Page 50 of Vicious Secrets
“I only brought them in case my excuse didn’t work.” Siro’s voice is scratchy. There’s a strain to it like he’s holding back a torrent of emotion or exhaustion. One of his hands clasps over my thigh, and his thumb rubs along a section of cable knit on my sweater dress. “Did you knit this?”
“No.” I blink down at his hand. I put mine on top of his. “You don’t have to coddle me, Siro.”
“What? Robyn, you were so full of terror; Fabi said he could taste it. And you were so lost in defending me to your mother you didn’t notice when I entered the room.” Siro lets out a forceful breath. “And fuck, babe, your mother doesn’t deserve your loyalty any more than I do.”
He’s right about Mom. One hundred and ten percent correct. I’ve stuck with her because she’s blood, and setting strict boundaries with her feels neglectful. It still feels like the wrong thing to do despite the embarrassment, anger, and anxiety she brought on tonight.
But he couldn’t be more wrong about himself. Loyalty is one of the gifts I can give him without either of us losing a part of ourselves.
When he stops at a light, I sit up straighter and finally turn my head toward him. His eyes dart about the road, appearing unable to settle or focus. His white knuckles on the wheel and stiff arms betray his plain expression.
“You deserve it more than anyone, Siro.”
Siro’s lips part as his jaw slacks. He inhales deeply, and his eyes take on a wet sheen. A tremor in the hand on my thigh taps his fingers against me.
The light turns, and he takes off. I don’t take my eyes off him for the rest of the drive home. I wait until we’re in the parking garage to speak again. “I should have told you about—”
His head turns, knocking a strand of hair into his face. He looks me dead in the eye. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
I suck in a deep breath. I honestly don’t know. Maybe? Probably?
He takes his hand out from under mine and rubs his face. “I fucking hate that you still think you can’t talk to me.”
“When you offered me my own place post-takeover, I assumed that meant you didn’t want kids, and I-I forgot to bring up my ligation.”
“But you haven’t forgotten about leaving me? All while treating me in bed like I’m the only man in the world?” He presses the back of his hand to this mouth. “Fuck, Robyn.”
Siro gets out of the car and storms off. I scramble out after him. His unbuttoned blazer billows out like a cloak as he walks. The stiffness of his shoulders and arms is the only hint he’s hurt, not in a hurry. My heels clack on the concrete, echoing around us like thunder. I open my mouth to yell out a question and decide against it. Siro won’t respond if there’s the potential for witnesses.
I catch up and jump into the elevator with him. Slumping against the wall as I clutch the bar, my lungs struggle to catch my breath. Siro presses his palms into his eye sockets once the door closes.
The jolt upward knocks my stomach into my heart, sending it careening into my throat. We’re alone, but only for a few minutes.
“Do you want me to love you? Am I allowed to love you?”
Siro doesn’t budge until the elevator dings on our floor. As we step off, he sighs and slips an arm around my shoulders. I cringe, expecting him to drag me down the hall or shove me back onto the elevator.
“You asking for permission tells me everything, Robyn.”
I tilt my chin and search his face.
“But if you need an answer…” Siro pauses with his hand over the electronic lock and peers down at me. “I’ll say it if you tell me everything your mother and Oscar said tonight.”
I worry my bottom lip. It’s not an even exchange. But I never considered covering for either of them, and I want to prove myself to Siro. I want to hear him tell me it’s okay to love him.
“You’re not mad?”
“I’m furious.” Siro’s lips quiver. “That doesn’t mean I don’t understand.”
I nod once. “I’ll tell you.”
He lets us into the penthouse and leads me to the burgundy sectional in the living room. As Siro sits down, he pulls me onto his lap. I bend my knees to remove my shoes, and Siro’s long arms beat me to it. Fabi joins us a moment later, dropping a blanket and velvet tray near my knees before sitting on the opposite end of the sectional.
“The adrenaline will wear off soon,” Siro says as he drapes the blanket over my legs. He then removes my tennis necklace and lays it on the tray. “Start from the beginning.”
His prediction comes true. A chill and wooziness hits me not long after Siro finishes removing my jewelry. He works the pins from my hair as I continue to talk and answer his questions through the shakes. When he’s done, he pulls the blanket up over my shoulders and cradles me against his chest with his chin resting on my head. I’m in a cocoon of unconditional protection. Until this very moment, I didn’t know that a true sense of safety was missing from my life.
Siro
