Here goes nothing. “I don’t belong. I’m not family.” I take a big sip of my soda.
“Why would you think that?”
“Because it’s true. I’m here because there’s a threat, not because I’m—” Wanted? Desired? “I’m here because Liam needs the help.”
Her face goes thoughtful. “I can tell you believe that. Interesting… We all believe something different.”
I pick a strawberry that’s been cut into a perfect fan from the tray and study it, the seeds, the pattern of the grain inside, the beautiful green stem. “I don’t deal in belief. I deal in facts. And the facts are clear. I really like all of you. You’ve been exceptionally kind to me. But we all know there’s a point to this arrangement, and it’s the contract itself.”
She doesn’t correct me. She doesn’t argue. I can tell she doesn’t agree even though she’s nodding her head pacing our conversation. She simply accepts what I tell her.
Then, without warning, she rocks my world. “Do you remember that bomb that blew up the restaurant downtown last fall? It was early November and that whole building went up?”
I nod, my eyes holding hers. That’s the second mention of a bomb today, and it’s two times more than I ever want to think of explosives ever.
“That was Christian’s building. Did you know that?”
I gasp. “No.”
“He and Ayla weren’t there. Ren was, though. The man downstairs? That’s Christian’s half-brother.”
“Okay.” My voice rises in question. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because the guy who died in the blast, the one who had the bomb, wasn’t supposed to be the victim. He was supposed to deliver it to a ‘woman at Platt BioPharma’.”
I’m shaking. To me? But why? None of this remotely makes sense. I stare at her, glass aloft, unable to set it down or move. “Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m merely thinking that long before you were Liam’s neighbor, before you became his wife, you were already entangled in this family. You were a part, even when we didn’t know it. Even though you didn’t either. Now, I’m not the welcoming committee, but we’d love for you to bewith us downstairs.”
“I’m afraid.” I deal in facts. And that’s a fact.
“Those men can handle bombs, cults, and attempted murder.”
My eyes go wide. What in the oatmeal cookie is she talking about? “Not of that.” I summon all my courage. “I told Liam I’m falling in love with him.”
Sariah’s smile is genuine. Her mesmerizing eyes with one iris a little different in color on the outside dance with clear joy.
Before she can continue though, I finish the thought. “I told him. He recoiled and… left.” I suck in a huge lungful of air and hold it before releasing it like air from a balloon.
Confusion mars her face. “That…” There’s something working behind her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She grabs my hand to squeeze. “I wouldn’t have expected that reaction. I wish it hadn’t happened that way.”
Me too, Sariah. Me too.
She leaves me after I promise I’ll be down in a few.
I need to call work and explain that I’ll be absent again, and unexpectedly. I might as well get out of my work clothes too. No point in being in hard pants and heels.
When I get downstairs, I’m starkly reminded how different my life is from the Murphys. Even more so from the Barone’s.
I haven’t been upstairs long enough for the transformation I see. There are massage tables, plural, scattered around, and all the furniture from the sitting room has been moved to the far walls. There’s a manicurist lining up nail polishes to choose from. And there’s something else. I don’t even know what it is.
“Moring, Lorien,” a sleepy voice says. Renée sits at the island, picking at a fruit pastry while watching the happenings in the room. One leg dangles for the floor, the other is propped up on the seat of the chair. She sets down her breakfast long enough to lift the huge coffee mug that steams to her left. “Spa day. Cool, right?”
I walk toward her, almost identifying more with her than the opulence around me.
“How did all of this happen so quickly?”
She shrugs. “I don’t ask those questions. I pick nail polish colors and try not to have PTSD from my bad pedi adventure.”
