Page 74 of Stolen Harmony
His smile sharpened. “Small towns have long memories. People wonder why a talented young man would come back when he could go anywhere, do anything.” He leaned in. “They wonder what—or who—might be keeping him here.”
“Maybe I just missed Harbor’s End’s unique charm,” I said dryly, gesturing around the bar. “Sticky floors, warm beer by noon, and gossip served free with every drink. Hard to beat.”
Victor chuckled, but his eyes stayed cold. “Or maybe you’re here for something specific. Someone specific.”
The words made my skin prickle. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Don’t I?” He took a sip, savoring it. “I know you’re talented. I know you’re running from something. And I know you’re staying in that cramped apartment above the bookstore when you could clearly afford better.”
I leaned back, gave him a thin smile. “You’ve clearlybeen doing your research. Next you’ll tell me what brand of peanut butter I buy. Should I be flattered or call the cops?”
“I also know,” Victor continued, his voice soft as silk over steel, “that you've been spending time with my brother. Quite a lot of time, from what I hear.”
The blood drained from my face. “We’re not?—”
“Oh, I’m not judging.” Victor’s laugh was cultured, dismissive. “Grief makes people do strange things. Seek comfort in unusual places. But Elias is… complicated. Damaged goods, you might say. Still carrying that torch for his dead wife.”
Something violent rose in my chest. “Don’t talk about her like that.”
“Like what? Like she’s dead?” His eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. “But she is dead, Rowan. Has been for two years. And my brother is so mired in guilt and self-pity he can’t see what’s right in front of him.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I know Elias will never give you what you need,” Victor purred. “He’s too afraid of his own feelings, too wrapped up in propriety and what people might think. You’re young, alive, full of fire—and he’s treating you like a ghost.”
I snorted, though it came out harsher than I intended. “Wow. You’ve got me all figured out. Remind me, do you bill by the hour or is this family discount therapy?”
Victor’s smile sharpened, catching the hint of blood.
Anna appeared, refilled my glass, and shot me a look that saiddon’t take the bait. Victor ignored her entirely.
“The thing about small towns,” he said smoothly, “is that everyone’s business becomes everyone’s business eventually. People start asking questions. Making assumptions. That kind of speculation can be… damaging.”
“Shocking,” I said flatly. “People gossip in small towns? Stop the presses.”
His eyes glittered. “That kind of talk can ruin reputations. Careers. Futures.”
“Good thing I don’t have a career, then,” I shot back. “Unless drinking counts. In which case, I’m thriving.”
Victor chuckled, low and satisfied, like my sarcasm was just another card he could play. The sound made my skin crawl — not because it was loud, but because it was quiet. Controlled. Like he was filing me neatly into one of his mental drawers, already knowing how to use me.
I tightened my grip on the glass, forcing my voice to stay even. “You think this is funny? Picking me apart like some science project?”
His smile didn’t waver.
“That’s what I thought.” I leaned in just a little, meeting his gaze. “So tell me—are you threatening me, or just bored?”
“I’m offering perspective,” he corrected smoothly. “See, I understand what it’s like to want things you can’t have. To feel trapped by circumstances, by other people’s expectations. The difference is, I learned how to get what I want anyway.”
“Congratulations,” I muttered. “Want a medal or just another drink?”
He signaled Anna with two fingers, unhurried, patient, like he had all the time in the world to dissect me piece by piece.
“You're more like her than you probably realize,” Victor said, his voice taking on an almost reverent quality. “The way you question everything, challenge authority. She had that same fire.”
Something cold slithered down my spine. “What?”
“Your mother. Elaine.” He said her name like he was tasting something precious, something that had been taken from him before he'd had the chance to hold it properly. “You move like her too. The way you hold your shoulders whenyou're trying not to cry. She did that exact same thing the last time I saw her.”
