Page 65 of On Thin Ice

At my admission, his face softened and he smiled, taking my hand in his. “Imagine what you’d have done if it hadn’t had a happy ending.”

“I had to read Romeo and Juliet in high school. I didn’t like it, if that tells you anything.”

“Then you’re lucky your first experience was watching this particular performance. The original version of Swan Lake has a tragic ending. Odette dies. And there are other tragic variations as well.”

A shiver ran down my spine, but I didn’t know if it was because I was cold or because of what Sinclair was telling me. “You’re right. I don’t know if I would have liked that ending.”

“It’s also beautiful—but I prefer the happy ending too. There are lots of versions, which is part of why I like to watch it often.”

“Even the tragic endings?”

“Yes, even those. There’s something about that story that speaks to me.”

The music continued swimming in my head, even as we rode in the limo, and then I figured out where I’d heard so much of it before. Although I hesitated to say it, I wanted to ask. “Was the music from the ballet played at the event for the simulation lab?”

Sinclair actually chuckled. “Yes. Leona knows it’s one of my favorites, so she plays it at every function I attend.” That seemed creepy, but I wasn’t about to say it. As my mind wandered back to that fateful night, I found it strange that only a few months had passed, but it felt like it had been far longer since I’d seen Dr. Rakhimov. Sinclair continued, “She always panders to me. She likes the money.”

I couldn’t help the next words that came out of my mouth. “Can you blame her?”

“No. Schools have limited budgets. They get some tax money and, of course, tuition, but those income streams aren’t always enough, especially for smaller schools. That’s why we help.” By now, he was looking out the side window, even though one of his hands still held mine. “And we like to give special attention to Winchester. It’s a special place for the Whittiers.”

It was all I could do to not rail out against the place of my birth—or speculate verbally why it was so special to them. Was it the place itself or was it because of the minerals they wanted to mine?

And, of course, that sent me back to thoughts of my father. How was he doing? How many bad days had he had without me around to help?

Before the sadness could overwhelm me, Sinclair looked at me again. “You really seemed to capture my father’s attention.”

“Did I?”

“Yes. He doesn’t normally warm up to guests like that.” As if it were an afterthought, he squeezed my hand. “By guests, I mean dates. My father’s barely accepted Augie’s wife Vivian, and they’ve been married twelve years and have three children. Then again, Warren usually brings inappropriate women to these functions. Hannah was quite the exception.”

Asking what he meant by inappropriate might bring up topics I didn’t want to hear…because I’d probably been just that before my makeover earlier in the day. Had I fooled them? The poor girl, daughter of the enemy, in the disguise of the wealthy? So I kept the conversation light. “And even she seemed to rub him the wrong way.”

“You picked up on that, did you?”

I wasn’t going to tell Sinclair something he probably already knew, that his father’s anger with the woman had been almost palpable. So I just nodded, relieved that I didn’t have to spend every day around those people.

I’d probably take prison over a sentence like that.

Sinclair said, “But maybe we should thank Hannah. My dad might have given you a frostier reception had he not been disappointed by her.” Oh, lucky me—liked only because I was the lesser of two evils—and he must have seen it on my face. “I’m being sarcastic. I know the exact moment my father became enamored of you.”

“Really?” I thought I did too, even though it hadn’t made sense to me. Augustus Whittier the second, the man who didn’t actually seem to value his family, had wanted to discuss negotiations with Hannah West’s family’s company—and she’d turned him down, even when he’d suggested that they were all family.

“Of course. She was trying to pick a fight with the old man, and she tried to get you on her side. But you showed your loyalty, even though you’d only just met the rest of the family. My father appreciated that.”

Loyalty? Who was I becoming?

As my stomach churned again, reminiscent of earlier in the evening, Sinclair continued talking. “I’m almost jealous at how easily you won his affection.”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious—but I was dealing with my own internal crisis at the moment, feeling like I had betrayed my father tonight. Offhandedly, I said, “I have that effect on people.”

That was probably the biggest lie I’d ever told Sinclair. I’d never had that effect on a soul—with the one exception of Mr. Sherwood, the WCC instructor who had an inappropriate interest in me. When you spend your life trying to blend into the background to avoid barbs and pokes, you never have a chance to even try to influence people in any sort of way.

Fortunately, Sinclair didn’t pick up on any of the struggle at my core—because he said, “I believe it.”

And, if I continued lying to him, how long would it be before I started lying to myself?

Was I already?

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