Page 59 of To the Grave

“Wow,” I said, slipping my hands under the dryer. “Fancy.”

“Just a hobby,” Sarai said. “As my parents like to remind me.”

I looked at her sympathetically. “Still?”

Sarai’s parents were traditional Indian-Americans. They expected both their kids to go to college and specialize in something stable, something impressive.

“Still,” she said, capping the nail polish. “At least they have Krish. Speaking of favorites.”

Krishna was Sarai’s younger brother, a freshman at MIT.

“What do you want?” I asked her.

“Does it matter?” she asked, clearly miserable.

“I’d grab your hand if my nails weren’t wet and I didn’t think you’d be mad,” I said. “But yes, it matters.”

I knew it mattered because my dad wasn’t that unlike Sarai’s parents. Not Indian-American, but still a source of high expectations. Back before I’d found out Mac might be my dad, I’d just assumed he was disappointed in me because I lacked his brand of ambition.

Now I couldn’t help wondering if it was more than that, if I reminded him too much not only of my mom and her dreamy streak, but of someone like Mac, who’d lived on the fringes of polite society, making a life completely counter to the kind my dad valued.

My possible connection to Mac gave me a weird kind of hope in spite of the bomb it would throw into my life. Maybe I wasn’t just an entitled rich girl after all. Maybe my bohemian interests were in my blood, part of my DNA.

Maybe I wasn’t the daughter of an ambitious business titan and the woman who’d lost herself to his world but the daughter of two dreamers, one who’d worked to live his way and the other who’d died trying.

“Honestly,” Sarai said, “I like this.”

“The nail thing?” Cassie asked, sitting back against my bed and wiggling her toes, now painted a deep green.

Sarai nodded. “It’s fun. Fun and relaxing, which is the opposite of what my parents think a career should be. Plus it’s not like I’m going to get rich doing nails, let alone find agoodhusband.”

“Ugh,” I said. I couldn’t even begin to understand the pressure Sarai was under. She’d been fighting her parents on the college thing for two years. “I know it’s easy for me to say, but it’s your life. You’re allowed to find your own way.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Sarai asked.

It might have sounded snide coming from someone else, but from Sarai it just sounded like curiosity. She and Cassie had been shocked to see the house, now almost fully renovated and quickly filling with the furniture and art and lighting I’d been buying with the last of my inheritance. I was living here at the top of the falls with the three guys who’d killed my brother, working part-time for Cantwell like I didn’t have a care in the world when really, my future was staring me down like an incoming freight train.

“I think so,” I said. “I mean, when I look back on the last year I realize it’s the first time in my life when I’ve done exactly what I wanted to do. It hasn’t always made sense, but at least I’m living my life my way.”

“What about the future though?” Sarai said. “Don’t you worry about it?”

“All the time.”

Sarai sighed. “I need snacks. Do you have snacks?”

“I live with three ginormous guys,” I said. “The house is filled with snacks.”

We got to our feet and headed downstairs via the front staircase. We were halfway to the first floor when I realized the guys had finished their work in the ballroom and were now in the living room playing video games.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of them sprawled out on the designer furniture. Otis was bare-chested, his muscles flexing as he worked on the clock while Wolf and Jace played some kind of space game, their eyes fixed on the screen, both of them leaning forward, legs spread in their jeans.

They could have been an ad for condoms because right now I wanted to kick Cassie and Sarai out and fuck them all senseless.

“Hey,” Otis said, looking up as we passed. “Hey, Cass. Hey, Sarai.”

“Hey,” Sarai said, her gaze glued to Otis’ bare chest.

Jace glanced over. “Hungry?”

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