Page 36 of Hostile Secret
During the short drive to the suburbs, Ana mostly chats about Sebastian. It’s more than obvious she has a huge obsessive crush on the guy. They’re not so in love / love affair began a few years ago when his family attended a function at her house and those two had snuck up to her bedroom for a steamy make-out session.
After that night, he acted cool every time he saw her. Glacial freezing, in fact. I guess that's why she likes him so much, because he’s out of reach.
Eventually, the Bentley slows at a set of automatic gates securing a colonial style home and meanders along a stately driveway.
Pale pillars guard the double fronted doorway and sunlight makes the off-white exterior radiant. I’m used to seeing wealth and insane properties, so this place doesn't faze me.
It’s her mother who does that.
My heart does a weird jiggly thing when Mrs. Vargas throws her arms around me, the embrace lingering. I was raised by a man, technically three of them. I didn’t become a tomboy because of it, but they didn’t exactly possess the feminine qualities of a mother. I’m used to guns and cocaine deals, not tenderness and womanly nurturing.
Once inside the white and gold kitchen that makes the best use of the afternoon sun, Ana’s mother strolls around the grand half-moon shaped island and disappears into a glass cellar at the far end of the bright room.
She returns with a magnum of Dom, not caring when the cork pops and bubbles spill all over the floor tiles.
“Happy birthday, India! What a beautiful name.”
Sofia Vargas is the epitome of elegance and sophistication in one floaty pastel pink dress. Platinum blonde hair is meticulously twisted into a chignon and her long-pointed nails are painted in the same shade of nude as her high heels.
Diamond encrusted earlobes catch the light when she sets the hefty bottle on the marbled countertop and matching jewels on her fingers glitter as she lifts the lid off a glass jar crammed full of cookies.
“Here, my darlings.” She pushes the jar closer to us. “Ana told me you live with your brother. Are you coastal or city based?”
And so, the interrogation begins. I pick out a chocolate chip cookie after Ana and take a bite.
“My brother owns a security firm,” I say behind my fingers as I chew, thinking on my feet. “As you can imagine, he’s very safety conscious and prefers to keep our location private. It’s not much fun for me, especially when we moved here from the states recently, but he’s the guy paying the bills.” My wide smile meets her slow batting lashes, her inquisitive stare taking in every inch of me.
“I do love a man of mystery. Perhaps we can meet him sometime?”
“Sure.” I nod my head a few times. If she ever met Giovanni, it would be for the wrong reasons, and he’d likely be the last face she’d ever see. “He works a lot. Like all the time.” I roll my eyes for dramatic flair.
“Much like Ana’s father then.” Sofia raises her brows and pours champagne into stemless flutes. “Trying to get that man to commit to a holiday is as easy as catching clouds.”
Ana sets her half-eaten cookie on the countertop and gathers two freshly filled glasses, hip bumping me sideways. “I’ll carry these. Let’s go upstairs and pick an outfit to make Fabian’s eyes fall out of his head.”
Sofia sighs. “I can’t keep up. I thought you’re set on Sebastian.”
“Yes, Mama. Fabian invited this one to Elysian tonight.” She elbows me. “India caught the eye of the devil himself.” Ana giggles, not knowing that I actually live with the real devil.
“If you need anything, darling, just ask.” Sofia tips her flute, regarding me over the lipstick-stained rim. “Us girls need to stick together.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Vargas.”
“Oh, sweet Jesus, please don’t call me that. You’d understand if you’d ever met his mother.” She fingers the diamond pendant hanging over her cleavage. “That woman is a piece of work.”
Ana clucks her tongue. “Mama, stop it,” she scolds, glaring over her shoulder, all the while guiding me into the airy reception hall. “Ugh, they hate each other.”
We climb the staircase and wander along a bright landing. Family photographs scatter bone white walls and natural light spills in from a glass ceiling. This place is like Heaven, whereas Blackwater is a graveyard of shadows and secrets.
Nevertheless, I don’t hate it. Where Ana’s home is fresh and modern, Giovanni’s residence holds character and mystery.
A subtle ache pinches me beneath the ribs. As much as I want to deny it, my gut tells me Gio’s going to be pissed when he finds out I didn’t go home. It’s a control thing. Nothing more.
“Here we are.” Ana bumps her ass into a door about midway along the hall.
She reverses inside, sets the champagne glasses on a teal painted dresser, and prances straight for an archway leading to a vast open dressing room.
Hugging my bag, I follow behind her, walking into the girly bedroom. My attention falls to the huge circular bed smothered in too many scatter cushions, positioned in front of big windows framing a balcony and swaying trees beyond.
