Page 33 of Contempt

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Rose hadn’t changed a bit. At least, not in Renzo’s eyes. Sure, she was five years older than she had been the last time he laid eyes on her. Gone was that teenaged girl who seemed to behave and talk like every other teenage girl. In her place was a young woman with her hair pulled back into a neat braid, carefully applied makeup, and an artist’s smock covering a tasteful black dress that fell to her knees.

She was still his kid sister.

He looked at her from across the shop—he was going to fix the bell above the door that didn’t ding when he entered like it should have—and still saw the little girl who he had taken care of for almost his entire life.

He saw the paintbrush in her hand as she carefully worked on adding the details to the pottery vase in front of her, and remembered the girl he’d lifted packages of paintbrushes for so she could get her stroke just right. He saw the way she tilted her head to the right in her concentration, and remembered how she used to bend over a canvas on their living room floor for hours despite the ache in her back just so she could finish something because he couldn’t afford to buy her a proper fucking easel.

No, she wasn’t the same girl.

Yet, she was to him.

“Rose,” Renzo said quietly.

Instantly, his sister looked up from her work, that heavy concentration written across her brow flitting away. It took her no time at all to find him standing just beyond the doorway of her shop—her gaze widened, and her mouth fell open.

The paintbrush fell from her fingertips.

It took her a second.

Then, two.

She blinked like she was trying to convince herself what she was seeing was something that existed. It took her entirely too long to reply to him like she believed he was standing right there, but that was okay, too. Renzo didn’t mind waiting; he didn’t doubt this had been a surprise to her.

But he figured … when would be a good time to do this?

He didn’t know.

“Ren?” Rose whispered, her tone thick with emotions.

Renzo grinned. “Hey, Rose.”

“Oh, my God, Ren?”

“Yeah, that’s still my name.”

At least, his first name. His surname depended on whatever document he was using at the time provided to him from The League. Not that it mattered right now.

All at once, Rose seemed to snap out of her daze. Renzo barely had time to open his arms to catch his sister as she flew at him. Her hug felt like bars locking around his neck—so fucking tight, he couldn’t breathe properly.

Renzo didn’t even care.

He held her just as tight.

“I missed you so fucking much,” he muttered into her hair.

Rose’s laughter mixed with the sounds of her crying. “Me, too.”

He wasn’t sure how long the two of them stayed like that, but it didn’t matter, either. It was perfect—just him and his sister. The rest of the world stopped existing for a time. It was perfect. A reunion he had been wanting forever.

One of many, honestly.

Rose pulled away a little bit, but Renzo still kept a hold of her. “You couldn’t call and let me know you were going to be around, or what?”

He shrugged. “Last minute decision.”

That wasn’t a lie.