Sweetest Venom (Virtue #2)

by Mia Asher

  I grew to hate the smell of Aqua Di Gio.

  Now, that cologne is forever associated with Brendan, the heartbreak of my first teenage crush, and Paige. So, yeah, I can’t stand the smell.

  And like Aqua Di Gio, this house bombards me with memories as I follow my mother into the living room, most of them painful. A part of me wants to run out the door, forgetting that I ever came.

  But it’s too late to turn back.

  I sit down on a couch I don’t recognize as I look around, my attention arrested by a picture of my parents. Together. Older. I frown. My mom follows the direction of my gaze, walks toward the frame, and picks it up. She caresses the glass tenderly, her fingers stroking my father’s face. The frown grows deeper. Am I missing something here? Or am I falling down Alice’s rabbit hole?

  When my mother looks back, she must see the perplexed expression on my face because she places the picture down and smiles sadly. “I love this picture.”

  “Um, yeah … I can see that,” I say but what I really want to ask is, why?

  She stares at me for a short while, studying me. I want to fidget under her gaze, but I manage to sit still. “You’re more beautiful than I remember,” she murmurs softly.

  “And does that bother you, Mom?” I reply, poison dripping off my every word.

  She flinches as though I just slapped her. “I deserve that.”

  “No,” I reply, angry with myself for being rude. “You didn’t. I’m sorry.”

  My mom sits on the sofa across from me. “We used to do that, didn’t we? Go for each other’s throats? See who could slash deeper, hurt harder.”

  To avoid looking at her in the eye, I pretend to study my nails. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  The silence that ensues is deafening. Our past shouts at us. Each and every memory raising its voice demands to be heard.

  “What made you come back, Blaire?”

  Swiftly, I raise my eyes, meeting her gaze. “I’m sorry it’s an inconvenience for you.” I stand up, getting myself ready to leave. “I should go. This was a bad idea.”

  My mom grips my hand, stopping me. “No, don’t go. Not yet. I didn’t mean it like that, Blaire.”

  I stare at her hand on my arm and remember the last time she ever touched me. It was a slap on the face. “When I was a little girl, all I ever wanted was to be held by you. To be loved by you. But that was then and this is now. Would you please remove your hand from my arm?”

  She lets me go immediately, her eyes bearing naked pain. “We did you wrong, your father and I. My beautiful girl … What did we do to you?”

  I don’t know whether to laugh in her face or throw myself down at her feet begging her to hug me and never let me go. Maybe both. Yes, definitely both. “You know what? I can’t do this right now.” I shake my head. “I need to think.”

  My mom doesn’t stop me this time as she watches me grab my leather bag from the couch and stand on my feet. “How long will you be staying in town?”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “At the Wiltmore.”

  She stands up and walks over to me. As she approaches, I take the opportunity to notice the marks that time has left behind on her face. And time has been very kind to her. She’s still as beautiful as I remember her. Regal. Though there’s something very different about her. Something I can’t pinpoint. Softness?

  “Why don’t you stay here? This is your home, after all,” she adds quietly.

  I reach for the car keys. “Thank you, but no. I think I need to be alone tonight.”

  “Would you like to do breakfast tomorrow?”

  The refusal sits ready on my tongue, but I swallow it back. I came home in search of some closure, and closure I’m going to get. “Sure, I’d like that.”

  I’m about to cross the threshold when my mom asks me to stop. I glance back, our eyes connecting. “You know what I regret the most, Blaire?” Her question comes out as a whisper.

  “Yes?” I ask stiffly.

  “When I left that first time, you were a little girl of barely six. You came running toward me, tears streaking down your pretty face. You hugged my waist so tightly as you begged me between sobs to take you with me, not to leave you behind. I watched you and felt my heart break. I regret not taking you in my arms and staying for you. But I couldn’t live with your father for another day. It was killing me.”

  Anger boils inside me. Now she tells me that? Now? Twenty years too fucking late, Mom. “You know, Mom, have you ever stopped to think what it felt like to me—to your daughter—to watch her mother walk out of the house suitcase in hand, not even bothering to look back at her? What about me, Mom? Did it not matter to you that my heart was breaking, too?” My voice is rising, but I don’t give a shit. “You left Daddy and me behind. And Daddy only got worse after that.”

  My mom’s beautiful blue eyes glaze over with tears. “I’m sorry, Blaire. I’m so sorry. I wish that I could go back in time and do it all over again.”

  The fight gone out of me, I stare at my mom numbly. “I’m not sure that I can.”

  The next morning, I meet with my mom at a small, quaint diner. She’s waiting for me when I arrive. At first, things are very tense. She doesn’t say much and neither do I. We sit staring at our hands or out the window, always avoiding each other’s eyes. The pain is still too tangible. The wounds that never quite healed bleed once more.

  She breaks the silence. “Would you like more coffee?”

  I look down at my mug, realizing for the first time that it’s empty. “Sure.”

  She gets the attention of our waitress and asks for a refill. As the waitress brings the coffee pot over, my mom takes my hand in hers. I find myself torn between wanting to keep it there, relishing the feel of my hand in hers, or withdrawing it.

  I keep it there.

  “Blaire … there’s something that you need to know.”

  I lift my face and our gazes meet. The tone of her voice rings warning bells in my head. “Yes? Does it have to do with Dad?”

  She nods, squeezing my hand gently. “Your dad passed away two years ago.”

  The restaurant begins to spin around me. I feel faint as everything becomes blurry. There’s an explosion of pain followed by utter grief and sorrow. I am too late, then.

  “How did he die?” I manage to ask through the pain.

  “It was a massive heart attack,” my mom says sadly.

  “Were …” I pause, trying to swallow through the pain. “Were you with him?”

  She nods. Then my mom, the woman who I always thought to be the strongest of all, the most beautiful of all, the most heartless of all, breaks down and cries. Sobs are torn from her chest as if someone is ripping them out, as she covers her face with her hands and gives into grief.

  Instinctively, my heart tells me to go to her, to lend her my support. However, a lifetime full of hurt and memories stands between us, making me remain seated in my spot as my mom crumbles in front of me. But as I stare at her, a broken woman, my heart wins. Standing up quickly, I move out of my side of the booth and slide into hers. I enfold her in my arms.

  My mom’s arms come around me, pulling me closer to her. “He’s gone, Blaire … he’s gone,” she cries. Minutes pass. When my mom is calmer, she lets me go and dries her face with a paper napkin. “There’s so much that I have to tell you about your father and me.”

  “That picture …”

  She blows her nose. “Yes, that was your daddy. Somehow after everything that happened, we both found our way back. We got married for a second time. We tried to look for you. Your dad even went to New York City, but no one knew where you went. You didn’t stay in touch with anyone from here.” She reaches for her bag, taking out a letter and hands it to me. “He wrote this for you after he had the first attack. I think a part of him always knew you would come back.”

  I stare at the envelope in my hand. “Thank you.”

  My mom th
en takes my hand in hers. “Sweetie, your father and I had a very complicated relationship. We loved each other to the point of madness, but that love also drove us apart. It was much too intense. You are an adult now, so you must know that relationships aren’t cut and dry. There’s so much beauty in a marriage, but there can also be so much pain. You were our blessing, our love, what kept us together far longer than expected.”

  I look down as tears fill my eyes, her words wounding and healing.

  “It wasn’t your fault that we couldn’t stay together. We loved you, Blaire. But we were too selfish and self-absorbed to show you. Blaire, look at me,” she urges me tenderly. When I do, she raises a hand to caresses my cheek with the back of her hand. “I can’t do anything about the past. If I could, I would, but I can’t. It’s too late for that. But what I can do is ask you for your forgiveness and if you can’t give me that just yet, I beg you to find it in your heart to give me the chance to try and earn it.”

  As my mom awaits my answer, I feel as though I’m waking from a dream. I will never have closure with my dad. He died without knowing that I loved him. And here I have an opportunity not to repeat the same mistake with my mother. Sometimes people walk out of your life never to return, and all you have left are bitter memories and what ifs. And though you try to move on and forget them, they become regrets that cut deeper than the sharpest knife, slashing you over and over again.

  “You don’t have to give me an answer now, sweetie. Why don’t you read your father’s letter? Take some time. And when you’re ready, I’ll be there for you.”

  Once we say good-bye, I drive back to my hotel. After taking a shower, doing my nails, reading, doing anything and everything to avoid my father’s letter, I finally find the courage to take it in my hands, open the envelope, and read it.

  My dear Blaire,

  If you’re reading this letter, it’s because I’m too late.

  My life has been a string full of regrets. Not walking you to school. Not taking you to the park more often. Not making you laugh. Not telling you that I loved you enough. But my biggest regret is not being able to watch you grow and become the wonderful woman that I know you must be.

  I wish you were with us now so you could see who we have become. Your mom gave me one of the best presents I could wish for: her forgiveness. She did it because she says the past doesn’t exist anymore and it’s all about who we are now. And she’s right, Blaire. Don’t ever let the demons of your past tarnish your present.

  I’m so sorry for being such a lousy father to you, Blaire—my sweet blue-eyed angel. My shining star.

  In my sober moments, it was you who made my life not seem such a waste. And in my alcohol induced moments, it was you who I lamented.

  I love you, my child.

  Always,

  Your father.

  Gripping the letter tightly to my chest, I cry for the girl I was and for the family we could’ve been. I cry because I never got to tell my dad that, in my eyes, he was never a failure. And I cry because that little girl still loves him so much and he died without knowing it.

  MY MOM OPENS THE DOOR and smiles brightly when she sees me. “You came.”

  “Yes,” I smile, too. “I want to try, Mom.”

  All my life has been a collection of decisions ruled by fear: fear of getting hurt, fear of feeling too much, fear of loving, fear of allowing people to get close.

  Fear.

  Fear.

  Fear.

  I once thought I had broken free of it, but I was just fooling myself.

  I’m done running.

  It’s time to face the music.

  And hopefully, time to heal, too.

  “WOW … THIS PLACE IS INSANE,” I say, following Elly around the house. She’s giving me a tour of Alessandro’s sky lodge in Vermont. We’re now on the main floor that features an open living area and a ridiculous floor to ceiling stone fireplace, framed by bay windows. I stop walking and absorb the view of the mountains against a bright blue sky.

  “The view is something else,” Elly says.

  “Yep. The whole place is amazing, Elly.” I move to sit on a large cream-colored couch. I grab a comfortable looking throw pillow, hugging it to my chest, and meet Elly’s eyes. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  Elly sits down next to me. She reaches for my hand and laces our fingers. “How are you doing?”

  I focus on the fire burning in the hearth, thinking back to the last few weeks of my life and the peace that I found by letting go of all my anger and resentment—the peace that I found in forgiving, and accepting forgiveness in return.

  “I once made a promise to myself that I would never love again because it made me weak. I decided to ignore my heart and let my brain rule every decision that I made, so I hid behind money and its comforts. I knew money couldn’t buy happiness, but it could make my life pretty comfortable—shroud it with glittering safety. I see now that I was mistaken. I mean, don’t get me wrong—money is important. But it isn’t everything.” I turn to face her and smile sadly, thinking of my father’s letter. “Love can be many things. Cruel. Exhilarating. Deceitful. Jealous. Hateful. But at its purest form, love can be redeeming—forgiving.” My voice falters, but I continue past the rock stuck in my throat, “Love can heal, Elly.”

  She squeezes my hand. “That’s beautiful.”

  I wipe a tear off my cheek with the sleeve of my sweater. “Ugh … I hate this,” I say, sniffing. “Lately, everything seems to set me off. And once I get going, I can’t stop crying.”

  Elly laughs, the sound musical. “Aww, the ice in your heart is thawing.”

  “Shut up.” I roll my eyes as a smile tugs the corners of my lips. “It freaking sucks.” We stare at each other and burst out laughing. Once we’ve calmed down, I grab the pillow sitting on my lap and throw it at her, missing her head by an inch. “What would I do without you?”

  “You’d be lost without me.” She pretends to shudder. “But tell me … how are you doing? You know, with Ronan and Lawrence.”

  How can I explain to Elly what happened in the past few weeks when I barely understand it myself? I laugh because I went through life protecting my heart, making sure that I never gave power to anyone, but I ended up falling in love not once, but twice.

  “It sucks. The pain is still too raw. Too fresh. But I’ve had some time to think about it, I guess.”

  “And?”

  “It’s hard to explain. Because how can you explain loving two men at the same time?”

  “Only you would go from not falling in love at all to falling for two guys at once.”

  I laugh. “It’s karma at its best.” I bite my lip. “With Ronan, he came into my world and tilted it upside down. I didn’t have a chance against him—he stole my heart. And it didn’t happen like that with Lawrence. No, what I feel for Lawrence doesn’t have a beginning or an end. What started as a distraction turned into something beautiful that can’t be named or explained or measured. Each of them owns different parts of me.”

  “That sucks, my friend. Too bad that this isn’t some kind of fun ménage book where you get to keep both.”

  That makes me laugh. “Yep, and now I don’t have either.”

  “Screw them. We’ll get you a nice rebound. As long as you promise me that you won’t go self-sabotaging another relationship of yours, we should be good.”

  We’re laughing when Alessandro comes into the house with his hands full of groceries. We get up and go help him, the subject dropped.

  It is now past midnight and I’m still awake. After tossing and turning for countless hours with sleep evading me, I push the sheets to the side and get up. I walk over to the window and drag the curtain to the side, allowing the moon to fill the room with silvery light. Worrying my lip, I mull over Elly’s words.

  “Yeah … self-sabotage would be putting it mildly,” I whisper into an empty room.

  I decide to go for a walk to calm down after we’re done with breakfast. I’m jumpy and exhaus
ted after a sleepless night and I feel like I’m going to lose my mind if I remain indoors for another second. I put my jacket on, open the back door, and walk out of the house.

  Shivering, I stop on the wooden deck. The majestic view and the tranquility of my surroundings steal my breath away and invigorate me. As I climb down the stairs, I remember Alessandro mentioning the existence of a creek behind the house. I make up my mind to go in search of it.

  Upon my return, there’s laughter coming from inside the lodge. The rest of the guests must have arrived. I’m about to open the door when I hear someone approaching the house from my left. Instinctively, I turn my head in that direction, and the air is sucked out of my lungs. The tall form of the man approaches me, completely unaware of my existence. As my eyes devour him, taking in his familiar features, the scruff covering his jaw and framing his luscious lips, the endearing (and mega-hot) way that he looks wearing a navy blue beanie …

  I know with complete certainty that he’s the only man for me.

  And even though he shares my love with another, I will only belong body and soul to this man. I just pray that I’m not too late.

  I let go of the doorknob and spin on my feet until I’m facing the direction that he’s coming from. I take a deep breath like it were my last and throw caution to the wind, gambling my heart away. “Hello, Ronan.”

  Ronan stops dead in his tracks the moment he hears my voice, a rainbow of emotions flashing in his eyes as our gazes meet.

  “What are you doing here?” he utters with so much hate it stuns me momentarily. “Fucking Elly.”

  Flinching, I move toward him. “I—”

  The door opens then and a woman whose face I could never forget walks out. Her arm brushes past mine as she goes to him. She extends both of her jeweled hands for Ronan to take. “There you are. I was beginning to wonder what happened to you.”