Page 35 of Love and Lies

Jessiah gave a soft snort, but somehow it sounded like he was agreeing with me. Then he put the spoon aside, leaned his hands on the worktop, and seemed to be considering. “Do you want something to eat?”

“To eat?” I repeated, confused.

“Yeah, you know, nutritional intake. Don’t tell me you live off Coke Zero and undressed salad.”

Nothing could have been further than the truth, and I shook my head in earnest. “No, I… I’d love to eat something. But…”

“But what?” For the first time since I’d arrived, Jessiah smiled, and something flipped in my stomach. “It’s just pasta with olives, feta, and sundried tomatoes. I haven’t laced it with poison, if that’s what you were thinking.”

I gave a curt laugh. “I wasn’t. I just didn’t expect you to offer me food.”

He shrugged. “Why? Because our families hate each other?”

“There’s that. There’s also the fact that our last meeting wasn’t exactly a success. And let’s not forget you think my sister was the worst mistake your brother ever made.” That was what he’d said, back then, after she died. I remembered the way he yelled it, full of rage, full of hatred for Valerie. And although I was here because I desperately needed that notebook, and I couldn’t afford to turn Jessiah against me again, I couldn’t stop myself from saying it.

He lowered his head, then ran a hand through his hair and met my eyes again. “Would you believe me if I told you I regret saying that?”

“Do you?” I held his gaze.

He said nothing, and I felt a stab of disappointment, even though I knew it was silly. Just because I’d apologized and he’d offered me something to eat, it didn’t mean we were friends all of a sudden. Nothing had changed between us.

What I really wanted to do was say my goodbyes and leave, but I was there for a reason and I had to see it through. Using the kitchen island as cover, I took out my phone to give Malia her signal.

But then Jessiah spoke.

“I’d only been back in town for a few days after… after it happened. My life was in Australia—I’d been insanely happy to finally get away from this place, and I hadn’t really been paying attention to what was happening in New York. I knew Adam would take care of everything, like he always did, fucking Good Samaritan that he was.” He laughed sadly. “But then suddenly he was gone, and my mother was giving all these interviews. I didn’t want anything to do with it, but the reporters followed me anyway, of course, with their cameras, their microphones, their obnoxious questions. What do you have to say about your brother’s drugs death? Why you think Adam took cocaine? Do you think he overdosed because he didn’t want to live anymore?” Jessiah exhaled heavily. “I ignored them for a day, two days, three. I tried to control the things I could, just like Adam had always done. But one night, after a week of no sleep and no let-up, they staked me out. I wanted to just get out of there, as usual, but then one of them asked: Do you blame yourself for your brother’s death? Is that why you’re refusing to talk?”

I gasped, horrified, although I knew exactly how the press could be. “That’s what the guy said to you?”

Jessiah nodded. “It made me so angry, angrier than I’d ever been. I flipped out and yelled at them, yelled whatever was going through my mind without giving it much thought.”

He looked up, and his gaze seemed to pierce right through me. Maybe because of how openly he’d spoken. Or maybe it was the hurt in his eyes that reminded me of my own. Like we were two sides of the same coin, the deaths of our siblings binding us together in some inexorable way. A moment passed between us, of silent understanding, unlikely as it was. And it touched me in a way I never expected.

“So… so you never wanted to be a part of the smear campaign?” I asked softly. That put everything in a whole new light. Especially Jessiah. I hadn’t forgotten what he’d said to me—at training, and before that, in the Rainbow Room—but right now, it felt as though those words had come from someone else.

“No.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to lie to you—the little I know about Valerie, I don’t particularly like. But that didn’t give me the right to say that about her in public.”

“You said it to me as well, though,” I reminded him.

“I know. And I’m sorry for hurting you.”

He said it so sincerely that I believed him. I knew from the way he said it that he wasn’t apologizing for what he thought about Valerie—but rather for how his words had made me feel. I could still accept his apology, though. Maybe I shouldn’t be so quick to forgive—he was a Coldwell, after all. It was just… I didn’t want to fight with him right now. It felt too good, whatever all this was doing to me. So I simply nodded, while Jessiah took two plates from a shelf behind him and, without asking a second time, served up a portion of delicious-smelling pasta and pushed it toward me.

“So is this, like, a truce?” I asked with a crooked smile.

He smiled back. “If you want it to be, then it is.”

15 Jessiah

Helena Weston appearing at my door was not on my bingo card for that evening, Or ever, in fact. It was such an unlikely turn of events that I couldn’t help but stare at her, until she asked if I had a minute. And her apology was just as much of a surprise. As was my response.

I had no idea why, when I looked at Helena now, my anger toward Valerie all but guttered out; why I felt the need to apologize because I didn’t want to cause her pain. Well… I had some idea. But it was better not to look it in the eye. Like I’d said, our families hated each other, and my mother’s earlier visit was a blatant reminder of that. How was this supposed to end—except in all-out war?

And yet I couldn’t bring myself to stay away from Helena, couldn’t tell her it would be better for us both if she left. Instead, I put a bowl of pasta in front of her and watched in secret satisfaction as she took off her leather jacket and sat down at the breakfast bar. Smiling, she picked up the fork I’d gotten from the drawer, immediately speared a piece of pasta on the end of it, and put it in her mouth.

“God, that’s good.” An indulgent sound escaped her lips, sending the kind of shock wave through my body only she could, apparently. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

I had to laugh at her enthusiasm. “You make it sound like I served you an entire tasting menu. It’s just pasta.”