Page 42 of The Kiss of Deception

“So you know Blackstein, huh?” I say so that only he hears.

His gaze bounces between me and Miles, smiling across the table. “Of course I know the boy.”

“Not just know, Grandpa,” I explain eloquently. “Know, know.”

“Why else do you think I’m so happy you’re together?” He takes hold of my hand, pinning me with a meaningful stare. “He’s a good boy, and he adores you. I know he will give you everything you deserve in this life, little bee.”

His tender words might as well be bullets with the force they slam into me. My hand trembles in his as I kiss a wrinkled cheek, silently begging for forgiveness for my lies—and flee them, hurrying to my place next to Miles.

The food is served and I want to steal Rosario for myself, even if I’ve found my own personal chef

“So, Miles…” Judge Hopkins rests his fork against the porcelain, patting the corners of his mouth with the napkin. “What is it you said you do?”

“He didn’t,” I interrupt without looking up from my plate, recognizing the charge of a gun, the aim of the target.

Unable—or unwilling—to read the clues, Miles walks straight into the trap. “I play for Sporting Boston City.”

Grandfather’s mouth purses methodically, like it has been waiting all dinner to do so. “A football player? Seriously, Zoe?”

The target is clear, and the first missile has been launched.

“Actually, I play soccer,” Miles clarifies, trying to reposition the aim to his direction.

“It’s football, son.” From the other side of the table, Grandpa Toby shakes his head. I could laugh at his priorities—would have, if my other grandfather weren’t so determined to finish his scene.

“This is low, even for you. Always doing the bare minimum… I expected better from you. We raised you better. We raised you for greatness, yet you’re happy to settle for ordinary.” He shook his head like he couldn’t fathom a worse fate for his granddaughter. “We have the money, Zoe. Why would you—”

“I think that’s enough,” Grandpa Toby warns, surprisingly stern.

“Your grandfather has put too many romantic ideas in your head,” Your Honor spits, undeterred now aiming for Grandpa Toby now. “And your mother allowed it.”

Miles shifts next to me like he’s both gearing for a fight and preparing to shield me. I don’t think he even realizes that he moved, since his entire coiled focus is on my grandfather and his harsh humiliation.

“You did not raise me, Grandfather. You tried to groom me into your little puppet.” I raise my glass, swirling the wine deliberately, thankful my hands don’t translate the shaking of my insides. In anger, in humiliation, in hurt. I tip the tumbler in a toast before quipping—and downing it. “Apparently, we have one thing in common. We both failed. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” His fists startle the plates on the table. “We’re not done here.”

“I’ll be snorting cocaine in the ladies’ room.” My smile is acerbic, but it’s a smile so that’s a victory. My chair screeches against the floor, punctuating the end.

“Leave my daughter alone, Father.” Mom finally finds her voice again, but it lacks conviction as I walk away. “And please do not disrespect our visits.”

I barricade myself in the farther bathroom on the first floor. I’m not in possession of any drugs, but this does seem like an appropriate first time if I ever were to try heavy illegal substances.

Instead, I splash some more water on my cheeks, erasing the pink evidence of my raging emotions, holding my chin high to hammer my mask back on before I return to the battlefield.

I stare into blue eyes swirling with a never-ending storm, and take a final, fortifying breath.

Those are not the eyes of a little girl who doesn’t know any better, trapped under his thumb, blinded by love and admiration. Those are the eyes of a woman who belongs only to herself.

I never make it to the dining room, though. I sport two figures, their shadows clear through the doors of the den, though they neither notice me.

“She is my grandchild,” my grandfather scoffs. “I will talk to her as I please. I won’t take your insolence, boy. Big words from someone who was mute five minutes ago.”

“She might be your granddaughter, but she’s mine now.” Miles’s voice, I recognize. “My family. And I’m not going anywhere.” Miles takes one deliberate step forward. “I didn’t say anything on that table because I know she’s more than capable of fighting her own battles, but I will say this now. I don’t care that you’re her grandfather. You could be the Pope or the fucking President, for all I care. I will not stand by and tolerate you disrespecting her ever again. Or anyone in this house, for that matter.”

If I melted into the wall I would be a Van Gogh painting. The one with covered ears and unintelligible screams so I don’t have to listen. But I want to hear until the end. I know I’ll replay each word, analyze the intonation and the cadence of his voice—yet I cannot make myself turn away.

“You and I might just be the luckiest bastards on this planet,” Miles goes on. I’m distracted, amazed at how long my grandfather has been silent. Must be a new record.

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