Page 9 of Sweet Lies

Claire and my brother look at each other and have one of their famous silent conversations.

“Sure. Get some rest. We’ll talk more in the morning,” Elijah says, rising with Claire.

I can hear them through the door. Their voices are muffled but still audible. Claire speaks first, and I hear the rage even through the door. “You’re going to make him pay a little, right?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Good.”

I hear their footsteps as they move down the hall, leaving me alone. I almost feel bad for Nick. Almost. Elijah won’t be able to do too much considering who his father is, but I’m sure Nick will remember the discussion they have for a long time.

Rolling onto my side, I stare at the wall. In particular, the family picture hanging there. My mom smiles back at me, and more tears escape. I miss her. I was young when she was shot at a party in the backyard. I remember little of that day. It’s all blurry, as if I saw the events through other eyes.

Claire had seen it happen, and that day had changed everything for her. From then on, she started training with our brother and the other boys. Getting better than a lot of them, to their dismay. She never wanted to be weak, while I would rather stay out of the crosshairs. I simply wanted to be left alone and pretend we weren’t the monsters in the stories. I got good at it for a while. They got good at hiding it from me as well.

I’ve always been different from the rest of the family. I’m the quiet but observant sibling. At times that’s useful, but most of the time, it’s worthless. I’m the most sensitive, another not-so-noble quality in a mob boss’s daughter.

Closing my eyes, I let my mind drift away from negative thoughts. I will not be the girl who pities herself because of a bad date.Get a grip. In the morning, everything will be brighter.

Everything will be just fine.

* * *

The plan to sleep through the night doesn’t happen—I wake up at one to stare at my ceiling, in the mood for ice cream. I keep telling myself I don’t need raspberry ice cream at one in the morning, but the craving wins, and I give a huff as I emerge from under my blankets.

I pass some guards on the way down the stairs and hear my brother with some of his friends in the basement. I’m sure they’re drinking and gambling. I wonder ifAndreis over. My stomach does a flip.

Stop it. No stomach flips forAndre—he’s the last thing I need in my life. I was drawn to him like a moth to the flame, but in the end, I knew I’d get burned. He’d made it clear he wasn’t interested. Why would he be when he had a horde of women chasing him and hanging on his every word? Elijah called him Casanova, and that was saying something, since Elijah was never without female company.

Moving briskly past the basement stairs, as if he might sense me nearby, I rush to the kitchen, turning on the smaller of the two lights, and pull the ice cream from the freezer.Cold air hits my face, but I find it refreshing—it makes me feel alive.

I pull a large spoon out of a drawer, sit at the table, and yank the top off harder than necessary. The spoon digs into the middle, and out comes a sizeable chunk of cold goodness. I moan as I stuff the whole thing in my mouth.

“Well, that’s attractive,”Andresays.

Twisting in my seat, my wide eyes meet his with the spoon suspended from my mouth. Tonight he’s casually dressed in jeans and a dark sweatshirt with his feet bare. He pads quietly to the right side of the kitchen near the sink.

“Hope you didn’t do that on the date. Though that would explain a few things,” he adds, laughing as he opens the drawer and pulls out a small spoon.

After swallowing the ice cream, I remove the spoon from my lips and set it down, tugging the tub against my chest.“After that, you get no ice cream.”

Once more, he laughs, and butterflies invade my body.

“Would it help my chances if I say I landed a good punch on Nick’s face this evening?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. He sits, and I inch the container toward him. His knuckles are bloody and bruised.

“I didn’t want that to happen to him,” I mutter.

Standing, I wet a piece of kitchen towel before sitting again and cleaning the wound. His hand feels warm against mine. For a second, I catch him looking at our hands and I fear he’ll pull away. He’s never been one for physical contact—even on the couch he sits as far away as possible. Just close enough to reach into the popcorn bowl.

“Not sure what you thought would happen. Or what he thought would happen. Maybe he thought you would say nothing. He isn’t the brightest,”he mutters as I rub the towel over his hand, trying to spot where his hand is hurt versus what’s Nick’s blood. Why he hasn’t already washed it I don’t know.

His eyes are locked on our hands, but I sense a calmness come over him. With no one around, he’ll allow me to see behind his walls, and I have the overwhelming urge to keep this moment going forever.

My whisper catches me by surprise. “I just wanted to forget about tonight.”I didn’t want to bring Nick back into the room with us, but the words slipped out.

“As you should. He won’t, however, forget. You need to find someone a hell of a lot better than Nick,” he says, putting some ice cream in his mouth.

“Maybe it’s me,” I say, glancing away.

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