Page 53 of Dirty Little Secrets
“Since three,” she says with a yawn, draping the corner of the throw blanket on her lap over mine. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“You should’ve called me,” I say, dropping the book on the table. “I could’ve kept you company.”
“I’m too sore for company.” Emery flashes me a wily smile, the soft flames of the fire pit dancing across her face. “But maybe tomorrow night.”
I sigh. “I didn’t mean that type of company.”
She tilts her head. “I’m an adult, Damon. I don’t need a human night light. I’m used to being alone.” She takes a deep breath. “I enjoy the quiet.”
“I can be quiet,” I whisper, a pang of despair aching my heart. “Call me next time. I’ll show you.”
“Maybe,” she hums, tilting her head up toward the whirring of a passing helicopter. Unease stirs in my gut as she sighs. “It’s never really quiet in the city, though, is it? I’ve always wondered what it would be like to see New York from so high up. It probably looks less scary.” She looks at me, face paling as she notices my reaction. “Sorry,” she says quickly, swallowing. “I forgot you—” She shakes her head, changing the subject as she glances down at the table. “What are you reading?”
I sigh, handing her the book. She can see right through me sometimes. “El amor en los tiempos delcólera.”The irony isn’t lost on me. Life truly does imitate art. “It was… It was my mother’s favorite.”
“Love in a Time of Cholera,” she says, translating the title. “I hear it’s a classic.” Her curious gaze flicks up at me. “You don’t strike me as the type of person who enjoys reading romantic fiction.”
I chuckle lightly. “No, but surprisingly my grandpa was. I think it’s because he was born in the same town as Gabriel García Márquez. When he was eighteen, he immigrated to the States from Colombia. He made my mother into a big fan too. She even ended up naming my sister after him.” I pause, fighting the nostalgia. “Gabriela.”
Emery gives me a soft smile. “We don’t have to talk about your family, Damon. I don’t need to?—”
“It’s fine,” I swallow. “They deserve to be talked about.”
I’ve been a bad son. A bad brother. For two years, I didn’t utter their names. Their memories were forbidden. Remembering hurts too much. But it’s time. It’s time to remember them.
Emery bites her lip, tapping her fingers against a book my mother once held in her hands, and that connection, despite how small, makes me smile.
“How did your parents meet?” she asks slowly.
“At a campus bar,” I say, stifling a laugh as I recall the story. “My dad was visiting a friend at the University of Austin, and my mom was working part time as a waitress while going to school there. She spilled an entire tray of beer on his lap. My father was convinced she did it on purpose so they could keeptalking.” I grin. “Either way, she didn’t work a day after that.”
“Love at first spill,” Emery muses. “Cute.”
“Basically.” I smile. “They eloped shortly after they met. His parents, my grandparents, wanted him to marry this hotel heiress, but he didn’t give a single shit about what they wanted. Despite all my father’s shortcomings, the one thing he did right was love my mother.”
Emery’s gaze flicks to the fire, her expression solemn, distant. “I’ve always wondered what it would feel like to be raised by parents who loved each other.” She brings her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her kneecaps. “I bet you had a happy childhood.”
I snort. “I wouldn’t say I had a happy childhood.”
Emery turns toward me, frowning. “No?”
“My father was a busy man,” I elaborate. “He was barely ever home, and when he was, he spent that time with my mother. Gabriela and I were raised by a nanny until we were shipped off to boarding school.”
“Sounds happy to me,” Emery sighs. “My parents werealwaysaround. I don’t remember a day that they weren’t hovering over me. I know they had a reason to stay so close but,” she shrugs, “I guess the grass is always greener.”
“I take it you’re not close with your parents?” I ask, discreetly inching closer to Emery on the couch. She squirms beside me but doesn’t move away.
“We have a…” She pauses. “We have a difficult relationship. I’m grateful for them, for everything they’ve sacrificed for me. Having a sick kid isn’t cheap.” She swallows. “By the time I was done with high school, they were six figures in debt. So, I-I studied even harder when I got to university. I mean, being bedridden so often, I didn’t have much else to do. So, I finished school, got a good job, paid off most of their debt, and now,” she flashes me a cheeky smile, “I work for you.”
“Yes, you do,” I say, cocking my head. “And how are you enjoying it, Miss Jones?”
“So far, so good,” she smirks. “The benefits are impeccable.”
“Are you referring to our comprehensive health plan?” I ask, grinning. “Or something else?”
“Definitely the health plan.” Her playful gaze travel down to my lap, and she bites her lip. “I anticipate usingallthe perks available to me.”
“We have a couple of hours before we’re due in the office,” I muse as the sun peeks out, warming the sky with melting colors. “Would you care for an early morningperk?”
