I buzz her in.
I have thirty seconds while she rides the elevator.I use them to pour the whiskey down the sink and hide the bottle.Then I catch sight of myself in the reflection of the microwave—three-day beard, rumpled T-shirt, exhaustion carved into every line of my face.
There’s no time to make myself presentable.The elevator chimes.
I push my glasses up my nose as I open the door before she can knock.
She’s breathtaking.That’s the first thought, the one I can’t suppress.
Every.
Fucking.
Time.
Serena DiLorenzo, at twenty-five, is the kind of beautiful that makes men write poetry and start wars.Dark hair, olive skin, and eyes the color of aged whiskey.I could drown my sorrows in them if they didn’t see everything I’m trying to hide.The statement necklace at her throat—teardrop diamonds set in platinum—catches the light as she moves, and her black dress under the coat is elegant and understated even though the French Maison that created it charged a fortune.
But it’s not her beauty that terrifies me.It’s the way she looks at me, like I’m a puzzle she’s determined to solve.
“You look like hell,” she says.
I shake my head, a reluctant smile crossing my face.“Thanks.You’re always so generous with your compliments,” I say, but there’s no bite in it as I step aside.“Come in.”
She moves past me, bringing with her the scent of the floral perfume she always wears, something as alluring as her.The coat whispers as she removes it, revealing the full, elegant line of the dress beneath.She drapes the coat over the back of my couch with the casual confidence of someone who’s never been unwelcome anywhere.
I close the door and lean against it, keeping distance between us.“How did you know I was back?”
“Joe heard from Dave.”She turns to face me fully, and there’s something in her expression I can’t quite read.Concern?Anger?“After three months in Russia, you come home with a bullet wound and goes off the radar.What did you expect?That no one would notice?”
“I expected people to give me space.”
“That’s not how family works.”She crosses her arms, and I notice the tension in her shoulders, the way she’s holding herself like she’s bracing for impact.“Joe’s worried.Your brothers are worried.I’m—“ She stops.“We’re all worried.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Shelby Boyle.”
The use of my full name makes my lips twitch despite everything.“Funny, I’ve made a career out of lying.”
“Not to me you haven’t.”
The words land between us like a challenge.She’s right, and we both know it.I was never able to hide anything from Serena.I could never bullshit her.That has always terrified me but oddly it also comforted me.
I push off the door and move into the living room, putting the couch between us.“Want a drink?”
“You’ve already been drinking.”It’s not a question.“And now you’re deflecting.”
“I’m being a good host.”
“You’re being a coward.”
The word hits harder than it should.I turn to face her, and there’s something fierce in her expression now, something that makes my chest tight.
“Careful, Serena.”
“Or what?”She moves around the couch, closing the distance I tried to create.“You’ll brood at me more intensely?Shut me out like you’re shutting everyone else out?”
“You should go.”
