Page 181 of Sinful Desires
She’d said she could still feel him somewhere, still alive, still waiting. That one day, he would come back to her.
And she believed it. Even when no one else had.
She’d given me a quiet tour of their home, starting with his childhood bedroom. The walls were still painted pale blue, the sheets folded neatly, the shelves lined with little things he must have once loved.
In the garden, yellow mimosas bloomed wild and tall, the same flowers they’d planted on the private island. Their scent drifted through the windows.
Inside the hallway, framed photos stretched across the wall.
Théo as a baby, cheeks puffed out and belly round, asleep beside a stuffed bear twice his size.
At six, grinning with both hands smeared in paint, standing proudly next to a canvas his mom first said he’d ruined and then had called perfect.
By thirteen, braces catching the light, arms hooked over his parents’ shoulders during a hiking trip he’d sworn he didn’t want to go on.
Seventeen, in a black suit with a crooked tie, his mother fixing it while he stood stiff and scowling.
At twenty-three, in uniform, his face sharper now, eyes already far away, locked on something none of them could see.
Then it had stopped.
No more photos after that.
His mother said he refused to be photographed anymore, and something inside me twisted with guilt.
Because being around me meant cameras were never far. Flashing, stalking, waiting.
How much of himself had he sacrificed to work for me? To stand next to me in the chaos? To keep showing up, knowing he’d be caught in the edges of every shot?
He’d never said a word. Never complained.
But now I couldn’t stop wondering how many parts of his peace he’d sacrificed just to be near me.
“Good. I wrote four full songs already.”
Which was borderline miraculous, considering my brain had been on creative life support for the past year and a half.
“I knew you had this, Scar!” Alexsei said, right as one of his daughters started wailing in the background like a tiny, possessed demon.
His twins, Mira and Vera, were hands down the most dangerously adorable children I’d ever met. Tiny carbon copies of his wife Caia, but with his icy-blue eyes and world-famous sarcasm crammed into miniature bodies.
“And your popularity’s exploding. Those shots of you on set with Nicholas made it toPage Six. Rumor mill’s spinning. People say you’ll be engaged by fall.”
I let my head drop back against the sun-warmed lounger, staring at the sky like it might answer all my doubts.
“Great. Maybe I’ll throw in a fake baby too. Really sell the American dream.”
He let out a laugh, then promised he’d be at the Oscar pre-party next Tuesday.
The one my father was hosting. Five days from now.
I ended the call and stared out at the sea.
Something behind me stirred. A presence. The kind of gaze you can feel before you ever see it.
Hot, weighty, alive.
Théo.
