Sins

by Lee, Nadia

  Mine.

  She grins. “Awesome. You’re mine, too, then. My boyfriend.”

  I can’t help grinning back, happiness floating through me like a gentle cloud. I love it that she thinks of me as hers—like we belong to each other. I kiss her, wanting her to know all the ways she matters to me. What she means to my existence.

  “Mmm. Now I’m feeling much better,” she says when I pull away. “Something to look forward to tonight.” She rests a hand on my chest.

  “Let me give you something else to look forward to.”

  “What?”

  “My best friend asked me to join him out in California next week. On a yacht. Some kind of private summer party. Be my plus one.”

  “A yacht!” she shrieks, then covers her mouth with her hands. Pleasure puts a lovely flush on her face. “Oh my God! I’ve never been on one! I’d love to!” she says, nearly bouncing. “I have to figure out what I’m going to wear…”

  “Wear whatever you want. California is trés casual.”

  “Yeah, but it’s your friend! I want to make a good impression.”

  She’s so lovely, I feel like I’m in a dream at times. “He’ll love you.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yes.” It’s endearing how she cares about what Ryder thinks, wanting to fit in with my world. I know he’ll adore her because she makes me happy.

  She tucks her feet under her legs and turns until she’s fully facing me. “You should come to Curtis, too, after Labor Day. I want you to meet Yuna.”

  “I’d love to,” I murmur, emotion clogging my heart as I hold her hand and look into her eyes. My life has never been brighter.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ivy

  The next day, Tony works on his laptop, his phone on the coffee table, while I’m at the piano, working on everything: fingering, phrasing, interpretation, precision of technique and speed. As usual, I soon get lost in the music. I love Chopin études. They aren’t as showy as Liszt, but there’s a sweet loveliness. And it’s going to take years to master them all.

  After two hours on the “Torrent” étude, I switch gears to something more fun. There’s a bright cheeriness to Liszt’s Grand Galop Chromatique I find irresistible. It sweeps you away to another dimension where life’s all fun and games. After all, it was what Liszt played to melt the panties off women in the nineteenth century. But I’m also aware how easily you can botch the music if you don’t have the control and mastery of technique. I’m planning to send a “beat that” video of me playing Grand Galop Chromatique to Yuna before Tony and I leave for California.

  When I’m done, I stretch and sit next to Tony on the long sofa.

  “Brilliant. Look at that smoke coming off your fingers.” He picks up my hands and blows on my fingertips.

  “It’s a bravura seduction piece from the nineteenth century. Did it make you want to get naked with me?”

  Tony shoots me an exaggerated leer. “You didn’t have to bother. I always want to get naked with you.”

  “Good, but hold that thought. I’m tired. Need to nap or something.” I yawn.

  “Sleepy already?”

  “Four hours of focus really takes it out of you. I have to nap afterward to recharge. Otherwise, I’m worthless.” I start to close my eyes. “Besides, a certain somebody’s been keeping me up late.”

  “Terrible, what some people will do.” He pulls me down until my head rests on his lap. He’s so warm and smells amazing. As I start to fall asleep, I feel him pick up my hand, massaging the fingers gently, one after another, pressing tender kisses on each. I’ve never felt more cherished than I do now.

  “I can’t believe you like them,” I say, a smile in my voice.

  “Your fingers? Why wouldn’t I?”

  “They’re so long. Too long, actually, for my palm. If they were about half an inch shorter, they’d look more proportionate.”

  “I don’t care. I’ve never seen fingers so beautiful and talented before.”

  I laugh softly, then doze off, my head on his lap and a smile on my lips.

  When I open my eyes, we’re still in the same position. Tony is watching me. He’s gorgeous in the bright sun, the light casting a hazy glow around him. His gentle green eyes are brilliant, his mouth set in a soft line that’s not quite a smile but just as sweet and precious.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Yeah.” I stretch. “How long was I out?”

  “Twenty minutes or so.” He pushes away a few tendrils on my cheek and forehead. “You looked peaceful.”

  “You watched me the whole time?”

  “More or less.”

  I flush, absurdly happy.

  He runs a finger along the faint scar on my right hand, a straight line that starts from my pinkie almost all the way to the heel of my palm. “How did this happen?”

  “With a pair of pruning shears. I was twelve at that time, and I bled so much. Needed stitches.” I make a face. Aunt Margot was hysterical over the cut, and I felt terrible for the gardener, who didn’t do anything wrong but got yelled at anyway. I just wanted to snip some tiger lilies in the garden because they looked so pretty. Since then, Aunt Margot’s had the gardener send some to the house every morning. If the garden’s out of lilies, we have a local florist deliver.

  “Did it hurt a lot?”

  “Not a lot. But the stitches were really annoying. Aunt Margot got so upset, she…” I trail off as I realize what I’m about to say. Crap. I shouldn’t have brought up how much his mother dotes on me. It’s like smearing salt over an open wound. I clear my throat. “Anyway, it’s an old story. What did you think about my étude?”

  Tony plays along. “Stunning. Maybe you’ll be another Pollini.”

  I’m thrilled he thinks that highly of my rendition, but I have to laugh. “No, I won’t. He’s totally sublime, and I used to listen to his Chopin recordings all the time, hoping I could play like him. But Pollini is Pollini, and I’m me. I want people to listen to me because I’m awesome in my own way, not because I’m an imitation of Pollini.”

  The smile Tony gives me is so full of warmth and pride, I feel like I’m about to burst with happiness. Then his phone pings.

  “What is it?”

  “Just an email. I’m applying for jobs in New England.”

  “What?” I could have sworn Edgar said Tony was going to be part of Blackwood Energy. “Aren’t you joining the family business?”

  The light in his eyes dims. “It…probably isn’t a good idea.”

  Aunt Margot. I haven’t seen her be outright rude or hostile toward him, but I think her frigid treatment and avoidance hurt more somehow. I search for a way to change the topic and blurt out, “But why New England?”

  “You’re going to be in Philadelphia. That’s my first choice, but if not, I can expand my search criteria a bit.”

  “I’m okay with just spending weekends together. I mean, if you find a job in Boston or something.” That earns me a baleful look, so I try again. “I don’t want you to give up on something that’s going to open doors for you. And while I’m at Curtis, we can spend all our weekends and breaks together. It isn’t a big deal.”

  The look only grows more baleful.

  Later that night, Tony is driven and persistent…and wickedly skilled. He puts me through an evil and prolonged sexual torture. Only when I clutch him desperately and cry out that I can’t live without his cock inside me does he let me climax and comes inside me.

  When I regain my breath, I kiss him. “You’re so bad,” I whisper.

  He lifts his head from the crook of my neck and looks at me.

  “Still,” I say, “I love—”

  He kisses me before I can finish. If that’s where it ended, I’d be kicking his ass…or trying, anyway. But before I can tell him he’s being rude and hurtful by refusing to let me finish, he looks into my eyes and says, “I love you, Ivy.”

  I stare at him. I had hoped…wished… But I didn’t realize he already loves me
. Happiness and adoration well up. I take his face between my palms and hold his gaze to tell him how much I love him as well. But before I can say anything, he kisses me again, then takes me until I’m out of my mind with pleasure and love for him.

  After that, something shifts between us in a way that’s vaguely disturbing. Every time I try to tell him I love him, he kisses me before I can get all the words out. It’s as though he can’t bear to hear me say it. But he always says he loves me like he needs me to know what I mean to him.

  So one evening, when Harry rents a mindless action movie and invites Tony to watch it, I say I’ll be there too. I have no intention of paying attention to the flick, but I know if I don’t go, Tony’s likely to decline so he can spend more time with me.

  My plan for the evening? Text Yuna while Tony’s occupied. That should give me almost two hours to sort it out—in case it’s something super-complicated and takes more time than I expect.

  We all sit on the sofa, and Harry brings a huge tub of caramel popcorn to share. It doesn’t take long for the hero to start shooting up everything in sight—I’m not sure why, but it isn’t important in this kind of movie. So I surreptitiously text Yuna. She should be up by now.

  Hey, got a ? for you.

  No, I’m not going easy on you. I’m going to kill “Torrent.”

  I almost laugh. I can imagine her arrogant face. It isn’t about that. It’s about my boyfriend.

  There is a pregnant delay in her response. You have a boyfriend and you didn’t tell me? WTH?

  I glance at Tony, but he’s captivated by the movie. Even so, I slide my phone a little further around so he can’t see what I’m typing. I did mention him to you. Tony.

  Your middle cousin?

  Yes.

  Uh… Is it common for Americans to date their cousins?

  No. But I’m adopted.

  Still. It does feel really forbidden. So tell me. How serious are you guys?

  He’s thinking about moving to Philly.

  Wow. That’s serious-serious! Send me pics. I want to know if he’s any hot.

  I send her a pic of him and me together. A selfie we took a couple of weeks ago. Yuna’s big on eye candy.

  A moment later, she responds, Damn. Totally worth it.

  Right? But… I text rapidly, laying out what the problem is—mainly that he won’t let me say I love him, even though he tells me he loves me.

  If he didn’t say the L-word, I’d say he’s using you, but it doesn’t sound like it. He’s really into you.

  That’s what I think too. He’s making plans to be with me in Philly, rather than going to a more glamorous city like New York or Boston. So why doesn’t he want to hear it? I’m so frustrated.

  It takes a moment before Yuna sends me her response. Any childhood trauma or abuse?

  What do you mean?

  I read this book once. Not psychology, a romance novel. In it, the girl was super abused by her ex, who told her, “I love you,” over and over again while beating the crap out of her. She couldn’t stand hearing anybody tell her “I love you” after that because it brought back ugly memories.

  My jaw slackens as my gaze slides toward Tony. He’s scrunching his face at the TV, then laughs as something explodes on screen. Did somebody beat him like in Yuna’s romance novel, while telling him, “I love you”?

  The only person I can think of who would hurt him like that is Aunt Margot, but I just can’t imagine her raising a hand against her son, no matter how furious she was. Her MO is mainly giving him the cold shoulder.

  So what happened in the book?

  Obviously she got over it with the right man. But this is real life. There are tons of things love can’t fix. If you can, get out now. Guys like that are high maintenance. The work may not be worth it.

  I read it twice, dry bitterness in my mouth, and look at Tony again. What Yuna’s saying is totally logical. I’d probably give her the same advice if our positions were reversed. But the idea of giving Tony up feels like one of those huge Amazonian snakes around my chest.

  Too late, I reply. I’m crazy in love with him.

  Sorry, I’m being negative. Haven’t had my coffee yet. Okay, forget what I said. If he has some mental hang-ups about hearing “I love you” then just avoid saying the words. Show him in some symbolic way, so he KNOWS you love him.

  Like what?

  Take inspiration from history? Schubert used to write ridiculously romantic music and dedicated it to whichever married woman he was in love with.

  Despite my mood, I almost laugh at the suggestion. I’m not going to do that.

  Maybe a ring? I watched a drama where this girl got a tattoo for her man. In the story they were meant to be together forever, but maybe that’s too permanent. You know love doesn’t last. Not like that.

  Schubert might’ve been fickle, but I’m not. Thanks! You’re a genius!

  I know. You owe me. Now I gotta go make myself pretty and join the parents for breakfast. Bye!

  XOXO, I type and hit Send, ideas swirling in my head. If Tony doesn’t want to hear me say I love him, he can see that I love him by looking at something on me. A ring is a definite possibility. People wear one when they get engaged or married…but it seems too temporary. I can always just take it off.

  Or lose it. Oh my God, what kind of message would that send? That my love can vanish down a drain because of carelessness?

  No, I need something better. More enduring. And a tattoo sounds like just the ticket. And it’s not “too permanent,” like Yuna said. What I feel for Tony could never be too permanent.

  I steal another glance in his direction and squeeze his hand. Soon. He’s going to know I love him without my having to say the words.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Ivy

  Hunger wakes me. I rub my eyes, cover a yawn, then smile when Tony’s face fills my vision.

  “Hello, sleepyhead,” he says, looking down at me.

  “Hi. I’m hungry.”

  He nods. “It’s a little after one.”

  I gasp. I lay down for a short nap at a quarter till noon, and didn’t mean to sleep for so long. I was up after he fell asleep last night, thinking about the tattoo and where I should put it.

  “Sorry, I had no idea. You should’ve woken me,” I say, flushing with embarrassment at having made him wait for so long.

  “Why? You were sleeping so peacefully, and I don’t mind. I could watch you forever.”

  “You always know exactly what to say to make me happy.”

  His gaze grows tender. “All I have to be is honest with you.” He brushes the pad of his thumb over my jaw. “You can’t possibly know how liberating it is to know that’s all it takes to put a smile on your face.”

  I hold his hand and kiss the fingertips. “Let’s eat lunch.”

  “Wait,” he says, catching my wrist before I hop to my feet. “I have something for you.”

  I raise an eyebrow. It isn’t my birthday, and I don’t think there a one-month anniversary or anything special like that.

  “Here.” Tony pulls out a necklace from a long velvet box. An intricate medallion with the sun, the moon and some stars. The celestial objects are made from yellow, white and rose gold. It’s so beautiful I’m struck speechless.

  “I designed it myself and had it specially commissioned.” He clears his throat. “Seems fitting. A one-of-a-kind necklace for a one-of-a-kind woman.”

  His sweetness is killing me. “It’s gorgeous. Perfect. Thank you.”

  He smiles. “Turn around.”

  I turn and pull my hair to one side, eager to wear his gift. Pressing a kiss to the base of my neck, he puts it on me.

  I look down at the cool disk resting on my chest, a warm lump in my throat. This is such an incredible symbol of his love for me. I lift my gaze to meet his. “I love it.” I smile. “I lo—”

  He takes my face in his hands and kisses me hard. “Love you,” he whispers before claiming my mouth again.

  I let
my lips grow pliant and wrap my arms around him. Since he won’t let me say it, I’ll show him instead, hoping that whatever block he has about hearing me say the words isn’t stopping him from knowing that I truly love him. Soon I won’t need to say anything, I remind myself, vowing to get the tattoo done before we leave for the trip to California.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ivy

  A few days later, when Tony’s off at the boxing gym, I get an email from the tattoo shop I found on the other side of town. I read it while sipping grapefruit juice, leaning against the kitchen counter. The artist has come up with a gorgeous design, one that says exactly what I want. She suggests I put it near the pulse point on my left wrist.

  Left is your heart side. When your man kisses you there, he can see the tattoo and feel your pulse. When he holds your hand, he can press his wrist against yours. Or you can do it. Very intimate and special, like secret communication between the two of you, she wrote.

  It makes sense. And I like what she said about how it can be a kind of private communication between us. I can already imagine us, our hands linked, and every time I press my wrist against his, he’s going to know how much he’s loved all the way to the bottom of his soul.

  Also, I just had a cancellation, so can fit you in right now if you want.

  I text, I’ll be there ASAP, and start toward the garage.

  “Ivy, do you have a moment?”

  I turn at Aunt Margot’s voice, clasping my hands together out of reflex. She’s been avoiding me since the night Tony and I first slept together, which is unusual, since she likes to chat at least once a day. I’d bet my right hand she knows what’s going on. Nothing under this roof stays secret from her, not for long, anyway. I hope she isn’t stopping me to interfere in my relationship with Tony. She can hate him and avoid him if she really wants, but she can’t tell me how to feel or act. I’m not her, and I won’t hurt Tony for her, even if it lands me on her “bad list,” as Harry likes to put it.