I actually knew that was the truth but I kept my mouth shut.
She placed her pert little chin on her knees and looked down at her perfectly painted toes. “Things were fine before he went to Mexico. I swear. I mean, we weren’t having sex much but he never seemed to mind before.”
“What,” I cleared my throat and fought to be there for my sister despite the absurdity of the situation. “Why do you think things changed?”
She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”
“Have you asked him?” It was too surreal, to be having this conversation with her, my sister and his Darling. A small nefarious part of me wondered what would happen if she ever found out that it was me, that her belittled younger sister was the one that had changed things between them. Would she think back to this conversation and hate me even more for guiding her through a storm of my own making?
The obvious answer was a resounding fuck yes.
“He said Mexico woke him up, that he had been numb for years and he missed pain.” Elena scrunched up her perfect nose. “Who misses pain?”
I shrugged as if I didn’t understand. “Some people think that pain amplifies life, that it heightens pleasures that would otherwise seem mundane.”
My elegant sister snorted.
“If you think about it for a second, it makes sense,” I tried to explain, suddenly eager to make her realize how pivotal hurting was, that it was an essential part of the human experience. Maybe if I was eloquent enough, she could finally understand me. “Why would God give us so much misery if it wasn’t for a reason?”
“We aren’t religious,” she argued, with the second-nature exactitude of a lawyer.
“I was just trying to help.”
“Yes, well, as pretty as the words are, they don’t work. Not when I’m in so much…” She waved her hand around, unable to even articulate the messy, passionate mass of feelings clogging her systems like so much hair in a drain.
“I think you should call Cosima or maybe even Mama.”
I clearly wasn’t the one to talk with her about this.
She looked off over her shoulder into the city beyond the windows. The apartment over looked the meticulously maintained Gramercy Park, a private garden accessed by fewer than 350 keys and one of New York’s first attempts at city planning. It was the reason Elena had been drawn to the house, I knew even though she hadn’t told me. The beautifully tempered greenery and exclusivity of the place would have appealed to her obsession with prestige and control.
“I want you to paint me.”
“Pardon me?”
“I want you to paint me,” Elena reiterated, turning to face me with a face made of granite. “I want you to paint me like this, like I am right now.”
“Elena…” I hesitated, not only because of the space she was in at the moment but also because I didn’t know how to depict this sister on canvas. She was an enigma to me, something unknown and frankly terrifying. I could paint her in four hundred different ways and it still would not do justice to the contrary nature of her personality. I only understood one thing about Elena and it was this, she was so desperate to be everything at once, perfect in all ways, that she had no definitive identity.
She visibly deflated at my hesitation but my sympathy, my villainy, wasn’t enough to make me paint her. I refused to dishonor my art and us both by combining the three.
“One day soon,” I promised. “When you are feeling better. You obviously had a terrible sleep and I would need you to hold a pose for hours.”
She pursed her lips but seemed to believe me, sagging back into the couch cushions like a discarded wind-up doll. My heart throbbed with the echo of hers, a sympathy beat that made it difficult to catch my breath.
“Are you all set for Thanksgiving tonight?” I asked, fully expecting Miss Organized to have everything ready to go.
“I ordered everything from Dean & Deluca, they should be here by four o’clock to deliver it.”
“Did you order desert?”
“A pumpkin pie. Why?”
I stood up and walked over to her, offering my hand with a smile. “Come on, why don’t we make tiramisu?”
Her lips wobbled before forming a smile. “We haven’t made one of those since we were teenagers.”
“Exactly,” I said, strangely happy with the idea of spending the morning baking with my sister. “Why don’t I call Mama and we can make one together?”
Elena took my hand, coming to her feet before me. We smiled shyly at each other for a moment with our hands clasped.
Thank you, she mouthed.
I’m sorry, I wanted to say but instead, I squeezed her hand and asked, “Do you remember the recipe for the homemade lady fingers?”
When Sinclair entered the kitchen Cage and Santiago were close at his heels and the morning had passed into the late evening. The gorgeous mahogany dining table, which I couldn’t help but notice was the same shade as Sinclair’s hair, was laden with flower arrangements stuffed into pumpkins Elena, Mama and I had carved ourselves that morning. Lindi Ortega’s bluesy country music threaded through the speakers, lending itself to the candle lit atmosphere and the heady scent of Dean & Deluca’s Thanksgiving dinner warming in Elena’s underutilized double-wide ovens.
I knew he was in the kitchen the moment he crossed the threshold even though we hadn’t heard the front door open over the swell of our voices raised to sing along to Desperado. Elena froze beside me a few seconds later, bent over the open oven to check on the turkey. She shot me a frantic look as Mama warmly greeted the men and I nodded at her because I didn’t know what else to do. She took comfort from the gesture and straightened, self-consciously patting her frilled apron. She hadn’t changed into something formal yet and I knew that bothered her.
“Daniel,” she greeted quietly before going to place a soft kiss on his cheek.
He wound his arm around her waist and tugged her into a quick hug. “The place looks beautiful.”
“Thank you.” She blushed. “Mama, Giselle and I spent all day decorating.”
“We made also tiramisu,” Mama said, beaming proudly at the sight of Elena and Sinclair together.
“Oh, where?” Cage asked, darting forward to open the fridge in search of the treat.
Mama tsked him and slapped at his hand as it shot forward to taste the cocoa covered mascarpone top. “You wait!”
He pouted dramatically, batting his eyelashes at her. “But I promise to share with Iago. You know, Caprice, he has never had the privilege of your cooking.”
“We helped too,” I reminded him.
He made a disgusted face. “In that case, I hope you ordered something else for dessert too. Just in case, of course.”
“Of course,” I repeated mildly.
I squealed when he lunged at me, pulling me into his arms for a smacking kiss on the lips.
“In any case, you look good enough to eat so I could always have you for the last course,” he growled lasciviously.
I laughed and tugged at his thickly braided hair. “You rogue.”
“You flatterer.”
“Put her down, Cage,” Sinclair ordered with his arm still looped around Elena. “And try to behave tonight, will you?”
Cage pursed his lips and stared at me with sparkling eyes as he lowered me slowly to the ground, so that our bodies brushed intimately. My eyes flicked over his shoulder to Sinclair, whose jaw was clenched as he played with the ends of Elena’s hair.
“Stop it,” I whispered to Cage. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“It’s not nearly hard enough or one of you would have made a change,” he retorted but he let go of me nonetheless.
“What time will the others be here?” Santiago asked me as he came forward to press a kiss to my cheek.
His fingers brushed lightly over my neck, reminding me of our conversation yesterday about how pretty I would look in a collar. I shivered.
“Cosima should arrive around eight,” Elena sa
id.
“This is quite late for Thanksgiving dinner, no?” Sinclair asked.
“We’re European, Sin,” I reminded him. “It’s basically blasphemous to eat before eight.”
Humor tightened his lips but he didn’t smile and I wondered if it was because he could feel Elena’s anxious energy pulsing like a warning beacon.
“You’re right, of course, Daniel. Happily though, Sebastian should be here shortly and we can start with some drinks and appetizers,” Elena said. “I’ll just go change.”
“Boys you follow me into the living room for drinks,” Mama ordered with the grace and confidence of a woman who has been beautiful all her life.
Santiago and Cage happily complied, each already trying to charm her with stories from their childhoods living abroad.
When I turned around, Sinclair was leaning against the island counter, his shirt stretched taut between his lean shoulders and his russet head hanging low. I stepped up behind him to place a gentle hand on his back.
“It will be okay,” I said, despite my nerves and despite my resolve to treat him with indifference.
“On a des casseroles au cul,” he muttered without turning around.
I pursed my lips to buckle in the pain. “You really think our affair is haunting you?”
He sighed. “It is the haunting I take issue with, Elle, not what I did to warrant it.”
We were silent for a long moment. I didn’t have anything new to add to the conversation. The affair had happened and arguably, was still happening. It was deeply immoral, not only to deceive another person – in fact, my entire family – but because we were actively, consciously betraying my sister. I loved Sinclair with a severity that obliterated all obstacles in its path and he, at least, was enchanted enough with me to heed my siren’s song over the practical call of reality. Apparently, he had even voiced his reservations to Elena.
I knew the components, I just couldn’t make out the full equation.
Sin spun around, one hand plunged into my hair and the other on my hip, pressing me up against the fridge. He pressed his forehead hard into mine. “I’m not going to do this anymore. Do you understand?”
I didn’t, so I remained quiet.
“I will not put the people I love through this for one second longer. Regardless of you and me, what kind of person would do this to their partner?”
Again, I didn’t know, so I remained quiet.
He sighed heavily, ran his thumb across my cheekbone to take the sting out of his anger and impatience. “I’m not going to do this anymore, Elle. Do you understand?”
This time, I nodded even though I still wasn’t certain what he meant.
The delicate chime of the doorbell sounded out and Sinclair’s jaw clenched fiercely when I moved to answer it. His hands flexed against my skin painfully before letting go.
I answered the door to find Sebastian speaking with a young woman who was delivering the alcohol Elena had ordered. Sebastian was speaking to her easily, taking the bags from her and handing them off to me so that they could take a selfie together. I watched as he whispered something in her ear that made her burst into unattractive and beautifully genuine laughter. Mama and I smiled at each other as they said their helloes.
“You charmer,” I teased Sebastian as he leaned down to give me the customary kisses.
“Yes, Seb, are all the older ones taken?” Elena said as she breezed into the living room, now wearing a lovely black sheath dress. I could smell her Chanel perfume as she swooped in to give him a kiss.
“Elena,” Mama chastised while embracing Seb herself.
She shrugged one delicate shoulder. “It was a joke.”
“It’s all right, Mama, Elena has never had a very good sense of humor,” Sebastian said as he swung off his leather jacket, tossed it onto the side table and grabbed my hand to tug me further into the apartment.
“Hang up your coat, you ape,” Elena called after us before we disappeared around the corner into the kitchen.
Sinclair was still there, decanting the mandatory red wine while he listened to someone on his phone.
“I want at least three options by the end of next week, Margot,” he was saying as we swept into the kitchen.
Sebastian grabbed the extra bottle from Sin’s hand and poured himself an overfull glass.
I raised my brows. “Tough day?”
His shoulders were nearly at his ears with tension and I watched as he tugged his hands through his hair so that it stuck up at funny angles. “Tate wants to produce my film.”
“And that’s a problem because?”
He didn’t answer me immediately; instead, he leaned against the fridge and stared out the window into the darkening cityscape.
“Rumor is, she’s sleeping with Jace Galantine.”
I winced because even I knew who Jace Galantine was, award-winning actor, modelizer and all-round stud. He graced the cover of so many magazines, gossip rags and movie posters that I hardly went a day without seeing his gorgeous face plastered to something.
“I’m sorry, Seb,” I murmured, placing a hand on his tensed arm. “I mean, she is married too so how much more can this hurt?”
I knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as it left my lips.
He swung his vibrant gaze to me and glared. “Well, I guess I know where you stand on infidelity.”
I bit my lip and focused on not looking over at the silent Sinclair currently assembling the meal from Dean & Deluca’s onto serving plates.
“I’m sorry,” Elena said as she came into the kitchen with Mama’s arm tucked through her own. “I wouldn’t have invited Savannah if I knew you two were fighting.”
“What?” Sebastian snapped, rounding on her like a provoked bear.
I placed a gently restraining hand on him again and spoke softly, “Why would you invite Savannah Richardson?”
“She is a good friend, no?” Mama asked. “She used to come for the dinners always and now, we never see her.”
I peered up at Sebastian. His face was deeply etched with pained anger and I suddenly understood the need for Sinclair’s perfectly composed mask; how horrible it must be for Sebastian to have his emotions so clearly displayed for others to see.
Elena noted it with triumph, a sly smile corrupting her pretty mouth. “Should I call and ask her not to come, Sebastian? Her husband is away on business so she would be banished to a Thanksgiving dinner for one…”
I squeezed his bicep and watched him swallow hard before saying, “You’ve already asked her. We wouldn’t want to be rude by uninviting her now.”
Elena nodded curtly but her lips twitched down and I wondered, not for the first time, how she could be so callous towards her own family.
“Why doesn’t everyone sit down?” Sinclair suggested. “The food is hot, the wine is breathing and the last of our party should arrive soon.”
As if on cue, the doorbell rang and Sebastian shrugged off my hand to go answer it. I followed behind him, eager to escape the messy atmosphere left over like an oil spill in the kitchen.
“Cosima,” I cried out, when I saw her step through the door and into Seb’s enthusiastic embrace.
Despite my cry, the twins hugged silently for a long minute, dissolving into each other more and more with each second as the tension they had both been holding dissipated. There was that deep understanding of another person that I so badly craved. It didn’t need to be romantic but the closest I had ever come to elementally knowing some one like that was with Sinclair and as I thought of him, a yawning abyss of loneliness blossomed in my heart.
I noticed someone emerge from the other room in my periphery and turned slightly, surprised to see Elena standing mute in the other doorway. Her expression was soft, almost soggy with longing and I knew it reflected the same emotions in my own face. I didn’t feel a kinship with her over our mutual exclusion though, mostly because I had spent years trying to encourage the same closeness between us and only been met with failure.
/>
“Mia famiglia,” Cosima cried, as she stepped away from Sebastian and grinned at the rest of us. “It wouldn’t be quite the party without me, would it?”
She stepped forward to embrace me next and spoke softly, for my ears only. “And I had to rescue my sister from spending another night here, hmm?”
I tried not to stiffen at her insinuation but she only laughed and squeezed my frozen shoulders reassuringly before moving on to kiss the next family member.
Within minutes, everyone was listening raptly to the story she told about a frazzled mother’s young children asking to braid her hair into corn rows on the flight, and the previous uneasiness in the apartment was banished by laughter.
Dinner proceeded without a hitch and I don’t know who was most surprised by it. Savannah Richardson arrived demurely, Sebastian was able to keep his calm and react neutrally, even excellently, to her presence by becoming the life of the party. After an initial comment about the food not being as excellent as her own, Mama settled into her matriarchal spotlight with good grace and bantered hilariously with Cage and Santiago who both seemed to delight in flirting outrageously with her.
Even Elena was quiet, smiling instead of contributing, even though I knew Cage’s outrageous arrogance and bawdy humor grated on her nerves. She sat beside Sinclair and at one point, reached over to take his hand but otherwise, the two didn’t talk. It didn’t give me much hope because Sinclair barely looked my way and instead, spent most of the evening talking to Cosima. I felt a curious kind of jealousy when she made him laugh.
We had already presented the pie and tiramisu when the first bomb dropped.
“Katarina would love to be here for your showing, Elle,” Santiago said to me, his grin wide with pride as we spoke about my upcoming showcase. “I will have to fly her out specially.”
“I would love to see her,” I admitted. “And not just because she would make sure you didn’t wear this awful Chartreuse blazer again.”
He laughed, drawing attention to our side conversation.
“How do you know Kat?” Elena asked casually.
And that was when I realized we should not have been talking about Mexico at the dinner table.
The Secret (The Evolution Of Sin Book 2) Page 20