Page 79 of Restrained

She’s funny. Good. “Nah. Sadly he wasn’t into me that way.” I grin, and she laughs.

It’s light, but it’s good to hear. “He was just a really good man who, for whatever reason, saw something in me. And when he passed away right before I graduated, he left me his estate.”

Her eyes widen. “Wow.”

It was a complete shock to me. A twenty-one-year-old kid inheriting two million dollars, property in California and more knowledge than I knew what to do with in real estate, but I made it work. “He wasn’t married and didn’t have any kids. He left me everything, and there was no way I was going to let him down.”

“Seems to me you made him proud.”

“I’m trying.” I smile into my coffee, taking a drink.

“So you were worried I was like mom. That’s why you didn’t just come and tell me right away.”

I nod my head. “Just like you’re worried I’m insane right now because I share her blood.”

She can’t argue with me. “She was the worst person I know. Knew.”

“Me too.”

“Do we have any other siblings?”

Fuck, that’s a scary thought. “Not that I know of.”

She nods, picking at the sticker on her cup. “According to the results, we don’t share the same dad?”

I shake my head. “No. I guess not but knowing Slate, who the fuck even knows if the men we thought were our dads actually were.”

“Why did they call her that?” I suspect my knowing her nickname was the biggest part of her agreeing to a DNA test.

“She never told you?”

“She never told me much of anything. Other than I was her?—”

“Tragedy,” I finish for her.

Her eyes widen, and the tears in them make me feel sick. “She called you that too?”

“Yeah.” Fuck, I hate her even more knowing she did this to my little sister. I don’t give a fuck if I just found out about her or not, the fact that she grew up like I did is infuriating. “Forget about that shit. She was the only tragedy in her life. And in everyone else's.”

Penelope nods. “Why did they call her that? Her eyes?”

I nod my head, thinking about my father burning my flesh with the lighter and telling me the story. “Partially. They were a slate blue, kind of like yours.” I see her cringe and sympathize with her wanting nothing from our mother. “My father gave her that nickname when she was pregnant with me.”

She looks afraid to ask. “Why?”

“Apparently, they were pulled over with a ton of shit in their car. Heroine and pot, I think. Ready to distribute. She was four months pregnant with me, and he took the blame. He told me it was her idea to make some money to raise me.” It could definitely be bullshit. Nothing that ever came out of either of their mouths was the whole truth. “Anyway, he gave her a clean slate while he went to prison.”

“But he got out in time to torture you, I'm guessing.” I wonder if Lola told her that part. Her eyes fall to my hand. “Or was that her?”

“Him. Yeah, he got out pretty fast. I think I was two, but he was in long enough to be really fucking mad when he got out. He hated her, but he lived with us.”

“I’m sorry they were your parents.”

I swallow tightly, hearing how strained her voice is. “I’m sorry she was yours. Did you know your dad?”

Please say no. I can’t imagine he was good. “No.” Relief sweeps over me. “Oddly enough, he was in prison.”

“You were eight when you met the Sterlings?”

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