Page 119 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
Chapter Fifty-Two
Anthony
Iris steps into my home. Her eyes take in everything, inch by inch, from the gleaming foyer to the living and dining rooms and the huge kitchen. The city glitters on the other side of the gigantic sliding glass doors leading to the deck and an infinity pool.
I want her to love the place, and now I wish I’d spent more time looking around. I had a real estate agent bring a few suitable listings, and Wei made the purchase based on my list of priorities after seeing what was available. Back then, this was a place for me to rest and sleep. Now, it’s more. Iris makes it more.
Her gaze finally lands on the Steinway. It’s a practice piano, a white baby grand from Tempérane. Mother was going to throw it away, but Edgar saved it for me. It was in storage until last week, when I had it brought over, cleaned and tuned.
I watch Iris carefully, looking for signs of recognition. She used to practice on it for hours and hours. Surely she remembers something.
But she doesn’t seem to recall anything. There’s nothing but surprise and admiration as she looks at the piano.
“You play?” she asks.
“Used to.” I quit when Ivy died. It hurt too much. But now… Somehow it’s okay to see the instrument. I run a hand over it and realize with a shock that I’m slightly shaky.
Thankfully, Iris doesn’t seem to notice. “A lot of people give it up when they get a job or something.” She looks around. “Is there a place I can change?”
I lead her to my bedroom. “Take anything you want from the closet. Unfortunately, I don’t have the guest bathrooms ready to use, so you’ll have to make do with mine. The housekeeper should’ve laid out fresh towels. If not, let me know.”
“Thanks.”
I close the door behind her and exhale heavily, as though doing so will expel the bitter self-reproach inside my chest. I’m such a liar. After telling myself I don’t give a shit who she is, my belly flutters every time I see a sign that she’s Ivy.
It hits me all of a sudden that it might be safer for her if she’s Iris, a girl who plays the piano really well and has partial amnesia. The only problems Iris has are an imperfect memory and scummy relatives. But if she’s Ivy…
That’s much scarier. Terrifying, really, because somebody purposely set things up to make it appear as though she died. Killed another girl who was very much like her to accomplish the task. Did unspeakable things to Iris to make her lose her memory. Then somehow Sam ended up with her, whether he was an accomplice to the crime or got forced into it later.
If whoever responsible thinks that I know she’s Ivy, what will they do next? Come after me? I’m a hard target, and in any case would actually enjoy facing those fuckers. But they might just kill her, for real this time. I don’t know who they are, what their motivations might be, no way of predicting their next move. And the idea that I might lose her…again…
If you quit digging… If you quit probing…
I bury my face in my palms, trying to think through the options. I can take her away. Anywhere she wants to go. We can be together in Paris. Rio. Tokyo. The choices are endless.
But she came back to the States because she hated being away, forever on the road and unable to form a lasting friendship or have her own social network of people to count on. She has a job here now and has already made friends. I don’t have the heart to uproot her unless I absolutely have to. And until I know who’s responsible for the hit-and-run accident, I’m never going to be certain of Iris’s safety. Even living abroad, we might have to move around.
I look at the Steinway. I haven’t played in years, but muscle memory doesn’t vanish overnight. I go to the piano and touch the cool key in the center above the keyhole, pressing it softly until the perfectly tuned middle C sounds.
When she’s out of the shower, I’m going to test her.
I have to know who she is, for certain. I need to understand what happened to her. Or I’m going to lose her. Again.
