Page 90 of Obsessed with Her

"What?"

He points to the child's little foot. "She was born with what we callclubfoot. It is a congenital condition. You see here." He shows us. "In her case, they arereallycrooked."

"I don't know if I understand," I say.

Christos comes to sit on the other side of him. "Where?" my cousin asks.

"Take a good look. With this condition, she would never have been able to handle the hours of training she has undergone since she was little, and for a dancer, practice makes perfect. I'm not saying that she couldn't have been a professional or classical dancer, but she could hardly have dedicated herself so intensely to training."

I feel my blood run cold. "What exactly are you trying to tell me, Nashon?"

"Wait a moment." He returns the album to the beginning and flips through the pages one by one. In only two of the images, the baby is barefoot, but even in those where she is wearing little shoes, it is clear that it is the same little girl.

"What I'm saying," he says, closing the album, "is that the girl in the photographs is not Serenity. Now, maybe you should find out who she is."

Serenity

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

"You're very quiet,"I say as the driver takes us home.

He hasn't touched me since we got into the car, which is unusual. Ares can’t seem to go long without having his hands on some part of me: neck, shoulders, hair, knees. Wherever we are, he makes me feel like I belong to him.

Today, however, it seems that an invisible barrier has formed between us.

No, not today. Only now, from the time we left Eleanor’s house, because the entire time since the incident following my comeback performance, he has been nothing but passionate and protective.

Although the night was full of ups and downs, in the end, my birthday celebration was the best one yet. The girls made an album for me, with photos from my childhood—the same ones that I didn't even get to look at when Ares handed me the box that Mr. Van Lith entrusted to him. I did read the letters from my parents. They were both written in a tone of farewell, as if they knew they would die young. They made me sad, so I put the rest of the items in the box back to check later.

I feel really bad that I don't have any emotional connection to either of them. I looked at the first photo in the album that my friends put together, and it was as if they were handing me the images of a trio of strangers. Me, still a baby, in the laps of the people who gave me life.

"You didn’t like the gift?" he asks, instead of responding to my statement.

"Which one?" Ares gave me a set of jewelry—earrings and a bracelet—and now that I know he's the one who chooses them, they hold a lot more weight for me.

"Everything, but the album, mainly."

I shrug. "I'm afraid you'll judge me if I give you a sincere answer."

"Say it."

"It's like looking at photographs of strangers."

"You don’t have any memories of when they were alive?"

"No. My only memory, the only face I remember, is JeAnne's."

He puts his hand on my knee, and I shiver. Proof that I'm becoming dependent on his affection.

I look out the window, pretending not to notice the contact and that it doesn't shake me.

I want to get into his lap, to say that I love him, but I won't risk being rejected. I don't know what's changed, but perhaps he's finally starting to realize that it's been much longer than the amount of time he usually spends with his women and that he should put an end to us. If that's the case, I won't humiliate myself. I'll accept what he says and stay away. It will have to be like this, or I don't know how I will survive.

Ares

I open the door to my apartment and let her pass. "Do you want to go to bed?" I ask.

Maybe I shouldn't take her now but talk instead. However, how can I tell the woman I love that her entire life may have been a sham? If what Nashon said is true, she is not Serenity Clementine Blanchet; she is someone else.

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