That feeling of being thrown off-kilter intensifies, and I reach into my pocket for my phone. Then I trail over to the couch, sitting heavily and sinking into the cushions.
Aurora follows me a few seconds later, and although she still hasn’t spoken, I can see her thoughts on her face.
She’s uncomfortable, maybe even pitying. It’s an expression I don’t like receiving from her. Incredibly, miraculously, I kept waiting for that look when she was here force-feeding me ibuprofen and ramen, but it never showed.
The sofa dips as she settles next to me, close enough that my heart gives an extra thud or two. She’s dressed casually, but it doesn’t diminish her beauty; if anything, it increases it. She’s more real like this, wearing everyday clothes instead of office wear—a soft-looking t-shirt, the cardigan I left on her doorstep, and leggings. Her hair is in a ponytail, revealing the slope of her neck, and there’s a faint glisten over her golden skin that stirs something inside me, something alarmingly strong.
I could turn to the side and kiss her right there, beneath the curve of her jaw?—
“Whoa.” The word slips out unbidden as I startle at the direction of my thoughts.
I see her glance over at me from the corner of my eye, but I don’t look at her, because I’m feeling uncharacteristically warm all of a sudden.
Dad. I’m calling my dad. This idea is enough to splash me with a bucket of ice water. “I’m calling my father about Kitty and Elabeth,” I tell Aurora as I pull the number up. “He can probably tell me more. Are you sticking around?” When I receive silence, I add, “I don’t care either way.”
She still doesn’t answer, so I give in and look at her. There’s a conflicted expression on her face, one that makes me grin.
“Stay if you want to,” I tell her, because she’s clearly torn. “I’ll put it on speaker.”
When she gives a grudging nod, my smile widens.
“Don’t you get tired of pretending like you don’t care about things?” I say, shaking my head. “Ask for what you want. The worst that can happen is I say no. No harm done.”
“I don’t—” she begins as I press the button to put the phone on speaker. “I don’t do that.”
“Yes, you do,” I say. “You hate that you care, so you pretend you don’t.” When she starts to respond, though, I wave my hand at her; a second later, my dad answers the phone.
“Roman,” he says by way of greeting, his voice blaring abrasively into my quaint, grandmotherly home. He’s clearly busy, but I speak anyway.
“I have a question,” I say. “About Grandma.”
He gives a distracted hum, which I take as an invitation to proceed.
“Did she and Grandpa have an affair? I found some letters here while I was cleaning out Grandpa’s desk, but they’re love letters between Goddard and your aunt. Elabeth. They’re definitely from before Grandma and Grandpa got married.”
A grunt filters down the line now. “There was something like that. My mother and aunt were estranged. They didn’t speak,and no one ever talked about it.” The sound of rustling papers finds me, and then my father speaks again. “You remind me of him, you know. Your grandfather.”
I blink, my brow furrowing at the unexpected turn. “What?”
“Me when I was younger, too,” my dad goes on, his voice grudging. “Very charismatic. Handsome—you get that from me, of course.”
I roll my eyes. So does Aurora, but a little smile touches her lips, too.
“Drake men tend to skate by on our charm.” My father says this very reasonably, something he’s long since accepted. “Not sure it’s a good thing, but there you go. Your grandfather tried to settle down for real, once, but it didn’t quite work out.”
“Yeah,” I say disbelievingly, “because he slept with his fianceé’s sister.” Swallowing, I add, “That’s what happened, isn’t it? He got Kitty pregnant, so they got married, and he settled down with her instead of Elabeth.”
The only response to this question is another grunt, acknowledging this time. “Your mother would have liked to settle down earlier, I expect,” my dad says. “Still, we got there in the end.”
I’m not sure I agree, because he wasn’t faithful to my mother. “Is what you did considered settling down?” I ask.
The question is spoken vaguely, because my mind is skittering turbulently. I can handle a distasteful past. But I resent being told I’m like a distasteful man.
“Maybe, maybe not,” my father says noncommittally.
Which, of course, is no surprise. Commitment has never been his strong suit.
“Regardless. Elabeth stayed away, on her own,” he goes on. “Very bitter. Never married or anything like that.”
