Page 44 of Twisted Truths

“Why did you want to show me all of this?” I ask quietly.

He fingers a piece of damp hair hanging over my shoulder. “It’s my way of apologizing for how I acted after what happened on the way back from the airport. That, and I saw the way you’re always studying the relics throughout the manor whenever we’re making our way from one room to another. I thought you might enjoy it.”

Guilt shoves its way down my gullet, pushing down all the affection that was there moments ago. The only reason I’m doing that is so I know what to steal.

I clear my throat and step back. “I appreciate it.” I turn and grab the first thing I see on a nearby shelf. “What’s the significance of this one?”

He frowns. “It’s sand from the beach of the last vacation we took as a family before my mom was murdered.”

I blink at him in shock.

“It was an amazing getaway because my father didn’t come.” He tucks his hands in his pockets, almost as though he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“Obsidian, your mom was murdered?” I place the sand-filled glass container on the shelf and walk over to him, my chest tight. I didn’t see anything about that when I was researching him, but I guess I was looking at more recent articles, not delving into his past that far back.

He looks down at the floor.

“That’s awful.” My hand goes to his hard chest again, and the comfort I feel at the heat of his skin through the thin fabric should concern me.

“It was. I was eight when it happened.”

“What happened? I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” I search his face.

His large hand comes to my face, and he palms my cheek. “Why does it feel like I can tell you anything, Ariana? Why are you so different from anyone who’s come before you?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I whisper.

Chapter

Eighteen

ARIANA

There’s something akin to wonder in his dark eyes. When he doesn’t say anything for a beat, I tell him again. “You don’t have to tell me the details. I know what it’s like to not have your mother in your life.”

His gaze intensifies. “Your mother died too?”

I shake my head. “No. Actually, I don’t know. Maybe. She took off when I was five. I haven’t seen or heard from her since then.” The familiar ache in my chest that’s always there when I speak about my mom returns.

A crease deepens between his brows. “My mom had a long-term affair with one of my dad’s rivals, and he stabbed her in the heart with a pair of garden shears when she finally told him she wouldn’t leave my dad for him.”

My eyes widen as realization dawns, remembering him early that morning and the way he looked so forlorn when he looked past me at the garden. “In the secret garden?”

He nods, and the air rushes from my lungs.

I cup his face, and he leans into my touch. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine, especially since you were just a child.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, and the pain on his face makes me want to wrap this man in my arms and take care of him. So I do.

I wrap my arms around his waist, hugging him and bringing my cheek to his chest. His heart beats strong and steady, reminding me of the kind of man he truly is. That night after Brandon assaulted me and right now—in pain or not—Obsidian is always a strong and steady force.

Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to him. I’d do anything for my father and brother, but very few times have I ever felt I could really rely on them, that they wouldn’t let me down in some way.

Obsidian stiffens in my arms, but slowly, he wraps his arms around me, then he rests his cheek against the top of my head.

My heart rate picks up at the nearness of him. We may have already traded orgasms, but this is different. This is more intimate than either of those events. This is something more than sexual gratification.

“What’s going on between us, Obsidian?” The words burst from my lips before I can ponder whether they’re wise to speak aloud.

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