Page 12 of The Devil In Disguise

I spin around on the bar stool with a mouthful of cinnamon rolls, chewing thoroughly before responding. “I want to eat these while they are still fresh. Plus, a little alone time might be good for me.”

“Fine, I won’t be long, anyway.” She grabs her keys and blows me a kiss before heading out.

Mama and I have always been trying new recipes to bake ever since I was old enough to talk. Nothing has ever tasted better than homemade cinnamon rolls to me, though. I lose count of how many I eat before I’m stuffed and satisfied. With my free time, I rearrange my room and then lay outside on our egg-shaped lounge chair on the wide balcony.

At least an hour passes and I’m still home alone, bored out of my mind. My brain starts to think about different hobbies I can pick up to pass the time while I make myself a quick snack. After I started dating Duke, I admit my life got extremely dull in a matter of weeks. That is going to change; I am not a dull person and I refuse to allow anyone else to tone down my personality.

There is so much I can do and learn if I only apply myself. And there has to be some sort of skill that calls to my soul, one that I fall in love with and share with the world.

The real question is, what is it?

As I leave the kitchen, my steps falter. Passing that big, brown door always sends a wave of nostalgia through me. The last time I went in there was over two years ago. Standing in front of the door as the moments pass, I think to myself, fuck it, why don’t I just go in there? I loved spending my days in there when I was growing up. Mustering up all the courage I need to push through the door, I finally walk in.

It looks exactly the same as I last remembered. This is my dad’s office space, or den, as he likes to call it. The room is spacious with three of the four walls lined with oak bookshelves, filled with all the books the three of us have collected over the years. I walk across the room and open the blinds to let the natural sunlight illuminate the room.

Dad’s desk is a mess of paperwork—as always. The red loveseat is still in the same corner it has always been, in direct line of sunlight, the best spot to settle in with some snacks, a drink, and a good book.

Sadly, I don’t remember the last time I sat down and read a good book. I used to love getting lost in the pages for hours, emerging myself into the world I was reading about. That’s what I’ll do today. I have plenty of books to choose from here. What better hobby to have than reading?

If I’m going to be a slut for anyone, it’ll be for one of my book boyfriends. They have never let me down and they never will.

One big book behind the normal lineup catches my eye on one of the corner shelves, it almost looks like it’s hiding. After pulling it out, I realize it’s not a book, but an old photo album.

There aren’t many pictures inside, but it’s clear that these aren’t my parents in any of the photographs. There is only a young couple with a baby that I see repeatedly. If this is an aunt or uncle of mine, I’ve never heard of them.

Weird.

The closer I look at the pictures, the tighter my chest feels. I don’t have many pictures from my childhood and I don’t have any of me as a baby, nor do I have any close relatives with children. But this baby has to be related to me, somehow.

Those are my eyes. The same ones my father has and, upon closer inspection, the same ones the woman in the picture has.

This woman seems oddly familiar to me, and not only because she looks eerily similar to my dad. I know I have seen her somewhere. Still, I can’t place from where or who she is.

We don’t have any close family. Not that I know of, at least. Yet I feel such a strong connection to this picture. I can’t explain it.

Is there a secret relationship or family member they never told me about? It might explain all those times they acted shady.

Do I have a secret sister? Or maybe a cousin they have been hiding from me?

Once the fog lifts from my mind, I’m even more confused than I thought possible. Questions are running a marathon in my head and I need answers, but no one is home yet. In an attempt to calm my erratic mind, I take the album with me to my room and jump in the shower, hoping that by the time I get out both my parents will be home.

As luck would have it, I hear the familiar chatter of my parents out in the main area when I get out of the shower. I get dressed quickly and grab the photo album, tucking it behind me as I walk out. My steps are slow as I figure out the best way to approach the situation.

“Hey, can I talk to both of you?”

Both heads turn my way and I must look or sound serious, because they both look concerned after taking me in.

“Sure, is everything okay?” Mama asks.

No matter how many circles I run around in my head, there doesn’t seem to be an easy way to say it, so I decide to rip the Band-Aid off. Laying the album open to the page with the most pictures on the counter, I turn to them and ask, “Who are these people? I’ve never met any of them and I don’t remember you guys ever mentioning them, either.”

They both look like they’ve seen a ghost, not saying a peep or moving a muscle. My heart picks up speed at their reaction. I don’t like it.

“I’ve seen this lady in my dreams before,” I push.

Surely it can’t be something too bad. Right?

My parents share a long, silent conversation with their eyes before speaking. “I think it’s time we talked about it, amor mio,” my father says to my mother who has tears forming in her eyes.

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