Page 15 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
“Yes. Thank you,” I say, my voice still hoarse. “Aren’t you leaving?”
“Do you want to me to?”
My room’s too dark…too quiet. And suddenly I hate the idea of being alone. “Not really.”
“Okay.” Tony doesn’t move from his seat.
I climb into the huge four-poster bed and pull the sheets all the way to my chin. “Aren’t you tired?” I ask, my voice small. After all, he traveled from Princeton today.
“No. Go to sleep.”
“You can’t just order someone to go to sleep,” I mutter, inexplicably peeved and grateful at the same time. It’s vaguely irritating that he seems to know what I need better than me, while I know almost nothing about him. Certainly not enough to know what he needs.
He doesn’t watch me like I thought he might. His face impassive, he’s looking at his phone, probably checking some email or text.
Having him here in the room helps. He’s like a shield, making me feel safe. And his not staring at me is even better because I don’t have to put on a brave face or pretend to be what people expect of me.
* * *
Anthony
Soon, Ivy’s chest is rising and falling slowly and regularly. I quietly put a bottle of aspirin on the bathroom vanity next to her toothbrush, where she can’t miss it, along with a sticky note on the mirror, Take two with a glass of water, with an arrow pointing down.
I start to exit her room, then stop to look at her. Her features are obscure in the dark, but she seems calm enough. Hopefully she won’t have nightmares about Caleb. I wish I could go back and resume kicking his ass. He deserves it so bad, it’s almost painful to exercise restraint.
Come on. You need sleep.
I leave, closing the door quietly after me, then walk down the hall until I bump into Father coming up from downstairs. He’s an imposing grizzly bear of a man. There’s a rough, almost crude quality to the way his facial features are cut, but that doesn’t diminish his presence. His shirt strains to fit his broad shoulders and thickly muscled torso. His legs are long and powerful, and he moves like a man who knows exactly what he wants in life.
He pins me with bright green eyes. “Were you just in Ivy’s room?”
“Yeah. Her ride ditched her, so I brought her home.” That’s the closest to the truth I can reveal. A promise not to tell Mother means not telling Father, either.
“And she”—he searches for a word—“required you to show her to her room?”
“No. I just thought it was the right thing to do.”
He regards me. I do my best not to squirm under the paternal scrutiny.
“Son, if you care about your mother at all, you’ll stay away from Ivy. She’s incredibly attached to the girl. Kind of a substitute.” Disapproval carves deep lines around Father’s forehead and mouth. “And Ivy tries too hard to please Margot. She won’t even do the silly things girls her age should be doing.”
I think back to the party. “That might not be a bad thing.”
“It cements Margot’s attachment. It isn’t healthy. When Ivy came here, your mother finally stopped crying, stopped mourning. I thought perhaps you’d be able to come back.”
Father grows quiet, the silence louder than the words he won’t say. But I don’t need to hear them to know. Ivy might’ve stopped Mother from grieving, but Mother hasn’t let go of her anger over losing Katherine.
Actually, it’s far more disturbing than that. I saw a nature documentary once that featured a mother bird that lost its chick. She soon adopted another and treated it like her own, feeding it, teaching it how to fly, protecting it from predators. Ivy is like that—a substitute for Katherine, but not enough to help Mother make peace and move on.
“The TV feature was an excuse. They’re just interviewing me,” Father murmurs. “I want Margot to forgive you and welcome you back into the family. If she can do that, she can truly heal. So don’t screw up, Tony.”
I nod, my heart twisting painfully as I realize he hasn’t said a warm word for me. It’s all been about Mother.
But I have no right to object to the pangs I’m feeling. It’s my fault she’s the way she is.
