Page 24 of Hexed
“Yrsa Venesa Andersen, watch your tone,” Uncle T snaps.
I widen my eyes innocently as I look over at him. When my uncle gets angry, a bluish vein throbs at his temple, pulsing in time with the grinding of his teeth. Right now, I can see it beneath his skin like a living dragon, his lips pursed and eyes glacial as they cut across the room and sear into me.
I grab my water glass and take a sip to keep myself from saying something else.
Suddenly I feel like I’m nothing more than that insecure, damaged ten-year-old I was when he first took me in—lonelyand broken and looking for someone who was proud enough of me to actually love me out loud.
Funny how something as simple as a memory brings up the old feelings.
“Yrsa? That’s an interesting name.” Enzo relaxes back in his chair.
My chest pulls with faint memories of my momma elongating the vowels “ehrrrr-saahhh” when we’d play hide-and-seek, one of the very sparse happy times I had with her, echoing on a loop in my brain.
I pick up the cloth napkin from my lap, then dab at the corners of my mouth before meeting Enzo’s gaze. “It’s Nordic. My father was from Denmark.”
“Venesa doesn’t enjoy talking about her past, babe,” Aria says with a tight smile. “Her daddy was a drunk who liked to beat her momma.”
“Aria,” Trent laments.
“What?” Her eyes grow wide as she looks at him. “It’s true, isn’t it?”
She’s not wrong. The last thing I want is to be sitting here talking about my dad and the name that’s haunted me ever since he disappeared, but maybe if everyone else is as uncomfortable as I am, then I’ll feel better about how the night’s going.
Luckily for me, E asks no more questions. He just nods, his attention flicking to my water glass and then to everyone else’s wine before he starts a conversation with Uncle T.
But I feel the phantom burn of his eyes on me.
I take the moment to soak up Enzo Marino in full. There’s something about him, like an itch I can’t scratch.
He’s arguably the most attractive man I’ve ever seen, rugged in a way that can’t be covered up by his polished appearance. The medium tan of his skin and midnight strands of his hair complement the crisp black of his cashmere sweater perfectly,and his jaw is so sharp, I’m surprised it doesn’t cut through glass. He looks every inch the rich and powerful man in his tailored clothes and movie-star good looks, but there are hints of ink peeking out from the corners of his neckline when he moves certain ways, and I can’t help but wish he’d drop the couture attire and let me see what he deems worthy enough to become art on his skin.
I bet he’s a good fuck.
My phone vibrates on the table next to me, and I peer down, seeing a text from Fisher flash across the screen.
Need me to come save you yet?
I canalwayscount on him to come through. I pick up my cell and reply.
How fast can you get here?
I’m already down the street. How’s the family reunion?
The knot that’s been sitting in the middle of my chest loosens with the possibility of an early escape.
Come find out for yourself.
“Venesa.”
My head snaps up, everything in the room coming sharply into focus. Everyone’s looking at me, and when I meet Uncle T’s gaze, I shrink under his disappointed look. “E’s asking you a question.”
That knot tightens again like a vise, and I paste a wide smile on my face, gingerly setting my phone down next to me.
“I’m sorry,” I reply, even though I’m not.
I’m so used to saying the words to Uncle T that they’ve lost all of their meaning, but they placate him either way.
“No need to rush off the phone for little ol’ me,” Enzo chimes in, amusement dancing across his face, mimicking what I told him when we first met outside. Aria gives him a funny look, but he ignores her, taking another bite of his meal instead, chewing slowly, his eyes cascading over me like he’s cataloging every feature. “I was just asking what it is you do?”
