Page 43 of Twisted Truths

I walk past him and know that he’s checking out my ass, so I add a little extra swagger to my hips. He may not want to want me, but he does. I can’t help the way I want to preen at the knowledge, even knowing that I’m making an impossible situation even more impossible. If Obsidian ever knew who I really was, why I was really here… he’d treat me like he is now.

Making a show, I bend over and slide my sunglasses onto the top of my head, holding my wet hair back, then grab my cover-up. Straightening, I slide my arms into it and turn around, not bothering to button it.

I’m enjoying this game of cat and mouse. Today I’m the mouse, and I can’t help hoping that he’ll reach out and swat me.

His jaw hardens when I turn around without the shirt buttoned. “I want to show you something.”

My head tilts. “I thought you said there wasn’t anything pressing for work?”

He lets out a long sigh as though I’m the one exasperating him. “Just come on.”

I slide on my sandals while he strides back to the double doors leading into the house. Marcel comes through before we make it there, my drink in hand.

I rush around Obsidian and take the drink from him. “Thank you so much, Marcel.”

He nods. “Sir, can I get you anything?”

Obsidian shakes his head. “No, I’m fine, Marcel, thanks.”

I take a big sip of the sweet and tart liquid before I follow bossy pants again. I’m not entirely sure where we’re going, but when we pass the stained-glass wolf, I know it’s in his wing of the manor.

He leads me to the very end of the hallway where there’s a wooden door and pulls a skeleton key from the pocket of his pants. It might be Sunday, but Obsidian is dressed impeccably as always. He’s wearing a pair of expensive beige chinos and a knit navy short-sleeve shirt with the two buttons on the V open. The universe could pluck him from here and set him in the center of the Amalfi Coast or Monaco, and he would fit right in.

He swings open the door and gestures for me to go ahead. When I walk through, I stop, surprised to see a set of stairs. Stairs that turn in a spiral. We must be entering the turret at the end of the east wing.

I look over my shoulder at him, feeling a little unsure, and he looks at me expectantly as impatience tightens his features. I don’t know what this is, but I want to find out, whatever it is. If only because it means I’ll get to spend more time in Obsidian’s presence.

God, I am so messed up. That’s the last thing I should want.

I walk up the steps, and it takes a couple minutes to reach the top. There’s a landing and another closed door. Obsidian walks around me and produces the key again, unlocking the door. He opens it, and this time, he steps inside first and waits for me to join him.

My eyes are wide as I enter the large, circular room. Inside are tables and rows of custom shelves curved perfectly to sit flush against the walls. And on the tables and the shelves are all kinds of… artifacts? A collection of sorts.

I step farther inside, circling around in wonder. “What is this place?”

“They’re things I’ve collected in my travels.”

When I step to the table closest to me, there are some old maps partially unrolled, a purple crystal, and a gold fork. When I pick it up, I realize it must be solid gold because it’s heavy.

“That’s from a shipwreck that was discovered in the Caribbean.”

I set it down and look around the room again. “You’ve traveled to a lot of places.”

He steps closer to me. “I have to travel quite a bit for Voss Enterprises. And there was a period of time in my early twenties where I traveled extensively. Any time I didn’t have to be in school, I headed off somewhere.”

There’s something almost melancholic about the expression on his face. “You didn’t come back here?”

“No.”

He offers no further explanation, so I drop it and move to the next table.

We go on like that for some time—I show interest in something, and he explains its origin, why it’s meaningful to him. I’m not sure why he’s brought me here, but I savor every word out of his lips because it feels as if he’s revealing another hidden part of himself to me.

Finally, after half an hour or so passes, I turn to him. “Why did you decide to start collecting these things?”

He shrugs. “I’m not even really sure. It started when I was a boy.” He looks out through the French doors that lead to a balcony. “I think maybe it started because I wanted to remember other places I’d been. Places better than this one.”

I can’t help it. I place a hand on his chest and pain flickers in his eyes. He looks down and meets my gaze with his twin pools of black.

---