Page 75 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
“Iris, you should be staying with me.” There’s a deep frown in his voice.
No way.Still, I keep my tone light and even. “I know, but I think it’s better if I stay with a friend. I don’t want to impose too much, and you’ve already done so much for me, Sam.”
Even if I had zero friends in L.A., I wouldn’t go to Sam’s mansion. It may be huge and luxurious, but it isn’t welcoming or warm the way homes should be…like my parents’ cozy house was. His place is more like a museum, full of expensive, meticulously dusted things that discourage you from touching. And every time I’m there, I feel like I’m being closely watched, like some exotic new zoo specimen.
Besides, my blood pressure shoots up whenever I spend more than ten minutes in the same room with his son, Marty, mainly because he delights in mansplaining everything. To him, nothing is too small to leave unexplained. Sometimes I wonder if he’s going to start demonstrating how I should hold a fork.
“Byron Pearce isn’t the kind of ‘friend’ you want to live with,” Sam says.
Ugh.Could he make it sound any sleazier? “I’m not living with him. It’s a temporary arrangement until I can afford my own place. He’s a great friend.”
Skepticism colors Sam’s grunt. It’s the same sound he made when my “friends from the past” came out of the woodwork to be closer to me once they realized how much money Sam had. I was too naïve to realize what they were up to until Sam got rid of them. I don’t understand why he’s reacting this way to Byron, though. Byron’s family is wealthier than anybody I know, and they’re old money.
“Still, I—”
“Hey, listen. I gotta go shopping if I want to look good tomorrow.” I have a few dresses I can put on, but I’m going to be busy working on the repertoire for the reception. “Bye, Sam.” I hang up, then write down a summary of our call and the fact that I have to be at the party in my notebook. It’s a new habit since the coma. This way, I’ll never lose anything again.
I add, Feels good to win what I wanted without having to ugly-fight Sam. Playing at the party is a small price…although I’m worried about having a panic attack. But if I do okay there, can I play at parties from now on? Do I even want to?
I stop because my pride bristles at the idea that the best I could ever be is someone’s background music. I don’t know what to think. Wouldn’t making a living from music be better than a nine-to-five job? I shut the notebook and put it in my purse. I can’t answer that question yet. Not until after the party. For all I know, I’ll faint dead away at the piano.
I shower, change into a loose T-shirt and shorts and go downstairs to the huge kitchen. Byron doesn’t cook much—his attitude is “why bother when you don’t have to”—but the kitchen is simply to die for, with the latest feature-rich stainless-steel appliances, marble countertops and island.
Byron’s already there, pouring two mugs of coffee. The plate in front of him is clean except for a few crumbs and a knife with white streaks.
“We have Greek yogurt, chopped fruit, bagels with cream cheese, lox and cereal. Pick your poison,” he says with a grin, pushing me a coffee with double cream and sugar, just the way I like it.
“Thanks. Cereal sounds about right.” I grab a bowl and fill a third of it with crunchy flakes with nuts and dried fruit chunks.
He hands me a spoon and some milk. “That’s all?”
“Uh-huh.” Ever since the accident, my appetite hasn’t been the same. I enjoy good food, but I don’t have any desire to eat more than a few bites. Often, I just forget to eat. My doctors didn’t think it was a huge concern and told me to eat at least three small, nutritious meals a day…and that was that. Given the extent of the damage I’ve suffered—messed-up memories, emotional outbursts, extreme mood swings, loss of muscle tone—a lack of appetite isn’t really a priority.
“Guess we can do an early brunch before I have to fly out.”
“You’re leaving town?”
“Unfortunately. Got a call last night. I need to be in Hawaii for some business stuff over golf, blah blah blah.” He puffs out a breath. “Probably take a week or two. No more, I hope.”
Tilting my head, I study his lazy, model-like pose, his bare feet hooked to the rungs on the stool, his body lean and beautifully proportioned. “I can’t understand how you don’t like golf. You seem like you’d love it, leisurely walking around and whacking a small white ball.”
“It’s boring. And I have to pretend to suck to protect fragile corporate egos.”
I pat his shoulder. No matter how much he hates it, he has to go and do a good job. Julie told me their father’s decided only the most capable son is going to inherit the family business, and now Byron and his older brother are engaged in a battle to prove who’s the best.
“You’ll be great,” I say soothingly. Although Byron appears easygoing, he’s ultra-competitive. I’ve seen him play tennis and actually felt sorry for his opponents.
“So what do you say to the early brunch? Maybe we can do something fun afterward.”
“Can’t. I have to master a few Debussy and Mozart pieces for Sam.” There’s no way I’m doing Chopin or Liszt.
Byron frowns. “Why?”
“Apparently the quartet hired for the reception tomorrow can’t come. So he wants me to play instead. He was so desperate he decided he was okay with me being in the city and he doesn’t mind the video from yesterday too much either.”
Byron shakes his head. “You don’t usually play Debussy or Mozart, do you? You’re going to learn them in one day?”
“The fundamentals are the same. It’ll take all day, but I can learn enough to manage. It’s only the first arabesque and ‘Clair de lune,’ which he specifically asked for. I can fill up the rest of the time with Mozart sonatas.”
Byron’s handsome face scrunches. “Can I just say how much I don’t like your uncle right now?”
I almost laugh at his petulant tone, wondering what he’d say if he knew Sam called him an “unleashed wild dog” less than an hour ago. Byron prides himself on his urbanity. “Why don’t we do something together after you come back from your trip?” I suggest. “By then I’ll be over my jet lag, and Julie should be back too.”
He gazes off to one side for a few moments, then sighs. “Okay, deal.”
