Page 60 of Because I Need You
I spent the rest of my day watching a movie on the big screen and playing Pac-Man. I was determined to beat the highest score. I didn’t care how tired my eyes and hands got. That was what I was doing when the door opened and two women walked inside. They were probably about my height, with thinner body frames, and dark hair, red, or brown, I couldn’t tell, both had fair skin. One had lighter eyes than the other. The one with the darker eyes seemed to stand taller, hold her chin up a little more. They had to be sisters, though. I just wasn’t sure what the hell they were doing here.
“Hm,” the one with the darker eyes said, eyeing me up and down with such scrutiny, I almost crossed my arms. I didn’t, though.
“Interesting,” the other one added, also eyeing me up and down, but she was nicer about it. When she was done, she nodded at the game beside me, where one of my hands was still holding the red control. “So, what’s your highest score?”
I looked at the screen. “So far, eighty-five thousand.”
“Oof.” The other one shook her head. “Gio’s is two-hundred-and-thirty thousand.”
“I can beat that.” I felt myself frown. I could. I could definitely beat that. I just needed more time and less interruptions from women who were clearly very familiar and comfortable in this space and Giovanni.
“Fine.” The one with the lighter eyes said, sighing as she stepped forward, extending a hand. “I’m Emma.”
I shook it, still frowning. “Isabel.”
“Catalina,” the other one said, stepping forward and shaking my hand as well. So formal, these two.
I took a step back and looked between the two of them. “So, who are you and why are you here?”
The one with darker eyes smiled slowly. “We’re either your worst nightmare or your best friends. That’s yet to be determined.”
“Oh.” Relief rushed through me. “You’re not his girlfriends or anything, then?”
“God, his reputation sucks,” Emma said, laughing.
“We’re his sisters,” Catalina said.
“Oh.” I blinked. “Oh.”
“I know. We don’t look alike,” Emma said. “Some people say our mother had an affair with an Irish man.”
“Emma.” Her sister nudged her, then looked at me. “Ignore her. She just got back to the U.S. and doesn’t remember her manners.”
“Oh. Where were you?”
“Medellin.” She smiled proudly.
“Colombia?” I raised an eyebrow. “I hear it’s beautiful there.”
“It is. The place, the people, the culture, the food,” she said with a groan. “Oh my God, the food is to die for.”
“Considering you could’ve died, that’s not a funny joke,” Catalina said, glaring at her.
“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “I was trying to visit our father, but that didn’t work out, so I had to come back.”
“Oh.” I stepped away from the machine beside me and licked my lips. They started walking toward the couches, and I followed, taking a seat near them. “Your brother’s not home. I’m not sure when he will be. I’m sure you know this since Petra’s out there.”
“Yeah, that’s why we’re here.”
“Because he’s not?” I frowned.
“We wanted to meet you. He never introduces us to his girlfriends,” Catalina said. I opened my mouth to tell her I wasn’t his girlfriend, but she just continued on, “Well, that’s not true. Most of the time we run into him with them and that’s how we’re introduced.”
“Except for Natasha,” Emma said, then looked at me. “She was the worst.”
“The worst,” Catalina agreed.
“She seemed nice.”
Both their jaws dropped before they recovered and asked at the same time. “You met her?”
“Yeah. Twice, actually.”
“How the hell did that happen?” Emma asked.
“I was with my boyfriend, and they happened to be at the same events.”
They shared a look, a long one that was obviously some kind of unspoken conversation between siblings. I’d always wanted that growing up, that connection people seemed to have with their kin. Found families were definitely heaven sent, but there was something special about this kind of bond.
“Tell us everything,” Emma said.
I laughed nervously and gave them a short, very minimal, version of the story. As it was, I wasn’t sure where these two stood on the whole “illegal” side of things, but something told me they were sheltered from it. Maybe it was the way their eyes lit up when they spoke. Petra’s didn’t, not really, anyway. Nadia’s didn’t. I wasn’t even sure that mine did. We ordered take out from an Italian place nearby. We were sitting around the kitchen counter, eating our food and sharing a bottle of wine as I told them the funniest and absolute worst things my middle schoolers had said to me. Apparently, what I’d found offensive, they all found hilarious. Even Joey’s laughter boomed through the penthouse, and I couldn’t help but to laugh along.
“But why were you wearing Birks?” Emma asked, wiping her tears, still laughing. “Who wears those?”
