The Secret (The Evolution Of Sin Book 2) (4 page)

“Sebastian,” I called after him as he stormed away from the table, the consummate actor, exquisitely dramatic.

“What is wrong with you?” Cosima asked, somehow keeping her irritation firmly under control. I was surprised, to say the least. The teenage girl I had lived with five years ago was not capable of such self-restraint.

Elena shrugged, causing Cosima to bare her teeth and repeat her question with more force.

She sighed and scraped her dark hair behind her ears. “Daniel has been acting strange since he came back from Mexico.”

I stilled, every muscle in my body paralyzed by my inner conflict, the half of me that wanted them to know and the other half of me that was terrified to death of the discovery.

“I’m not sure if he really wants this baby,” she continued.

“Oh Lena.” Cosima reached across the table and clasped her hands. “You know how Daniel is. He will love the baby just as soon as it arrives. Abstract thought isn’t his biggest strength.”

“True.”

“He’ll be a great dad.”

My sisters stared at each other for a second before collapsing into giggles. I bristled a bit at their humor; I
did
think Sinclair would be a great dad.

“What about you, Giselle?” Elena turned to me. “What was your first impression of my partner?

Partner
? What a stuffy way to refer to a lover, reducing it to something almost platonic, certainly boring. I took a deep breath, realizing that I was unfairly judging my sister for the way she related to
her
boyfriend. Hers, not mine. It wasn’t my place to even think about them, let alone allow my bias to further taint my strained relationship with my sister.

“He seemed…” I paused to consider – gorgeous, enigmatic, too controlled? “Professional, maybe a bit aloof.”

Elena nodded, satisfied and maybe even a little proud of my impression but Cosima scoffed. “If you met his parents you would understand.”

“His parents?” I assumed he no longer saw any of his foster parents.

“Willa and Mortimer Percy.”

I frowned, the names tickling something half forgotten at the back of my brain.

“Mortimer Percy is the Governor of New York,” Elena explained with quiet pride.

My mind bubbled and spun like soapy water between my ears. I took a breath and then another one. Had Sinclair
lied
to me?

“I thought, I mean, I think someone mentioned to me that he was in the foster system.”

“Oh yes, until he was sixteen. They found him in France, you know? Willa is with Looking Glass Model Agency and she spotted him on the streets of Paris. A few days later they were taking him back home to America.” Elena sighed happily. “It really is an amazing story.”

And total bullshit. I was certain of it. Though it did make sense that this Willa woman would work in the fashion agency if Sinclair had been telling the truth about his time spent as a model.

“He modeled for a time but after a year or so the Percy’s decided to adopt him.”

“Elena’s making it sound like this fairytale but really, they are not good in the heart, you know?” Cosima stroked the stem of her wine glass, staring into the bowl as if it were a crystal ball. “They found Cage too but didn’t bring him back to America.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Cosi. They paid for his living expenses and visited him. Cage is just ungrateful.” Elena sniffed.

“I don’t know what your problem is with Cage, but you need to get over it. He’s practically family.”

“Oh, so we are letting just anyone into the family these days?”

“Elena,” I protested softly because I could see Cosima was gearing up for a throw down.

Her lips thinned and she reached out to pat my hand as she said, “I wasn’t talking about you, Giselle. Obviously, the twins and Mama are very happy you’re in New York now.”

Her words slammed against the soft spot in my ribcage and cracked bone. My breath whooshed out of body but I shook my head when Cosima leaned forward to take a bite out of our older, callous sister even though my own rage was burning the back of my tongue.

I knew there were reasons behind Elena’s attitude, excuses and psychological scars that could provide invaluable context to her insults. I knew it, but I didn’t care. The bottom line was, I didn’t like her and I could barely remember a time when I had.

When we were younger it was easier for me to take the passive aggressive put downs, the scathing reminders of my flaws. But it was different now, not least of all because I was in love with her boyfriend.

It made the situation so messy I could only stare at it, unwilling to dirty my hands even if it meant cleaning it up. I hated my sister and I was in love with her boyfriend. Even if the two had once been separate entities, they couldn’t be mutually exclusive now that I had made their connection. Once combined, they yielded an infinite number of questions but the most important one flashed before my eyes like a neon for-sale sign; was hating my sister justification for ruining her life?

Chapter Four.

Osteria Lombardi was three blocks from DS Galleries and I made a point to walk past the artful stone façade on my way home from the restaurant. I even peered in the windows but I told myself I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. A massive abstract painting done in brilliant glistening oils hung over the reception and before I had made a conscious decision, I was through the wide doors into the cool interior.

The receptionist smiled as I approached but she left me in silence to stare at the piece for a moment longer.

Anyone who inquired at the front desk was immediately submerged in the painting. I was underwater looking up through layers of cerulean, lazuline and pastel blues to the heart of the sky where it winked white and yellow as if behind a pane of mottled glass. It was deeply disorientating and yet strangely serene, imbuing me with the kind of calm that comes from holding your breath underwater for a little too long.

When I finally blinked, surfacing with a physical shiver, the young woman behind the desk smiled kindly at me. It didn’t surprise me that she was used to such a reaction. It was a stunning piece.

Since I was already there, I strolled through the gallery, a collection of large and larger rooms made cohesive by the exhibits on display. Though there were some stunning pieces, including an array of weepy watercolors depicting haunting scenes of solitude, there were no more paintings like the one in the reception.

“Who is the artist?” I asked when I rounded back to the front room.

The petite Asian woman smiled but the sound of approaching footsteps distracted us both from her answer. I felt overheated and conspicuous in my green dress, like Gatsby’s beacon. My embarrassment was short lived though because it was true, I had come into the gallery hoping to see him and my wish had come true.

“Sinclair,” I greeted calmly as I turned around, proud of my composure.

It shook dangerously when I took in the tall, cool sight of him standing before me with his hands in the pockets of his grey tweed pants. He was dressed casually, the sleeves of his oxford blue shirt rolled up and his suit jacket disposed of to reveal a gorgeous flannel vest cut perfectly to his tapered torso. My mouth was parched by the time my eyes reached his, the blue of his irises smoky with indecipherable emotion.

“I wondered if you might stop by.”

I blinked which only made his beautiful lips twitch slightly in amusement.

“Thank you, Eddie.” He nodded towards the receptionist. “I’ll take it from here.”

Without turning to see if I followed, Sinclair strode briskly down the corridor that I had just emerged from. I hesitated. Now that I was actually in his presence again, my determination to tell him off wavered precariously. Just the sight of him, the feel of him in the same room as me, unbound me from the tight moral constraints I knew were necessary.

“He wants you,” the Asian woman explained, startling me out of my blank stare.

“Excuse me?”

“He wants you to follow him,” she explained kindly and I realize she was probably used to clients staring dumbstruck after her hunky boss. “His office is on the top floor of the building. I’ll let his assistant know you are on your way up.”

“Isn’t that office space?”

She smiled sympathetically at me. “Yes, for Mr. Sinclair’s primary business, Faire Developments.”

I felt nauseous. How could I know so little about him when every thud of my heart seemed to echo his name? I smiled tightly, thanking her in a small voice before following Sinclair’s path down the hallway to the large chrome elevator.

The doors whooshed open on the 60
th
floor to reveal a large reception done in cool grays and blues and punctuated by the large glass fronted desk displaying the name of the company in bold navy letters,
Faire Developments
. It wasn’t a true surprise, after all, I had known in Mexico that he was there to buy a failing resort, but every piece of information I garnered still felt like a nail in the coffin of our relationship.
Relationship
? God, who was I kidding here, there was no relationship between us but foolish ex-lovers and a long future as potential in-laws stretched ahead of me. I placed a hand on my queasy stomach and straightened my spine, determined to bowl over the awkwardness between us no matter what.

His assistant, a surprisingly young man with brilliant red hair and smattering of large russet freckles, waved me through with a large grin and I wondered briefly, where the frosty Margot was. I followed the fluid sound of Sinclair’s voice around the corner to a set of slightly open frosted glass doors.

I hesitated in the doorway, watching him stare out the wall of glass at the street, the pale autumn light beautifully highlighting the planes of his face. He was speaking Spanish and it took me a second to notice the black Bluetooth headphone in one ear. I was just about to leave, painfully uncomfortable, when those blue eyes punctured me, pinning me to the wall like a preserved butterfly.

Sit,
he mouthed. And there was no room for disobedience in his stern expression.

I sat, but made sure to level a hefty glare his way as I did so.

While I waited, I tried to distract myself by studying the office space. It continued in the modern aesthetic of the rest of the building but there was warmth in the white, brown and cream color scheme, the depth of the leather chairs and matching low-level couch. The entire length of the far wall was glass as well as most of the back wall by the chairs. It offered a stunning panorama of the bustling city streets and made the office seem like the Crow’s Nest of the civilized world. There was a conspicuously blank space suited for a painting behind his desk and not a single photograph graced his work surface. I searched for any sign of the man I knew and found none.

I smoothed the hem of my short skirt over my thighs and tried to steady my breath. It was nerve-racking to sit in front of him like that, as if I was a lowly student waiting for an interview and not an angry ex-lover with righteous concerns. But each moment I spent sitting there diluted my fury. I wondered if he had planned for exactly that.

When I tilted my head up to see if he had finished the call, he was looking at me, his hands folded across his desk. I didn’t know how long he had been done with his conversation but I also didn’t really care. The moment our eyes met, whatever resolve I may have amassed went up in flames.

“Giselle.”

Hearing his voice caress my full name did something funny to my pulse.

“Daniel,” I said, with considerably more venom.

He stared at me impassively from over his steepled fingertips and I couldn’t help but notice what a picture he made, the handsome prince on his urban throne. For some reason, the image made me remember my previous anger.

“So, you came to have a mature conversation about this.”

My eyes bugged out of my head and it took me a second to find my voice. “Are you kidding me? I came here to tell you to
go to hell
!”

His lip twitched infinitesimally, just enough to let me know he was joking with me.

“This is hardly the time to develop a sense of humor, Sinclair,” I chastised him, but when he broke out in a small boyish grin I couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“There is a thin line between comedy and tragedy.” He opened his steepled hands wide.

I shook my head. “I have no idea how you can be so calm right now. We betrayed Elena.”

The light in his eyes flickered and dulled as his gaze turned out the window. He was silent for a few long minutes but I didn’t know what to say to fill the quiet.

When he finally turned back to me, Sinclair the businessman was gone and I was once again faced with the man I had grown to know in Mexico.

“The irony isn’t lost on me, Giselle, and of course, I know the information hurts you.” He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the desk, his eyes blazing. “You think it is easy for me? I feel the same guilt that you do.”

I was shaking my head without even realizing it. “Then how can you even ask me to be here?”

Didn’t he feel the same physical ache that I did, looking at him, being in the same room, the same city, the same god forsaken continent?

I was speaking before I even fully understood what I wanted to say. “How is it possible that you didn’t recognize me?”

I knew it wasn’t fair to blame the situation on him, even though he had made the decision to cheat on Elena, but it felt good to unleash some of the raging emotions trapped in my chest.

“You were a scrawny, timid brunette in every family photo and honestly, Elena doesn’t speak about you very much.”

I flinched from his words even though I should have guessed as much.

Sinclair’s eyes were sharp against my skin, slicing through my mask until I felt raw and abraded. “I can live with the guilt, Giselle, and I know what I want. The only question is; what do
you
want?”

“What do you mean, you know what you want?” I whispered, almost afraid to ask but willing to delay answering his question by any means possible.

How was I supposed to respond to that, anyway?

Well, Sinclair, I love you and the thought of spending the rest of my life seeing you with my sister, loving her, starting a family with her
… I forcibly swallowed the sob that rose in my throat. No, of course I couldn’t say that to him. Not only was he dating my sister, but even when I had bared my soul to him our last night in Mexico, he remained stoic. It was clear that he wanted to resolve the situation as quickly and cleanly as possible. I wondered, with sudden dread, if he would suggest I move back to Paris.

His lips flat-lined as he stared at me. “Why did you sneak out that morning?”

“It seemed like the easiest option,” I muttered, suddenly embarrassed by my flight, especially in light of the fact that he was constantly questioning my maturity.

“I see.” His words landed heavily on my ears. “Well, if you want things to be easy, Giselle, I have nothing to offer you but avoidance. Is that what you want? To coexist in this family, see each other at dinners and birthdays, always ignoring the chemistry between us?”

No!
My mind screamed, but I only shook my head slightly. “That does seem like the best option.”

My eyes were clouding but for a brief second, I thought I caught a flash of disappointment cross his stern features. But before I could double check, Sinclair was back in control. He nodded curtly and leaned back in his throne.

“Fine. You will deal exclusively with my business partner then, and we will limit our interactions to polite small talk at family functions. Obviously, we will keep what happened in Mexico between us.”

“I don’t have anyone to tell.”

The corner of his firm mouth softened momentarily. I straightened my shoulders before he could take pity on me.

“Well, thank you for making this as simple as it can be.” I stood up and smoothed my slightly shaking hands down my skirt, aware of his gaze taking in my every movement. “I just want to finish by apologizing for my behavior in Mexico. I knew you were involved and even when you tried to leave me, I threw myself at you.” I smiled slightly, black humor twisting my lips. “Maybe we even deserve this.”

I heard his carefully controlled breathing but I didn’t have the strength to look up at him before I turned to make my way out of the office. My hand was on the door, my damp palms almost slipping off the handle, when I felt him behind me. I tried to swallow the cry bubbling up from my chest but a strangled moan escaped from my clamped lips.

“Oh, Elle.” He sighed.

His hands clamped gently around my shoulders and slowly turned me around to face him. I kept my eyes trained on the floor, taking in his polished leather loafers. I knew if I looked up into his handsome face, I would lose it. He waited for my gaze before sighing and when he didn’t get it, carefully, as if I was made of tissue paper, he wrapped me in his arms. My head was tucked under his chin, my cheek pressed to the fabric of his blue button up and I could feel his heartbeat, slow and measured, beneath my touch. His scent overwhelmed me and the feel of his hard lines cushioned by my curves reminded me of every touch and tryst we had shared in Mexico. My heart trembled, my resolve crumbling, until finally I shifted in his hold so that I could press my arms around his lean waist. We both let out another sigh as we melted into the embrace and though it was just a hug, it was the most heartrending embrace I had ever experienced. My tears stained his suit jacket but I knew he wouldn’t care.

This is going to be so hard
, I thought. Sinclair’s arms tightened around me and I realized that I had spoken aloud.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You promised me you would.” I laughed weakly and tried to put some distance between us but he only let me pull back slightly so that one hand could tilt my chin up to met his gaze. Those blue eyes burned into me, making me shiver.

“Tell me this is what you want, Elle.” His voice was hoarse.

Could he possibly want to be with me too? I allowed myself to think for one insane, amazing second.

“No,” I murmured, honestly, “but I’m not willing to ruin my sister’s life.”