Page 15 of Secrets (The Sins Trilogy 2)
Yes. But I can’t bear to tell her the truth, not when she’s already so agitated and upset. It’s unfair she has to suffer for the misdeeds of others. “Maybe. We don’t know,” I say gently.
But what I know for certain is: Sam is not the mastermind. If he were, he wouldn’t have panicked like that. He would’ve reacted better, with more calculation. The person who engineered it thought everything through—a strawberry blonde in the same blue dress as Ivy’s, the pendant…everything.
What I don’t get is: what’s so significant about Ivy? She didn’t have any money, and even if she had, she was so young there would be no next of kin. She wasn’t set to inherit a penny of my family’s fortune, so it wasn’t like someone who didn’t want to see her inherit would do it.
Or maybe Ivy was a tool, and the real target was the girl in the car. But if that was the case, why hide the girl’s identity? That doesn’t make sense either.
I need to find out who she was, although that’s going to be difficult. It happened so damn long ago. There’s no evidence, and whatever witnesses might exist won’t be that useful. Most people don’t remember things that happened that long ago with any degree of accuracy.
“Do you think there’s a way to find out who she is?” Iris asks suddenly.
Shit.“Why?”
“I feel like if I can figure that out, I’ll remember faster. Like the dream I had with her in it. I think it triggered me to remember it in more detail when I fell into Sam’s pool today.”
“But you said you don’t recall much about her.” Have to be careful here. It’s one thing for me to figure this out, something else for Iris. I can take care of myself. I would actually welcome whoever was behind the event in Tempérane to come at me. But Iris is different. Not only can she not take care of herself, she’s my sole weakness—because she’s one thing I can’t bear to lose.
“I know. I wish there were clues about her identity, but…” She looks at me, her eyes bright and determined. “Do you remember what I told you about my mind? How my doctor said it’s like a broken bowl badly put together, and that’s why I don’t remember everything?”
Fear is slicing at me, peeling off just a bit more each time, because I know exactly where she’s going with this.
“If I know everything, I won’t be broken anymore.”
People say words can’t hurt, but they’re wrong. Hers are killing me, and my heart is weeping for her. Here’s the most beautiful, gentle soul I know, and she’s whispering, eyes lowered, like she’s ashamed of herself. I hold her face in my hands, brushing my thumbs over her cheeks. “You aren’t broken,” I say, my voice cracking. “You’re perfect.”
“But Sam threatened to declare me incompetent. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t think he could do it, and the only reason he could do it is because I’m messed up in the head.”
If Sam were here, I’d rip him to pieces with my bare hands. “Let him try. We’ll fight him together, and we’ll win.”
Honor says that I should tell her everything. She deserves to know the truth about herself. Fear says I should hide it all. If she starts poking around, she could draw attention to herself…attention that could get her killed for real this time.
But there’s another fear—a small, insidious voice that says when she remembers everything, she might just leave me. I look at her wrist. I don’t know how the tattoo ended up gone, but the absence feels like an omen—like she’s going to decide she can do better than a worthless piece of shit like me.
“We don’t know when or where it happened. She could be anybody,” I say, hating myself for throwing up roadblocks. This is the opposite of what I want to be for her. But I’m too selfish to risk losing her.
“Not even narrowing it down to a young strawberry-blond woman who drowned in rivers or lakes?” she asks in a small voice.
Ah, Iris, do you know how many strawberry blondes are out there? How so many of them drove me mad as I drowned in grief and self-loathing? “There are too many. We wouldn’t even be able to narrow our search by people who died. What if she miraculously survived?”
“You’re right.” Defeat crosses her sad gray eyes, slicing me.
So I do the only thing I can—I kiss her.
I kiss her with all the sorrow and shame in my heart. Then with all the desperate love in my soul.
Her mouth soft, she kisses me back. Her tongue flicks across once, twice. My tongue meets hers, then licks the irresistible mole. I pull the full lower lip into my mouth. She clutches my shoulders, her fingers digging into my shoulders as though she can’t bear to let go. And I give a small prayer of thanks that she wants me, even if it’s only for now.
She slips her tongue into my mouth, then teases mine into hers. Wine, cherry and caramel flood my senses, setting my blood on fire. But I keep the kiss light, afraid she’ll slip from between my fingers like a crumbling pillar of salt if I’m not careful. I came so, so close to losing her.
As though sensing my turmoil, she pulls back slightly and puts a warm palm over my cheek, her beautiful eyes on mine. “Tony, I’m right here with you. Flesh and blood. I’m not going anywhere.” Then she moves her palm over to my chest, where my heart beats for her. “Where can I possibly go when you have my heart right here?”
“I don’t deserve you,” I say thickly, guilt and shame rolling through me.
“We’ll have to agree to disagree.” She pulls me down for another kiss, demanding my all.
I rain kisses on her lovely face—the delicate cheeks and stubborn jaw—then lick the sensitive line of her neck where her pulse throbs. I’m a fucking liar, and she’s going to kick me in the balls when she finds out everything, but for now, I have her. I cling to that, revel in that, because otherwise I’m going to go mad.
“You drive me crazy,” I whisper against her ear. “I can never get enough of you. Never be connected closely enough.”
