Page 35 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
Nothing.
I press my ear to the door. I swear I can hear something on the other side, but maybe it’s just my heartbeat.
“Tony?”
Nothing.
Hmm.Maybe I should make sure. Jonas said he’s back. I turn the knob. The door opens soundlessly.
I stick my head in. “Tony?”
The room is dimly lit, the curtain drawn. Heart pounding, I step inside and close the door. I feel like an intruder—well, I am an intruder—but I can’t stop myself from looking around. I want to know everything there is to know about him before he leaves. Besides, he’s been in my room before, while I’ve never been in his, even when he was living abroad.
It’s a feeble attempt at justification.
His room’s neat, not a speck of dust anywhere. Unlike mine, it’s spartan, with almost no personal effects. There’s the framed diploma from Princeton on the wall, but the bookshelves are empty. Only one photo is on the desk—a gorgeous golden-haired child.
Katherine.He must’ve been very close to her. But there aren’t any other photos of the family.
I look around, nibbling the tip of my index finger. How strange. This has been his room all along. So even if he hasn’t been here in the last nine years, shouldn’t there be something—comic books from way back when, posters of musicians or movie stars, school projects? Edgar’s room—which is neatly cleaned and organized now that he’s moved out—still has his old things. A guitar, scuffed shoes with cleats, jerseys of his favorite football players, trophies from various events and competitions, boxes of old sketchbooks with their edges curled and discolored, comic books, toys and so much more.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was a guest room.
Then it suddenly hits me. Tony wasn’t sent to Europe because Uncle Lane and Aunt Margot had high hopes for him. He was exiled, and all his belongings were either packed into storage or thrown away because there wasn’t any expectation that he’d be back.
With the realization, my heart begins to ache. I wipe my eyes, sniffing. Oh, Tony. How he must’ve suffered. I didn’t know…never suspected the depth of what he must have lost. When my parents were killed, it was something I couldn’t do anything about. I miss them terribly, but I also know they loved me to the very end, and that always gives me comfort. Tony has lost his family because his parents chose not to want him. That had to create unbearable emptiness insi—
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Oh my God.I jump at the hostile voice, a hand over my racing heart. My knees shake, but I manage to turn around. “Tony?”
He stands inside the balcony doors, now slightly ajar.
“Didn’t Mother teach you not to go in someone’s room without permission? She’s pretty strict about etiquette,” he says, his words biting. He’s carrying a bottle in his hand. I can’t tell if it’s empty.
“Have you been drinking?” I say, since he’s totally right about his mom, and I suddenly feel apprehensive about his mood.
“What if I have? What’s it to you?” He smirks, walking toward me. “I’m not giving you any, so don’t even think about it.”
“I don’t want any. I can always ask Uncle Lane if I want some.” He’s very progressive about alcohol.
“Right,” Tony says bitterly.
Then I realize he probably didn’t know that about his own dad. He hasn’t spent any time in Tempérane since he was twelve. Although Uncle Lane went to Europe a few times, it was always with Aunt Margot. I doubt they went out of their way to see their exiled son.
“You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here,” he says.
I lick my lip. There’s such a dark edge to his voice that I can’t help but wonder if I made the right choice in entering his room. Too late now. He’s standing between me and the door. I should just say what I came here to say. Honesty is the best policy in a situation like this…I think. “I just wanted to see you.”
“Is that so? Mother didn’t send her pet up to pack my shit and tell me to get the fuck out of town?”
I gasp at the hostility and anger. “No!”
“Then what are you doing here?” He tilts his head until it’s almost horizontal. “People don’t want to see me. Not really.”
“That isn’t true, Tony. I wanted to know if you were okay.” I swallow, praying for courage, as realization dawns on me that the hostility and anger aren’t directed at me. They’re more directed at…himself?
He straightens up, the smirk wiped clean. “Did you, really?” Then he laughs humorlessly. “You’ll be better off staying away from me.” He walks toward me. He isn’t moving fast, but he looks purposeful—almost menacing.
