Page 6 of Mercy (The Sins Trilogy 3)
“Can you tell me how we met? And if I know your family very well?”
He hesitates, then says, “We met when I came home after graduating from Princeton. You were my uncle’s adopted daughter, and when he died, my parents took you in.”
So. The people I thought were my parents…weren’t. I’m not as shocked as I should be. Maybe because I knew deep inside that if I’m not Iris Smith, the people who Sam claimed were my parents were as fake as the name. I give myself a moment, hoping something will pop into my mind, but it remains painfully blank.
“When did my parents die?” I ask, hating that I don’t know the kind of detail everyone else would know.
“When you were ten, I think? You lost them early.”
I look at the bacon on my plate. I close my eyes, trying to focus on something…anything to jog my memory of what Tony said. But nothing comes. Why can’t I remember my own parents? Weren’t they important enough for me to remember? I can still play piano pieces. Recall Tatiana and Yuna. So why not them?
Frustration and pain swell in my chest, making my fingers twitch.
“How did they die?”
“A car accident. The weather was awful, and they lost control.”
A car accident. Just like Sam told me. Is that why when he lied about them, it didn’t feel like a complete lie? “What kind of people were they?”
“I don’t know.” Tony looks vaguely uncomfortable. “Mother had a brother, but we never spent any time together. I don’t think we exchanged Christmas gifts or cards, either.”
How weird. I thought Margot and my parents were tight from the way she insisted on acting as my mother for the wedding. It’s obvious she’s not too crazy about me. “Can you tell me how we met?” I ask.
“I came home after finishing college. You were playing Schubert’s Fantasie with Harry. He was so bad that I sat down and played it with you instead.”
Is that why every time I hear the piece I feel like a small bit of my heart is being ripped out? That might explain why Tony and I played it perfectly together that night after the disastrous date. I wonder if it hurt for him to play it with me, when I didn’t remember him or our time together. If I were him, I don’t know if I could’ve been able to play through the heartache.
Tony continues, telling me more about what happened between us. How I saw the good in him, and how much he hated that because he didn’t think he was deserving.
Even as I hurt for my past self, I also ache for Tony. Although he speaks in a flat, matter-of-fact tone, I sense an old wound. Why would he think that about himself when he’s obviously brilliant? He’s handsome, a Princeton grad, and came from a good, wealthy family. He should’ve felt invincible in his early twenties.
It was much later that he started to accept he had feelings for me…then fell for me hard. He was my first, and he couldn’t believe why or how.
“Even though I was thrilled and honored, I didn’t think I deserved it. I felt like you could’ve done better.”
“Don’t you think that was for me to decide?” Did he always question my decisions? If so, wouldn’t it have been easier for him to just…not be with me? He could’ve simply pretended to not know me when we ran into each other at Hammers and Strings. I wouldn’t have known any better. The possibility sends icy shivers the entire length of my spine.
A faint smile ghosts his handsome face, and somehow it adds to the tragic overtone. “Probably. But I had my own opinion about it.”
“Did we ever fight about that?” I doubt I would’ve let him be so hard on himself that way. Or let him continue to question my decision to be with him.
“We did because you wanted to tell me you loved me, but I wouldn’t let you. That’s when you decided to get that tattoo.”
I look down at my scarred wrist. It’s as clear as my mind…and just as damaged. Sadness tugs at me. “Yuna told me to get it to show you.”
He nods. “But instead of being happy, I freaked out.”
“Why?” If we were sleeping together—and it sounds like he cared about me—what could possibly be objectionable about the tattoo? Didn’t he want my love back then? Was I too clingy?
No, I decide. When I told him I loved him in front of the foundation, he dashed in after me to say the words back to me. He is capable of accepting and expressing love. Besides, if he didn’t love me back when I wasn’t broken, he has no reason to love me now.
“I’m the black sheep of the family. If we got too close, you could have lost everything.”
“Like what?”
“My mother’s support, for one.”
Like that’s supposed to be worth much? She radiates a cold haughtiness, except when she’s dealing with Harry. I can’t imagine her being supportive of anybody. “She was nice to me?”
