Page 9 of Souls and Sorrows

Into what? I have no idea, but I don’t like it.

“Ariana Ricci doesn’t dance anymore, does she? Gave up ballet because of an undisclosed injury, according to what the papers reported years ago.” He curls my hair around one digit, tugging gently. Heat from him grates against my skin, setting it aflame. “So, what exactly keeps her in Boston? Her sisters live out of town, her father is in prison, and her mother…”

As he trails off suggestively, I tilt my head back with defiance narrowing my gaze; standing so close to him, I have to careen my head to look in his eyes, and I think he likes the dynamic.

I don’t.

Makes me feel small.

“Whereisyour mother, Ariana?”

The question snaps me out of whatever daydream my mind wanted to slip into, and I slap his hand away, shoving him in the gut with my elbow. The planes of his abdomen, hidden beneath the sweater he has on, are defined and rigid, but I manage to push him a few inches anyway.

“Are you making a biopic of my life or something? What the fuck is any of this to you?”

If he’s a cop, I’m in more trouble than I’d have been if I’d open-mouthed kissed him in the middle of the club. Vitus would never believe that I didn’t tell secrets, especially not after Elena ratted out our father six years back.

Unbothered, the stranger shrugs. The features on his face seem slightly amused—the corners of his eyes crinkle, and his nostrils flare a bit. Like he’s having fun riling me up despite the fact that he seems incapable of smiling.

“Nothing really. Call it a morbid curiosity.”

I squint up at him. He doesn’t particularly look like a cop or even a PI. Those have a certain degree of sleaze that this man lacks—like he’s interested for the sake of interest rather than exploitation. Still, I don’t think continuing the conversation is a good idea, so I slip past his arm, backing away.

“You should reconsider your interests,” I tell him, my hands reaching behind me and finding the push bar of the glass door. Shoving back with my ass, I split the immediate temperature as a gust of wind tears down the street, rolling into the building. “Curiosity killed the cat and all.”

The backs of my heels slip over the threshold, and I’m outside while my eyes remain on the strange man, waiting to see if he follows. Someone trying to lure me into a trap wouldn’t let me get away.

He shoves his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. “That almost sounds like a threat, Ms. Ricci.”

I grin, bringing one shoulder up to my chin. “It is.”

When I turn and let the door fall shut, I pause on the sidewalk, staring up at the Boston city skyline painting the horizon. Waiting. Several minutes pass, and nothing happens. The door doesn’t reopen, and no one rushes to shuffle me into a big black town car.

People pass by, completely unaware of who they’re weaving themselves around, and my veins sag with the weight of relief. There’s also a bite of annoyance, confusing as it might be, that no one else seems to realize who I am.

How did a stranger notice me from across the room, but people walking right past aren’t giving me a second glance?

Bitter, irrational hurt courses through me, igniting a violence that makes my fingers shake. I hail a cab, powering on my phone as one pulls up to the curb, and I climb into the backseat silently.

Behind the wheel, a girl with wide silver eyes turns her head to look at me. She doesn’t speak, just cocks an eyebrow, as if to ask if I’m ready to go.

I nod, giving her the address and buckling in as she puts the car in drive, then pulls into the street. Damaged heart in my throat, I check my texts, noticing that the group chat with my two sisters is silent. Elena hasn’t spoken in over half an hour, and Stella’s last message had nothing to do with me, instead detailing an upcoming molecular biology fellowship she applied to.

The only message awaiting me is one from Vitus, telling me he’ll be out late, followed immediately by:I’ll be over in fifteen. Leave the door unlocked and the panties off.

Assuming that wasn’t meant for me, I roll my eyes and slump down in my seat.

Well, Ariana, isn’t this what you wanted? For everyone to leave you alone?

Contradicting pain radiates from the wounded organ in my chest, spreading through my limbs. I delete the thread entirely, just so I don’t have to see it anymore.

Then, because I’m irritated and hurt and confused and I hate the emotions, I change the destination. The driver looks at me in the rearview but doesn’t say a word, and I sit back, folding my hands in my lap to stop them from shaking.

I’m not sure what I’m doing. Not sure if I should be doing it.

But emotion isn’t driven by logic, and right now, the former is firmly in control.

When we pull up to the three-story brownstone in Roxbury, my hands are steady. I thank the driver and slip out the door, staring up at the short stone walkway to the narrow porch. Potted flowers and wind chimes clutter the stairs leading up to the front door, and I stand there for a few seconds, waiting for sadness or remorse to settle in alongside my jealousy and anger.

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