Page 40 of Secrets (The Sins Trilogy 2)
“It’s okay.” I take a deep breath. “I’ll be fine.”
He nods and opens the door. An immaculately dressed young Asian woman walks in with a man following closely behind her. “Iris, meet Yuna Hae. Yuna, Iris Smith.”
Her hands fly to her mouth, her eyes bright with tears. The man comes closer and whispers something in her ear. She finally drops her hands from her face, making a small choking sound.
I can’t help staring. She’s exactly like my memory, only more mature. Except her hair isn’t black anymore, but a pretty auburn. My heart starts thudding.
Yuna Hae.
I roll the three syllables in my head. The clever small talk I was hoping to make vanishes from my mind and a million butterflies are fluttering in my stomach. I’m almost vibrating with nerves—excited and anxious about how she’ll react to me, what she’ll reveal, what other memories she’ll trigger.
“Do you remember me, even a little bit?” she asks, her voice trembling.
A couple of quick, relieved nods, because this is an easy question. “The girl I watched porn with.” The second I blurt that out, I cover my face with my hands, wishing I could start over. That seriously wasn’t the first thing I wanted to say. I hope the guy she came here with isn’t her dad or something.
“Yes!” Laughing and crying, she runs toward me and wraps me up tightly.
I hug her back out of reflex. Teary, emotional hugs from strangers are super awkward and uncomfortable. I’m not too crazy about people I don’t know touching me. But this hug is different, even though Yuna’s still a virtual stranger in my mind. My instinct—the same kind that helps me remember music I used to practice—says this is a great hug, full of sisterly love.
“Oh my God, I missed you so much. I knew you weren’t dead. I just knew it,” Yuna sobs.
Dead?My parents’ obituary specifically said that they were survived by me. “Why did you think I died?”
“That’s what I was told. But I knew you hadn’t. If you had, I would’ve felt it.” She pulls back to drink me in. “Right in my heart.” Tears run down her cheeks in rivulets. The guy who came with her hands her a handkerchief. She takes it and dabs at her face.
“Who told you I died?”
“My mom. She said she got a call.” She looks at the stained handkerchief. “My makeup’s supposed to be waterproof, but look at this. Can’t trust anybody these days,” she says, half cringing with embarrassment and half laughing at herself. Mascara and eyeliner are smeared around her eyes, but she looks radiant anyway.
Most importantly, I like her. No reservation or hesitation. “You’re gorgeous. Don’t let some silly makeup bother you. I couldn’t be happier you’re here.”
But in the back of my brain, I’m processing what she just revealed—somebody told her mom I died, and obviously she and her mom both believed the person despite an obituary saying otherwise.
Sam.
He has to be the culprit. He’s the only one Yuna and her mom would believe over an official announcement.
But why would Sam do that? Because I was in a coma for so long? Why not just say I was comatose? The more I think about it, the more I wonder if he took me in to screw with my life for shits and giggles. I just thought he was a good guy because I had no one else after my parents’ deaths. I desperately wanted to believe that he was a decent man, despite some things that made me uneasy from time to time.
I bet Yuna isn’t the only one he lied to. Why stop with her? No wonder all my friends “moved on.” They thought I was dead!
And the horrible users who pretended to be my friends—who were they? People Sam forgot to misinform in time? Or something else?
Now I’m shaking harder—with fury. I don’t think I can ever forgive Sam for deceiving me and my friends, making us suffer for nothing.
“I’m sorry my uncle lied to you,” I say. “I should’ve done more to reach out to my friends.”
Yuna shakes her head. “I should’ve done more. You’re my soul sister, but I didn’t do a thing. I’m so sorry.”
I don’t ask her to explain “soul sister.” Whatever it means, it makes me feel warm inside. Like I’ve found family, someone I can trust and depend on. “But you came for me, so it’s all good. Better late than never, right?”
“Yes. It’s nine years too late, but yes.”
“I hate to interrupt, but it’s time for lunch,” Tony says quietly. “Do you want to order something to eat while you chat?”
“My goodness, you’re right. We should eat. And celebrate. Do you want to go out?” Yuna suddenly shakes her head. “Oh, wait, maybe not. Not when I’m a mess, and I have a feeling I’m going to burst into tears again any minute. How about gourmet sandwiches? Do you think it’s wrong to drink champagne this early?”
“Not at all,” I say with a laugh.
