Page 47 of Vicious Secrets
As my eyes open, the room moves in and out of focus with each aftershock of my orgasm. I don’t know how long I lie there, with my legs and arms splayed and my gaze on the ceiling.
The mattress dips, and Robyn skirts along the edge of my vision. Her fingers run through my hair, and she peppers kisses on my temple.
Anger frays the lucid pieces of my mind. I’m fucking pathetic, and I look it too. But I don’t want this—whatever it is—to ever end.
“I’m okay, Robyn,” I mumble. “I’ve got you.”
Chapter 14
Robyn
Withallofthesudden changes in our life after the oath ceremony, I forgot about Thanksgiving. Or at least I did until my mom’s persistent calls, worthy of a robocaller, started arriving the weekend before. Somehow I scored the day off. Siro did not and was somewhat apologetic about the oversight. For seventeen years, he’s worked every holiday to cover for the men who have closer-knit families than his own.
I consider rejecting Mom’s invite, but it’s been ten weeks since I last saw her, and a part of me misses her despite how emotionally exhausting she can be.
As the sun sets on a dismal gray day, Fabi and I arrive at Oscar’s mansion for dinner. He trails behind me as I walk across the paver driveway. It looks recently power washed, and the cleanliness reduces the charm of the Tuscan house’s front yard, giving it an unlived-in look. Not unlike Siro’s parents’ place.
“I won’t tell the Boss if you take a nap in a closet.”
“Careful, or the Boss will think you have a crush on me.”
I pause after stepping onto the porch and turn around as I cross my arms over my chest. “For being nice to you?”
“Nice? Robyn, you threatened to not show up here tonight if dinner happened before six. Only so I could go to my family’s Thanksgiving.” Fabi shakes his head. He rolls his shoulders, and because his hands are in his pockets, the movement looks tense and uncomfortable. “That’s not something you do for your bodyguard.”
“How is that different from what Siro does every year?” I turn back to the door, knocking on it with jittery slams of my fist. “Or is your jab another one of your sly relationship tips?”
The door wrenches open with a shudder before Fabi has a chance to respond. A semi-casually dressed, possibly drunk Oscar leaps out and drags me into a hug. My face smashes into his collarbone.
“Robyn!” he exclaims.
It takes a second for my arms to return the hug. I pat his back and wonder why he’s wearing a t-shirt with pinstripe dress pants. Is the washing machine broken?
Oscar’s embrace is gone in a flash, leaving me with a sore nose and a tickle in my nostrils from his cologne.
“And you’ve brought a Soldier instead of the Boss. Well, come in. He can have Siro’s spot at the table.”
As I cross over the threshold, I cast a glance over my shoulder and see Fabi’s eyes narrow at my stepdad. I get the sense they’ve met before and on less-than-happy terms.
Oscar herds me into the living room and to a drink cart set up with glasses of reddish-purple cocktails. Fabi stays in the foyer and scans the room of scattered family members.
“The house is not louder without you,” he says as he hands me a drink. “But it is more chaotic.”
I take a sip and choke on the liquor-heavy cranberry and god-knows-what infusion. I force it down. Booze isn’t a healthy way to lessen the impact of my family’s emotional baggage. But Fabi’s driving, and a few drinks won’t hurt. “I don’t doubt it. Mom’s not big on change or managing her own schedule.”
Oscar laughs and nods. “Come on, allow me to reintroduce the Boss’ boss to everyone.”
My stomach flips. I brush off my unease as me reading into Oscar’s words and liquor hitting my nearly empty stomach.
With each family member, Oscar leads me to conversations that last no more than a few minutes each. Every handshake or icebreaker question feels no different than the last. The room quickly blurs around us as we bounce from person to person. All of the colors of the decorations blend in a mess of shades like a toddler dipping between finger paints without cleaning their finger first.
Before I know it, we’re alone in the dining room because Oscar needs to uncork the table wine, and for whatever reason, he takes me along with him.
The two tables set up feed into the hallway in a T-shape. Both are twice the size of the table I remember being in this room. A quick count gives me twenty-four places. I wrack my brain, trying to remember if we’ve ever had a Thanksgiving dinner of more than ten people at any point in my life.
Something is off with this setup and with Oscar. And I don’t think I can blame day drinking for his behavior. I’ve been here for close to an hour and haven’t seen Mom once. My gut tells me I should alert Fabi about my nerves.
Oscar takes my empty highball glass and exchanges it for a glass of wine.
