Page 28 of Defy

“I don’t answer to you, Camila. This seems to be something you’re forgetting more frequently now that Dominic has returned.” Imelda doesn’t wait for an answer but turns back to ask Libby through the open doorway, “Can you make an adequate cocktail, Elizabeth?”

“Yes ma’am. I was a bartender my last two years of undergrad,” I hear Libby confirm. My mother nods her satisfaction and then turns toward my direction, her heels clicking on the stone and tile floor. I push my large frame deeper into the shadows of the alcove at the top of the landing, hoping she walks on by without noticing my presence. People often feel eyes on them so I lower mine to her heels to keep the feeling off of her. Thankfully it works.

When I peek back around the edge of the alcove, Camila has sauntered off in the other direction and Libby’s door is standing wide open.

When I approach the door, I see Libby standing almost shell-shocked in front of the mirror in the en-suite.

Damn she’s stunning. It’s eleven thirty at night but she has on clean clothes and a full face of makeup. Her already dark lashes are now painted the color of coal at midnight and black rims her eyes making them pop like they did that first night at Richard and Bea’s. It’s the kind of beauty men start wars over and women spend thousands of dollars trying to achieve.

“Libby.” I mean to say it out loud to get her attention but it comes out hoarse. My voice has retreated at the sight of her. She’s in a lavender summer dress with spaghetti straps and matching flat sandals that criss-cross up her calves.

As she stands there, I try to find the similarities between her and her sister but I see none outside of the color of their hair. Even their personalities differ. Where Adriana was carefree and open, Libby is reserved.

A quiet fighter saving her energy for when it matters.

Now that I know her lineage, I can easily see a young Mateo in Libby’s facial features and can recall enough of Catalina to see her in Adriana. It’s so cruel that I got to know them, even briefly - and as enemies - and Libby has not.

I clear my throat which gets her attention and she turns to face me, her shock at her own appearance on her face. I’m on her in two strides, swallowing her gasp into my mouth as my hands cup her face. Her hands grab at my back, pulling me to her as if I’m her only lifeline.

I suppose right now, I am.

“Cas!” Her eyes light up when she pulls away, leaving me breathless. “Pretty hot, huh?” she asks playfully as she looks at herself in the mirror. “I’m not sure why they’re suddenly invested in my looks if they’re just going to make me a bartender, but I have to admit, she did a good job.” She’s talking fast like she’s nervous but trying to stay positive.

Her use of my former nickname isn’t lost on me. I don’t correct her though because it brings comfort to us both. I wish she could have known me as Casper forever.

“You’re just as beautiful without it.” I gently turn her head toward me with one finger under her chin and force her to look up at me, still unprepared for the intensity of her gaze despite the fact that I’ve stared into these eyes before. She searches my own eyes and can sense something is off. She reads me like a book.

“Tell me,” she says.

How do I tell her that it washersister I murdered, not my own? The story will be so different now. “You aren’t going to like what you hear, Libby. Please know it’s impossible for me to regret my actions any more than I already do.”

A look of horror crosses her face as she grips my biceps to steady herself. “Oh God, please tell me we aren’t related somehow because I mightactuallybe in love with you and we’ve…”fucked each other to within an inch of our lives.

A small laugh bubbles up my throat. She’s closer than she knows but is still thankfully wrong. “No, baby. We’re not related.” I survey her face, making her impatient with me. Ignoring the impatience in her pursed lips, I whisper, “Say that part again.” I trace her jaw with my lips and land behind her ear causing a shiver to run down her spine.

“I might be in love with you,” she says on a breathy exhale.

“Mightbe?” I taunt her while I hike her dress up and splay my hand on her side letting my fingertips dig into her hip. I’m procrastinating but selfishly, I can’t deny myself this moment if in another sixty seconds, she hates me.

But she doesn’t let it linger. “Cas, what is it? Just tell me.”

I close my eyes and prepare for her wrath, her hatred, her disgust, any emotion she wants to give me. “Your real name is Daniella Santos. Our parents are bitter enemies and…” Another big inhale and on the exhale, I let the words tumble out. “It turns out, Adriana wasn’t my biological sister…she was yours.”

At first, she says nothing.

Does nothing.

I wait with baited breath for her to react. When she does, her voice is small but picks up speed and panic as she talks. “But…my parents? I was born in New Hampshire. I’ve never even been here before. They have the wrong girl.”

“I know this is hard, Princess, but I don’t think they do. I know your father. You look just like him when he was younger. Only much prettier,” I add the last part with a smile, trying to soften the blow, but she doesn’t even hear it so I press on. “I don’t know how you ended up being adopted by the couple in New Hampshire.”

“You think Sam and Renee adopted me?”

As she repeats my questions back to me, I can tell she’s struggling to wrap her brain around this information, as anyone would.

I close the door to her room and lock it, walk over to the chair next to the window and sit down gently, pulling her onto my lap, prepared to stay here as long as she needs.

To her credit, she doesn’t cry.

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