Page 8 of Blood Gift

3

Gentry

Dominic’s apartmentwas just as I remembered it, right down to the mid-century style of furniture.

I ran my hand over the back of the low-slung sofa with its simple lines and lack of decoration.

“At least I’ll make a fortune off the furniture if I run out of money,” I muttered with a grim smile.

The entire place was like a time capsule, straight out of the early sixties. Kennedy was President the last time our mother had decorated. Before that, it was Roosevelt. The first one.

“Ah. You’re here.”

I jumped at the sound of a familiar voice coming from the hall, followed by the clicking of dress shoes on the parquet floor.

Dominic always believed in making an entrance, and always dressed like he was on his way to an important event.

Even when all he was doing was greeting his disgraced brother.

“I didn’t know you were,” I replied, crossing the room to shake his hand.

His signet ring pressed against my palm, like a reminder of who he was—and who I wasn’t.

I’d returned mine when he stripped me of all power.

“I was looking through the library,” he explained. “When I think of all the days we spent in there…”

“Doing anything but reading,” I finished, and we chuckled warmly at the memory.

We could relate to each other when discussing the past.

When things were better.

There had been no chasm between us then.

No shame to pointedly ignore while it hung over everything we said, every look we exchanged.

“Remember the time we built the pulley system and mounted it to the window frame?” he laughed.

“So we could lower the poor dog to the sidewalk instead of taking him out for his walk,” I recalled, shaking my head. “That poor dog. Always the subject of our schemes.”

He looked around, his smile fading. “As I said, you can stay as long as you like. It’s yours, too, you know.”

Yes, as he felt necessary to remind me every time he made it sound as though he were doing me a favor.

“I know,” I replied, and left it at that.

No sense in having an argument when I’d just arrived.

“You must be tired from all your traveling. Did you sleep at all last night?” He brushed invisible lint from the sleeve of his deep blue pinstripe suit.

Three-piece, complete with a pocket-watch on a gold chain. He’d inherited our mother’s penchant for holding on long after styles had changed, hence the time capsule apartment we stood in.

“I slept when I needed to. Never very well, if I’m being honest.”

“No nice hotels on the road?” He went to the bar, situated in the corner of the living room.

I checked the time when his back was turned.

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