“I thought you’d run away.”
I huffed. “Apparently, I can’t stay away.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“Sinclair…”
“Giselle…” I could hear his amusement. “Stop worrying, stop hiding. Come out and let me introduce you to some of my team upstairs. I have at least another hour of work to do before we go back to my place but I’ll leave you with Candy, she would love the distraction.”
I turned around, tipping my head back to look up at his phenomenal face. “Okay.”
“Okay? I was expecting you to protest.”
I shrugged. “I want to meet the people you work with. I don’t know much about what you do.”
“I’m a property developer and you have actually met most of my core team. Duncan Wright is my CFO, Richard Denman is one of our chief architects, Candy is my right hand woman and Robert Corbett is head of our construction division.”
“Do they all work in the building?”
“No, most of the time they are out on location working on projects but Duncan should be here. Would you like to say hello?”
“Would that be okay?” I asked, unsure about the etiquette.
He shook his head and took my hand to lead me out of the back room. “Haven’t you realized by now that I can’t deny you anything?”
I was tempted for a moment to test his words by asking him to leave Elena for me. Happily, Rossi found us a moment later and the opportunity was lost.
Éclair’s apartment suited them. Tucked into a beautifully maintained Greek revival townhouse in Gramercy Park, it was luxurious without being ostentatious, stylish and classy without being too cold. I recognized the art on the walls as pieces that Sinclair would have chosen himself and the large pearly grand piano in the corner was Elena’s most prized possession, a housewarming gift from the twins. It was an older space with soft, glossy dark floors and a slightly cluttered floor plan that was so at odds with today’s open-style living spaces.
I loved it.
But it felt unspeakably strange to be in the belly of the beast, the place Sinclair and Elena shared as a couple. Especially after my previous night with him and the wonderful afternoon I had just spent at his office. As he introduced me to more members of his team and joked with Candy about my distracting capabilities, it felt almost as if I was his girlfriend. Candy had tried to emphasize exactly that point but I’d convinced her to move the conversation along to less complicated things, like her knew boyfriend Gregory, whose Russian accent was so thick that sometimes she could barely understand him. Apparently, it had made for some confusing situations in the bedroom.
Sinclair had stood silently by as I explored the place but now he stepped forward to slide his hands down my arms and link them through my fingers.
Pressing his nose to my hair, he murmured, “Is it terrible of me to say that I like seeing you here? In my space.”
I shrugged helplessly. “I think it is safe to say that we are not the best people.”
His hands tightened in mine. “You are very good, Elle. Your lightness, your kindness, is what drew me to you in the first place.”
“I don’t feel like a good person,” I said and felt him stiffen behind me, knew that my words hurt him. I spun around to place my hands on his cheeks, my thumbs against his cut glass cheekbones. “I feel selfish and gluttonous but I can’t help myself. Whenever I’m without you, I trick myself into thinking that I can survive without this and honestly, I know if I was strong and good, I could. But I don’t want to and it’s getting hard to remind myself why I should care.”
Sinclair’s electric eyes blazed down at me. I wanted to fidget or drag my gaze away but I forced myself to stay still, willfully trapped in his snare.
“What are you saying?” he said roughly. “Tell me I am not insane, si? Tell me you mean what you say.”
My mouth was beyond parched. I felt as if I had swallowed a gallon of sand and when I parted my lips to speak, I could hear them rasp apart like Velcro.
The rattle of a key in doorway had us springing apart before we could even rationally make sense of the warning. Sinclair cleared his throat and shoved his hands through his hair before turning on his heel towards the kitchen while I quickly settled onto the stone suede couch by the fireplace. That was how Elena found us when she came through the door, looking as beautifully put together as always.
“Giselle, I’m so sorry that you had to go through that today,” she said immediately, making her way over to me after carefully hanging up her coat, scarf and briefcase.
I accepted her soft kiss on the cheek and hoped she couldn’t hear my hammering heart. Immediately, she made her way to the sound system and plugged in her phone. A moment later, Chet Baker’s smooth tones spilled into the room and I was reminded of how much Elena loved music. As a girl, she had spent hours at Signora Donati’s house playing the piano and I’d often trailed after her, ducking in the dry brush beside the window to the living room in order to hear the music that pooled beneath her eloquent fingers.
“I decided to host dinner this year,” she continued, moving around the room to straighten already immaculate pieces of furniture. “It’s Thanksgiving tomorrow, Daniel, did you remember to take the time off?”
“You’ve reminded me every day this week. Of course, I did,” he called from the kitchen.
She turned to look at me, narrowing her eyes as she took in the swell of my breasts in the brightly patterned neckline of my dress and the mass of curls that fell artlessly around my shoulders. I took the time to admire how beautifully lady-like she looked in her high-necked lace blouse and black pencil skirt. I tried not to compare her to Lady and I to the Tramp.
“Is that what you wore for your date with Ulrich?” she asked with a surprisingly playful pout. “No, don’t frown, this is very much my fault. I should have lent you something. Not that I don’t love the whole Parisian artist look but Ulrich works on Wall Street.”
“Trust me, I know,” I muttered as Sinclair came back into the room carrying three wine glasses and a bottle of Pinot Grigio. It was the same label we had shared together just last night. I wondered if he knew, and if he did, why he had chosen to drink it now.
“You had a date with Ulrich Wick?” he asked, after he had placed the glasses on the table and a brief kiss on Elena’s proffered cheek.
I caught the amusement in his eyes as he popped the cork on the wine and began to pour. With my chin tilted high, I replied haughtily, “I did, indeed.”
“Elena, how could you have?” he scolded lightly.
She sat down beside me on the couch, perched on the edge with her hands in her lap like a princess waiting to be served. But her eyes smiled too, sparkling back at Sinclair with warmth and good humor.
“What? Ulrich is a very intelligent and kind man.”
“He is also extremely dull, darling.”
Darling, I so clearly remembered him calling her that while we were in Mexico. I had wondered what kind of woman she was. Though it was impossible for me to have known Elena was Darling, it was eerie how close my imagination had come to conjuring her exact image based on the little I had known in Los Cabos.
Elena was laughing, her true light and trilling giggle that made her eyes squinty. “He is not boring, Daniel. You think any man without knowledge of fishing, art or travel is a bore.”
He shrugged one shoulder and handed her a glass of wine. Her fingers brushed lingeringly over his and he bestowed her with a beautiful smile.
It was hard to listen to their conversation over the roar of blood rushing through my head but somehow I managed to.
“It is not so specific. A man, or a woman for that matter, must have passion or else they are a shell of themselves,” Sinclair said.
He was looking at me now, but I couldn’t bring myself to meet his gaze.
“Passion is messy,” Elena said, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “I think this was one of the first things we bonded over.”
&
nbsp; He nodded his agreement but his lips were tight over his teeth with restraint. I fought not to let out a bitter little laugh. Passion was the first thing Sin and I had bonded over too.
“Yes,” I managed to say. “How did you two meet?”
“Cosima introduced us.” I watched Elena’s features melt under the warmth of her recollections and felt my lungs tighten. “I was infatuated with him on sight, I think. He was wearing this gorgeous navy blue bespoke Brooks Brothers suit and it was before he let his hair get so long and unruly. He looked like such a gentleman.”
A wolf in sheep’s clothes, I thought.
“I offered to help with her English,” Sin explained. “It was as good an excuse as any.”
“Well, I certainly couldn’t resist my gorgeous tutor, now I could I? After our ‘study’ date, I was hooked and the rest is history.”
It was a cute little story, one that they had obviously shared countless times. I thought about my meet-cute with Sinclair, how I must have looked after puking for hours on the plane. The relationship that followed wasn’t exactly picture perfect either.
Once, making the comparison between the perfection that was Elena and little old me would have induced coma-like melancholy and self-doubt but I knew myself better now. I loved myself more. And I knew that despite our imperfect origins, Sin was inexplicably drawn to me.
For the first time since I found out who he really was, I wondered if that was enough to make him choose me over her.
“Oh by the way, we have an appointment with Miss Hertz this weekend. One o’clock on Saturday. I already let Margot know and she said it wouldn’t be a problem with your schedule,” Elena said.
Sinclair grew exceptionally still beside me, the kind of immobility that somehow seems more obvious than a shout in an empty room. I found myself unconsciously clenching my muscles, freezing in the act of bringing my wine glass to my lips. The air grew static as a storm began to brew.
“Elena,” Sinclair said softly. “I thought we spoke about this.”
As if to make up for his lack of movement, Elena stood up and became a flurry of activity, placing coasters under our glasses and fluffing already plumped pillows.
She didn’t look at him when she said, “I know we did, but one conversation that came from absolutely nowhere should not derail our plans to have a family.”
Oh, my God. I was paralyzed by my urge to flee, the rush of adrenaline through my blood causing some kind of overload in my nervous system. I prayed fervently, with a passion that would have rivaled Mama’s, to any God that would hear me, that they wouldn’t talk about this in front of me.
I’d never been a very lucky woman.
“We should discuss this later when we can be alone. For now, please call Miss Hertz and cancel the appointment,” Sinclair said, so reasonably that even I wanted to punch him.
But Elena didn’t rage against his condescension. Instead, she retracted into herself like a threatened sea anemone. It was almost amazing to watch her grow cold and distant, mostly because it was exactly the way Sinclair reacted to conflict. I wondered, horrified, how they ever overcame difficulties when both of them gave into the urge to flee instead of fight.
“I will not. It took us months to get this far, Daniel, and I will not cancel this appointment on one of your whims.”
“One of my whims?” Sinclair asked, with one eyebrow raised.
Elena stuck out her delicate chin.
Slowly he rose out of the chair, with such controlled discipline that I imagined his joints clicking into place like an automaton. There was something so absurdly terrifying about the calculated movements, the way he cocked his head just slightly to the side to study her. This was the businessman, the Dom, the predator. Someone that dared you to fuck with them just so that they could have the pleasure of ripping you to shreds.
Suddenly, I felt terribly for Elena.
“We aren’t happy, Elena. That is no atmosphere to bring a child into,” he said.
“Speak for yourself,” she snapped, hands on hips. “I am happy.”
He only stared at her. I’d never met anyone who could use silence as a weapon like Sinclair could.
“I want a baby.”
“Do you want me to say yes only to please you?” he asked, in that cool, quiet voice.
My heart was beating so loudly, I wondered that they didn’t hear it.
“You agreed, Daniel. You agreed years ago when,” she paused and sadness flared across her features, “when we first got together. You promised that one day we would have kids. It’s important, isn’t it? That you agreed? I know you never wanted them. You don’t think I don’t know that? You do not want kids, you do not want marriage, but you want me, don’t you? And I need this.”
My eyes swiveled in my frozen face just in time to see Sinclair deflate. His features softened and his eyes took on that electric glow that I had once thought was reserved only for me. Wordlessly, he breached the space between them and took Elena into his arms, one hand locked firmly on her neck as he tucked it into his shoulder. Almost immediately, she let out a gusty sigh and wilted into his arms.
I stared at their embrace for a long moment, cataloguing the way she fit to him like a tailored suit, how beautifully and tenderly they clutched each other. When I finally wrenched my gaze away from my worst nightmare, my eyes over corrected and flew to the opposite wall of the room where a portrait picture of Éclair hung over the mantle. In it, Elena sat in a rigid chair with Sinclair standing behind her, one hand on her shoulder. It was the kind of painting I expected to find in a royal museum and the sight of it punched me right between the eyes.
I may have murmured something as I peeled myself off the couch and zombie-walked down the hallway to my bedroom for the night, but I couldn’t be sure and either way, they didn’t notice me leave. I closed the door softly behind me and felt my way towards the bed in the pitch dark. I flopped on top of the many-pillowed bed and stared into the darkness as if it was a prophet, sent to deliver answers. When none proved to be forthcoming, I turned on my side, clutched my knees to my chest, and cried and cried and cried.
Chapter Sixteen.
The next morning, after finally falling into a tear-soaked coma, I woke up before the crack of dawn in order to escape the apartment without having to face either my sister or her boyfriend.
Her boyfriend. That was how I was going to refer to Sinclair as from now on. Not my Frenchman, not my friend, not even Sinclair but as Daniel, Elena’s boyfriend. If I could force myself to think of him as this other person, as I might have known him had I met him properly, I might have a chance in hell of getting over him. I imagined meeting him for the first time at a family dinner and found it easy to believe I would have found him haughty and remote, condescending and one-dimensional. His beauty would have imprinted itself on my psyche – it simply couldn’t be helped – but I wondered if the chemistry between us would have remained caged and hidden behind the bars of acceptable social norms.
As of this morning, I was turning over a new leaf. It didn’t erase the sins I had already committed but it would keep Elena happy, my family intact and Sinclair firmly imbedded in the kind of lifestyle he coveted. As I straightened the bed and vainly tried to smooth the wrinkles from my slept-in clothes, I considered moving back to Paris. Christopher had found me there but by now, he might have moved on.
My thoughts were still spinning with possibilities as I tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the living room. I was just peeling open the front door when the overhead light flicked on, freezing me like a thief in the spotlight.
To my surprise, when I turned around it wasn’t Sinclair who stood there, silently contemplating me, but Elena.
She wore beautiful black silk pajamas with white piping and a matching facemask pushed back her softly tousled curls. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes and she wrung her hands in an unusual display of nervousness.
“Morning,” I said into the awkward silence.
She blinke
d. “You look like you are getting ready to do the walk of shame. If you have to leave right now, at least borrow a jacket.”
My spine straightened painfully under her casual censure. “I’m fine like this, Elena, but thank you.”
“You look like a siren. Do you want men propositioning you on the street?” she snapped.
You look like a siren. It took monumental effort not to collapse into tears right there on my sister’s living room floor.
“Fine, if you don’t mind then I would love to borrow a jacket.”
Elena nodded curtly and went to the closet to pull out a long Burberry trench coat, the same one she had been wearing the night of my welcome home party. I let her help me into it and tried to breath through my mouth to avoid the aroma of her Chanel Number 5 perfume. She lingered over the collar, turning it up against my throat and smoothing my wayward hair around my cheeks.
“You are very beautiful,” she said, almost as if it pained her.
“We have good genes.”
To my utter surprise and dismay, Elena’s lower lip curled into a pout and wobbled.
“Daniel doesn’t want to be with me anymore,” she whispered so quietly that I was almost sure I had imagined it.
“Scusi?” I asked, my muddled brain devolving back to Italian.
Her dark eyes shone like polished graphite. “He doesn’t love me anymore.”
My heart hiccoughed in my chest but I fought down my own feelings with a Herculean effort and gently took hold of her limp hand in order to lead her to the couch.
“First of all, where is he now?” I asked.
“Work. He went in around four thirty this morning. To get away from me.” She sniffed wetly and tugged her knees to her chest like a little girl in need of comfort.
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“It is. He always goes into work when he needs to get away. Even on Thanksgiving.”
The Secret (The Evolution Of Sin Book 2) Page 19
