodbye.

  Lucian couldn’t even bring himself to say that.

  “That and, uh, there’s something else. I don’t even know how to word this. Fuck,” Gabe groaned, and the hairs rose all over Lucian’s body. “I haven’t even wrapped my head around it.”

  Straightening, Lucian pushed off the wall as he eyed the shoulder and leg press machines. “What’s going on?”

  The deafening silence told Lucian that whatever Gabe was about to say was going to be a bomb—it was going to change everything.

  “I . . . I have a kid,” Gabe said, his voice hoarse. “I have a son.”

  After getting Madeline to bed, Julia gathered up the painting that she had finished that evening, a little after dinner. It was definitely a child’s face—a fair-skinned and haired child. Julia placed the painting in the closet, along with the rest.

  When she returned to Madeline’s side, she smothered a yawn as she fixed the bedspread. “I found some of your mother’s old albums,” she told the quiet woman. “I was thinking we could look through them tomorrow. What do you think?”

  Madeline’s gaze shifted to her.

  Julia just about fell over flat. Madeline was looking at her in direct response to a question. That wasn’t much, but that was . . . that was something that didn’t happen often. “You would like that? I found about three albums. I’ll bring them with me in the morning.” She drew in a deep breath. “I found some other stuff, too.”

  The woman stared back at her for a moment and then she tilted her head away. Her eyes closed.

  Stepping back from the bed, she checked the doors and then left Madeline’s room. Richard was waiting for her outside her door with a silver tray in his hands and the scent of roasted meat emanating from it. She took the tray and thanked him. After changing into more comfy clothes, meaning leggings and a loose shirt, she delved into the food. The chicken dish was amazing and after eating her dinner, she placed the basket of stuff from the mother’s bedroom on the bed, and started rooting through the albums.

  The de Vincents were cute as kids. Julia couldn’t but linger on the photos of Lucian. Even as a young boy, he had that mischievous grin and glint his eyes. She closed one album and then glanced at the clock. It was still pretty early in the evening.

  Nibbling on her finger, she smoothed her other hand over her knee. Was Lucian in his room? Did he expect her—

  Nope.

  She wasn’t going to think twice about any of that. Last night was amazing. Hell, she was actually a little sore, because seriously, it had been a real long time. It was almost like regrowing a hymen.

  Throwing one leg off the bed, she glanced at the door. Too many questions cycled over and over in her head. She wanted to know what Lucian and Devlin had been talking about earlier, but she also . . . she also wanted to make sure Lucian was okay.

  She hadn’t seen him since the kitchen. She didn’t even know if he was in the house.

  That need to comfort him probably made her incredibly stupid. Lucian didn’t come across as someone who wanted comforting and she wasn’t sure her desire to do so was purely out of a need to make sure he was all right.

  Julia was burning for him.

  She rose from the bed, pacing restlessly in her room. Her mind drifted to the things he’d done last night. The way he touched her, the way he—

  Anyway . . .r />
  Pushing thoughts of Lucian out of her mind, she plopped back on the bed and picked up the journal. Carefully opening it, she discovered it was a diary and a sketchbook. There were pages where their mother wrote about what she did that day and then others filled with intricate, detailed doodles ranging from roses to portraits of people Julia had never seen before. Some pages had dates on the top. Others didn’t, but from skimming, Julia figured out that this was the journal used right before she died. Several regular pieces of paper were folded up and stuck between other pages. Julia pulled one out, feeling like a creep as she opened it.

  It was a computer printout of what appeared to be old text messages or possibly some kind of chat. There were no names. Just bubbles of text.

  I know she doesn’t want us seeing each other anymore, but I don’t care. I love you and we will be together. They can’t stop us.

  They’re going to try.

  We just need to be more careful.

  Maybe we should just tell them.

  Give them a chance to accept it.

  Are you serious? They’d kill us. For real.

  What in the world was this? Messages between their mother and someone else? Or was it two unknown people? Didn’t take a forensic expert to think it looked like someone was having an affair.

  She thought about the note she’d found in Madeline’s bedroom, among the old books and magazines.

  Based on what she knew of the brothers’ father, she wouldn’t be surprised if the mother had someone on the side. Their father sounded like a real jerk.

  Cringing nonetheless, Julia folded the paper up and placed it back in the diary. She kept flicking back through the thick pages, stopping on an entry dated December ninth. The passage was written in cursive, the blue ink had begun to fade.

  Sometimes I think I should tell them, but I don’t know what good it would do. In the end, they’d probably hate me—they’d hate Lawrence even more than they do now, but it isn’t fair how Madeline and Lucian are treated and it isn’t right what they believe. I know the truth. He knows the truth. If he tries to cut them out, like I know he will, I’ll do it. I’ll show them all the proof. It will hurt my boys, but I will not let him do this to them.