Page 1 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
Chapter One
–nine years ago
Anthony
When I was in Europe, going to boarding school in Valencia, half the people attending the small Catholic church nearby didn’t dress with any particular care to go to confession. Nor did they wonder if their God would absolve them. In the face of true penance, they were certain He would.
But my mother, the person I’m seeking forgiveness from, is harder to appease.
So here I am, back in Louisiana, in a jacket, dress shirt and slacks. Except everything I put on to make a good impression on my mother—whom I haven’t seen or spoken with in nearly a decade—turns out to be a terrible idea. The second I step out of the blue Mercedes Father sent to fetch me from the airport, I begin to feel like chocolate left out in the sun. I’d forgotten how vicious the heat and humidity can be in Tempérane, but then, I haven’t been back to my hometown for the last nine years, not since I was exiled.
The huge two-story mansion sprawls before me. The white summer sun reflects off smooth, pale marble and stained-glass windows, making the structure shimmer and glow like a mirage. It was an old plantation house until my grandmother decided she hated it. So my grandfather had it torn down and rebuilt, despite the neighbors’ feeble protests. It’s hard to complain with much feeling when my family provides jobs to over thirty percent of the population around here.
The happiest and the darkest times of my life were spent here—in this house. The weight of all that was lost bears down on me.
Come on. Time to see if you can get some of it back.
Resolute, I mount the steps to the main entrance. Jonas is standing by the door. Despite the humidity and heat, the family butler manages to look fresh, as though he’s just stepped out of the shower and put on a newly starched suit.
He isn’t making a move to throw me out. That’s another good sign. Father apparently hasn’t changed his mind about my being here since I left the airport.
“Welcome back, Master Tony.” Jonas’s voice is as smooth and even as always.
“It’s good to be back. Is my mother home?” It’s the question I’ve been avoiding since I left New Jersey. My palms grow slick with sweat as the surging dread of receiving another cold rejection almost overwhelms the tiny hope of seeing her smile again. What if she’s still angry? What if she still can’t forgive me after all this time?
Mother didn’t object to Father wanting me home,I remind myself. If she had, I wouldn’t be here. To my father, Mother’s emotional well-being trumps all.
“No, sir,” Jonas answers.
“Oh. Do you know when she’s coming back?”
His pale blue eyes soften a bit. “I’m sorry, I don’t.”
“Did she take a suitcase?” A small pang reverberates in my chest as I wait for his response.
“Not to my knowledge, sir.”
The tension in my gut loosens. Maybe she isn’t trying to avoid me. Maybe Father wasn’t lying about her being too sick to travel to Princeton to attend my graduation.
Maybe—just maybe—her hatred has lessened, like an iceberg slowly thawing in more temperate waters.
“It’s hot, sir. Shall I take your jacket?”
I hand it over.
“I’ll have your bags brought to your old room.”
I nod my thanks and proceed into my childhood home, turning up my sleeves. The steps across the portico and in to the foyer quickly take on a significance that becomes almost reverential.
Banished since I was twelve, I’ve only been allowed to return because I finished my education…and because my father thought it prudent to have me back. The local Chamber of Commerce is giving him an award—Entrepreneur of the Year—and a local TV station is doing a feature on him. Apparently it would look bad if I wasn’t around, even if I’m not in the program.
“You’re a son any man would be proud to have,” he said in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t any man.
And I wish with everything I have that my father were any man and my mother any woman. Then everything I’ve done to make them proud might mean something. I graduated, top three in my class, from the fancy European boarding schools, the sort of places you can’t go unless your parents have the right connections and money to burn. Then summa cum laude from Princeton with a degree in economics. I’m popular among my peers and can play a mean piano, along with soccer and polo. The only thing I can’t do is draw, but then, I never devoted much time to art.
None of your accomplishments will be enough to make Mother forgive you.
I steel my spine. I know—even understand—that I deserve every bit of her hate. But I also crave her forgiveness. It’s the only thing that can lighten the impossible weight on my heart and soul. I can’t continue living without the ability to feel true joy or satisfaction. Dating, while superficially fun, leaves me cold. Even the endless job offers—the kind my friends would exclaim over—have left me hollow and apathetic.
