Page 34 of Sinful Storms

“Rude. Just trying to make conversation.”

“I don’t want to talk.” I knew I was being even snappier than usual, and he hadn’t even done anything to deserve my ire, but I couldn’t get rid of the ball of anxiety sitting heavy in my stomach.

He sighed. “I know.”

Neither of us spoke again until we reached the pub.

“That was delicious, Margaret.” Tristan reclined in his seat, patting his abs. “Good choice.”

My grandma smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Hush, now. I simply chose a location I liked. The credit goes to the chef.”

“You’re so wise.” He grinned back at her. “Shall we take a short break and then order dessert?”

We made small talk for a few minutes, and when Tristan pulled my grandfather into a discussion about England’s cricket team, I took my chance to speak to my grandma quietly.

“I was wondering about my great-uncle,” I began, carefully watching her face to make sure I wasn’t upsetting her. “I know…I know it’s difficult to talk about. I guess I’m just curious. He was a student at Hatherley Hall, and I’ve nearly finished my time as a student…”

She sighed, clasping her hands together in her lap. “I suppose I knew you’d be curious about him. I should have spoken about him before. It was just…difficult. John was a wonderful brother, and his passing was extremely painful for me. It was so unexpected, you see.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, dear.” With another sigh, she gave me a tremulous smile. “As you know, we were twins. When we were small children, we were inseparable. It was John’s dream to attend a university, and so together, we worked to attain a scholarship for Hatherley Hall so he could make the best possible connections and have a better chance at attending a prestigious university—something that wouldn’t have been possible if he’d remained at his previous school.”

“And he did it, didn’t he?” I reached out, placing my hand over her clasped ones.

“He did. He wrote to me often, telling me of his happiness. I left school when I was fifteen and began working on the switchboards, sending John what little I could put aside. I could read between the lines, you see. Despite his assurances that all was well, I could sense some discontent. In the summer before his passing, we spoke of it. He had been hoping he could earn a place on the rowing team, but the unfortunate truth was that there were those who saw him as beneath them because of his scholarship status.”

I nodded. That lined up with what Tristan’s dad had told me.

My grandmother continued to speak, lost in her memories. “He began tutoring another boy, and they became friends, from what I could glean from his letters. In his final letter to me, he spoke of his hopes of being accepted by the elite. Apparently, the boy he’d been tutoring was one of the so-called elite, and he had told John he’d ensure his acceptance into their inner circle.”

“His final letter?” I whispered. I suddenly realised the table had gone quiet, with both Tristan and my grandfather listening intently.

“I received it two days before the accident that took him away from us.” She sniffed, tears appearing in her eyes, and I feltawful. Why had I insisted on dragging up the past? That letterTristan had received was right.Don’t go digging into the past. My grandma had lost her twin brother, the person she’d been closest to.

My own eyes filled with tears, and I blinked rapidly, squeezing her hand. “You don’t have to say anything else.”

“You deserve to know what happened. It was a terrible accident. It-it happened while he was on the school grounds, where he should have been safe. From what they could piece together, he had either climbed out of a window or was attempting to scale a wall. No one could ever give me a reason why. There was a storm, and he…he fell.”

With those last two words, her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. I pushed back my chair, moving to circle her shoulders with my arms, telling her how sorry I was over and over again.

My grandad finished the story with words that cut me even deeper. “There was nothing they could do. They said he slipped. He didn’t suffer, so they told her.”

Questions were whirling through my mind, but the only thing I cared about was making sure my grandma was okay.

“That’s the first time she’s spoken about that night in years,” my grandad added in a whisper, making me feel even worse. I nodded, biting down on my lip and digging my nails into my palms in an attempt to hold myself together as I did my best to comfort my grandmother.

Outside the pub, I pressed my forehead to the stone wall, taking a deep, shuddering breath. My grandparents had left in a much happier mood after Tristan had expertly steered the subject to our recent gods and goddesses ball. He’d embellished stories and exaggerated how I’d looked wearing a laurel wreath crown, and he’d even managed to dig up some photos of me from somewhere. Yet another thing I owed him for.

As for me, I was barely holding it together, and the last thing I wanted to do was fall apart in front of Tristan.

Despite my efforts, tears filled my eyes. I was supposed to be strong. I couldn’t allow myself to give in.

“Aria.” Hands clasped my shoulders, and Tristan turned me to face him. I stared down at the pavement, biting on my trembling lip.

He sighed. “Come here.” With that, he pulled me into his arms, surrounding me with his body, strong and warm and solid. I let my head rest on his chest as the tears I was holding back escaped anyway, soaking the fabric of his polo shirt. He didn’t say anything, his hands stroking up and down my back and through my hair as I cried.

When I’d gathered myself, I went to pull away and he let me go without a fight. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. Despite our issues, I owed him my words. “Thank you for today,” I whispered.

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