Page 21 of Among the Sins of my Father

“We are.” Jericho squeezes my fingers a little.

She screws up her nose. “Do you kiss her?”

Jericho laughs. “I do.”

Ette shrugs. “I’m going to kiss my boyfriend one day.” She shoves another forkful into her mouth, mumbling through the mess. “When I get one.”

And that’s it. That’s the announcement to the household, the confirmation of our relationship.

Jericho clears his throat and all eyes turn to him. “Barrett and I will be leaving for the night. I’ve made sure there are extra guards to allay any concerns. We’ll be returning tomorrow.”

I look at him questioningly, but he doesn’t return my look. He pushes back his chair and proceeds to leave. I rush after him.

“Where are you going?”

He places a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Just into the city for the night. There’s some business I need to attend to.”

I frown, fearing what he’s going to do. “What sort of business?”

He lowers his voice to a growl. “My business.”

Why do I always get so hot and bothered when he uses that tone? It makes me want to just melt at his feet.

“It’s not about Dominic, is it?”

“I told you I don’t know where he is. Keep an eye on things here for me, would you? Make sure Hope feels safe.”

“Maybe you should assign someone else that job. I don’t think she likes me.”

“You’ll be fine. She’ll be fine.” He pulls me close and I grumpily wrap my arms around his waist and press my cheek to his chest. I breathe in deeply, drowning in the scent of him. I don’t want him to leave. I want us to spend the evening together, and the night, and all the next day. I want to lay in his arms. I want to climb on top and sink onto him. I want, just for a few days, for everything to be normal, without drama. Ignore the monster in the basement. Ignore the outside world and just live in our own bubble.

“Are you going to be gone all night?” I sound like a sullen child.

His chuckle is loud and deep, rumbling about his chest. “I’ve set most things up so I can operate from home, managers I trust in the clubs, staff to boss around and do all the work I don’t want to, but occasionally my presence is required. Like tonight. I need to show my face, play a couple of hands, attend to a couple of issues.”

“Can’t I come with you?” I say, my voice muffled by the material of his shirt. I need to stop. Just stop. But for some reason, I can’t. There’s this panic inside at the thought of him leaving. I tell myself it isn’t because I’m worried what he’ll do, what revenge he might exact, but I know I’m lying.

“Not this time.” Jericho pulls himself away. “I’ve got to go.”

And he leaves me in the hallway, watching his retreating back. I don’t return to the dining room. I pull myself up the stairs and flop onto my bed. A while later, through the rain-streaked window, Barrett pulls the car toward the front of the Sanctuary and Jericho climbs in. He’s wearing a dark navy suit and a white shirt. As usual, his shirt is without a tie, and the top button has been left open. His hair is slicked up and back into groomed perfection. His chin is dusted in dark stubble.

Just looking at him makes my heart ache.

I feel foolish pining after him like some love-sick schoolgirl. But it’s how I feel. And it seems the weather is mimicking my mood as the rain isn’t thunderous or powerful. It just trails down the windows pitifully, almost as though they’re crying.

My sleep is fitful. It’s filled with dreams of smiling mouths that twist into evil smirks. Fragments of memories mixed with fears of the unknown. Dominic laying in a pool of blood instead of his father. Mary pleading with me to save her life while clutching at a gunshot wound in her stomach. The blood seeping through the material of her dress and staining her fingers. And Jericho in the background, leaning against an invisible wall, just watching.

I wake with dread lodged in my chest. Something is wrong. I know it. My heart pounds so hard it feels as though someone has taken a hammer to my chest. I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest and hugging them as I watch the rain pelting against the window. It’s far more tempestuous out there now. The gentle tear-like rain of yesterday is gone and now it is as though the outside world is screaming in rage. The swans on the pond are all huddled under the branches of the willow trees which droop over the water, creating some sort of shelter.

My room is deathly cold. There’s condensation on the inside of the windows and they’re foggy at the edges, giving the world a melancholy feel. I breathe into the room and it billows white before dissipating.

I don’t go down to the pool. I don’t go down for breakfast either. I don’t want to run the risk of seeing people. Not Hope with her accusing eyes and cold glare, and certainly not Gideon with his smirks and mocking laughter. Instead, I spend the day in the dance studio, running through old routines interspersed with periods of just staring out the window and trying to shake the coldness that’s settled in my bones.

By the time Ette arrives for her lesson, I’ve managed to work some warmth back into my limbs. I decide not to focus on any set moves or routines and instead we have some fun. At first, Ette rolls her eyes when I suggest we move to the music as though we’re mimicking animals, but after she sees my impression of an elephant dancing, she laughs and joins in. So, when I suggest doing classic dance moves like the twist or simply spinning but as slow as we possibly can, she agrees without hesitation. We play freeze dance and I finish off the lesson by teaching her the start of the ‘Thriller’ dance, much to Miss Jones’s disapproval. She stands with her arms folded and a scowl on her face in the doorway.

“I would have brought her up,” I say, attempting to catch my breath. “You know, like I usually do,” I add with a tight smile.

“Her mother asked me to come and collect her.”

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