Page 117 of A Secret to Die For

And someday, I was going to marry her. Not yet, but someday.

“It was our first competition. We were…seven?” Marcin said, and Saralisa nodded. “We were seven, and she borrowed a dress from the dance school, but—”

She buried her head in her hands. “Do you have to tell this story?”

“If you prefer, I could tell the one where you found a box of candy in your dad’s closet and—”

“On second thought, tell the first one.”

“So we were dancing a Viennese waltz, and I trod on the edge of the skirt, and riiiiiiip. She was standing there in her leotard, and I didn’t know whether to carry on dancing, or pull the fabric back up, or just apologise profusely.”

“What was the decision?” I asked.

“Saralisa dragged me away from the skirt, and her mouth was set in…you know, that little line, and she told me off for missing out the steps.”

“I was competitive, okay? I still think we could have won if you’d just smiled through it.”

The way she always had? “I’m curious what happened with the candy now.”

Her cheeks reddened. “It was Mom’s Valentine’s gift. Cherry liquors. I ate nearly the whole box before Dad found me, and I ended up puking in the emergency room. Even now, I’m not fond of cherries. But since we’re doing embarrassing stories, why don’t we discuss the time Marcin took his mom’s make-up to dance class and nearly blinded himself with a mascara wand in the bathroom?”

Marcin batted his eyelashes. “I’ve improved my skills, don’t you think?”

“Only because I taught you,” Andriy said.

The ribbing was good-natured, and Marcin was the only man I’d ever met who could carry off eyeliner. His father, Eryk, acted warmly toward Saralisa, and it was clear he’d once cared deeply for her and still did. Losing Marcin’s friendship in childhood had been one more tragedy she’d suffered.

Before dessert, Eryk held up his glass in a toast. “To friendships old and new. I’m so glad we were finally able to reconnect, little Saralisa. We all missed you when you went to Oregon.”

“I missed you too.”

“Marcin begged us to bring you to live with us, and we did offer, but your grandfather wouldn’t hear of it. He said you needed the fresh start. An authoritative man.”

That was the first Saralisa had heard of any offer; I could tell by the way her spine stiffened. And if I had to guess, I’d have said she would have been a hell of a lot happier in the Baluch household.

“Authoritative? Yes, he was.”

“We never stopped thinking of you. Until you turned eighteen, we sent the Christmas and birthday cards, but then… We thought you had moved on. Hoped you had moved on.”

“I never received any cards.”

“I always wondered if that might be the case. Maybe your grandfather threw them away, or your uncle? There was no love lost between him and your father.”

“Dad told you that?”

“We were friends. Of course, we told each other many things.” He chuckled, patting the fourth Mrs. Baluch’s hand. She’d barely said a word during dinner. “All the secrets we didn’t want our wives to know. Nothing bad,” he added quickly. “Your mom used to worry about Pete’s cholesterol constantly after her own mother’s heart problems, and he used to appreciate a good medium-rare steak.”

“Every time I mentioned Dad, EJ got annoyed, so I stopped talking about him. Do you know why they didn’t get along?”

“As with so many feuds, it had to do with a woman. I don’t know her name, but Pete found EJ in the back of a car with her when EJ was sixteen. The way I understand it, the woman had been drinking too much, far too much, and EJ was, how should I say…taking advantage?”

EJ had tried to rape an unconscious woman? That’s what Eryk was saying? This was shades of Mandell all over again.

“Pete got her out of there?” I asked.

“He took her home, and he also told his father.” Eryk sucked in a breath. “Who paid off the young lady and made EJ’s life very difficult for the next six months. Pete called it slave labour, but your grandfather called it atonement. EJ never forgave Pete for telling tales.”

Saralisa was looking green, and it had nothing to do with the lighting. “Dad did the right thing.”

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