Page 60 of The Lawyer
“Yes?”
“The young lady wasn’t here if anyone asks. Do you need more explanation than that?”
I can’t see him, but I can almost hear the smile on his face.
“No. Of course not.”
“Good. Thank you. And thank Betty for me.”
I start threading my tie the moment his feet begin leaving again, this time looking at a painting of us that was commissioned five years ago. Just the four siblings. I smile a little, eyes dropping to a teenage Persephone sitting beneath my standing form behind her. Christ knows where that five years has gone. Most of mine was in the States. Most of hers at theBallet, travelling and dancing around Europe.She’ll be twenty-two soon. A woman. Not quite the baby anymore.
“You’re a hard man to find around here.” My smile widens at the sound of Willow’s heels on the hardwood, my hand eventually landing on hers as it sneaks around my waist. “What are you doing up here?”
“You were showering. I thought I’d give you some space to get ready.”
“By looking at family portraits?”
“Yes. I don’t really have any at home. Perhaps I should.”
“That’s Ivy, right?” My gaze drifts to her standing next to me, a blue dress the same colour as both our eyes. “She really is beautiful. Her hair is totally droolworthy down like that. I want it.”
“I like your hair dark. It matches your more slutty side. Blondes are nowhere near as much fun.”
“I don't know, you're not too bad for a blond.” I chuckle, pulling the palm of her hand up to kiss it. “Anyway, the other two are?”
“Persephone and Neve.”
“Yes, but who’s who?”
My finger points. “Persephone’s the youngest, seventeen when this was commissioned five years ago. She's a ballet dancer. Neve is six years younger than me. She works with computers. No one is entirely sure what she does. The black sheep of the family, perhaps.”
“She’s a little darker than the three of you. Hair, skin.”
I turn in her hold to look at her, watching as she lifts her hands to straighten my tie. “Look to your left.” She does, and immediately finds the portrait of someone almost identical. “Great Grandmother. Quite the image of each other, don’t you think?”
“That’s astonishing.”
“That’s family genes for you. Throwback and all that.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
I wait for her to look back at me, suddenly so satisfied with the image of actual reality in front of me that I don't give a damn about family portraits anymore. She’s back in her suit again, hair tidy in clips and makeup placed accordingly. One of Ivy’s shirts, if I’m not mistaken. None of it hides the tattoo I know is there, though. Nor does it hide my slutty dancer either.Not anymore, at least.
It's a shame really. Leaving here means we're back to sneaking around, pretending we're not something we are. Albeit, that's my choice, and it will be amusing enough, but here we've been comfortable. Quietly so. Relaxed even, but for the unending need to fornicate like teenagers.
I smile at the thought, gently tucking a loose wisp of her hair back into place. “Why a stag?”
“What’s a stag?” she says.
“The tattoo?”
“Oh. I got it after my parents died. The stag seemed majestic and powerful. Protective in a way. All of those feelings were important to me, and I wanted a reminder. Plus, I became the head of the family.”
“I’m sorry about your parents.”
“It was a long time ago. Sooo,” she says, her gaze finally coming back to me. “How do we move forward from here?”
“Not sure I particularly want to.”
