Page 62 of When Sinners Fall
I sit.
And pull my legs up under me.
Fine.
If Dante can’t trust me and feels the need to send his brother to babysit, then well… My argument dies because what am I going to do?
I snatch up the bowl of chicken and finish eating. Although, any desire for comfort food is lost.
“You’re the same age as Dante,” he says. “Went to school with him.” They aren’t questions, more like statements he’s looking to corroborate.
“Yes, but I don’t think I remember you.” I try to place his face with the brother I knew was at school with us, but I can’t, nor anything else about him. I’m drawing a complete blank.
“You wouldn’t. I’m his older brother.” Okay, the brother I saw was younger than us. I look for a familial resemblance between Abel and Dante, and other than the intimidation factor, there’s not much. He doesn’t look that much older than us, so surely, I would’ve seen him at school.
“Does Dante know you’re here?”
“I wanted to meet you. This seemed practical.” He sips the whisky, and it reminds me that I, too, have a glass.
I shake my head, trying to throw off the unsettled feeling that this man has barged into Dante’s home, then snag my glass and take a drink.
“Are you in love with my brother?”
The liquid catches in my throat and I splutter a cough as I choke at his question. “Excuse me?” I croak.
“Well? Are you?”
“I hardly see that as any of your business.” I grab the last strip of chicken, happy for the distraction from Abel’s gaze and questions.
“Wrong. Dante is my brother, and so it is my business.” His tone is sure and gives no room to doubt he’s serious.
Love.
I know I’ve been thinking around the word - going over what Dante said at the lake. But do I love him?
“Um…” I think about what I should say, unsure I want to lie but also not convinced what I feel is love yet. Not so soon. Although, surely, I must have some sort of love for him if I’m prepared to put up with his behaviour. They're not normal, my feelings for him. They’re a little obsessive and a little dark, and I’m here. He’s spun my world, and I’m sitting in his house and not running.
“Not the best response, Wren.”
“Well, you’ve kinda put me on the spot.” I lick my fingers and wash the chicken down with the last of my whisky.
“You’re here, in my brother’s apartment. We know about you, and that, as I’m sure Dante’s informed you, is a big deal. It carries certain risks. Is he doing all that for nothing?”
“No, of course not,” I protest, suddenly thinking that Abel is only here to warn me off, or to test me.
I stand and head over to the bar.
“Then why are you here?”
I don’t answer his question and pour myself another drink. Maybe this is the type of welcome the Cortez family gives.
I sit back down and ignore him, watching the television instead. He doesn’t ask another question, and it’s the first time he reminds me of Dante. He’s rarely chatty either, but the pressure starts building. It’s like we both have things we want to say, and we’re clearly not at the comfortable-in-each-other’s-company point.
I break.
“So, what do you do, Abel?” I try for politeness as it seems he’s not leaving or intending to leave, either.
“What do you know of our business?” He leans forward and rests his forearms on his knees as if this is a trick question.
