The Affair (The Evolution of Sin 1)

It was brutal to hear about his possible affection when I knew it would end tomorrow. Besides, no matter what other people might have said, I knew that Sinclair only wanted a holiday affair, no personal attachment and no strings. But God it felt good to pretend, for a minute, that he felt something more than lust towards me.

Candy’s grip tightened over me. “Because I think you should tell him how you feel. If you have feelings for him, fight for him. I like his girlfriend,” she paused and guilt flashed across her strong features, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t see what is so clearly happening between you and Sinclair.”

I shook my head and pulled my hand away from her. “Stop.”

Her dark eyes were wide with sincerity but she held up her palms in su

rrender. “Fine. I had to say it, but I understand if you are too afraid to act on it.”

I flinched as her arrow found the Bull’s Eye. The new Giselle wasn’t timid, or afraid, meek. But – I bit my lip and took another step away from her – that didn’t mean I was stupid.

She sighed deeply and picked up the pitcher again. “So, what do you think? Too garish?”

We spent the next few hours tripping around downtown Cabo San Lucas; all talk of Sinclair clearly off the table. Instead, Candy told me about her start in business, interning for large corporations and subsisting on ramen noodles and business lunches before she met Sinclair at a conference. They had hit it off right away in the Q&A session of a famous real estate broker who they reduced to a blubbering mess after ripping into his flimsy business model. She laughed as she recounted the story and so did I, imagining them tag teaming the poor man.

I told her little about my past beyond Paris and if she noticed my evasion, she didn’t let on. It was difficult to explain my splintered family and the fear that had driven me first from Italy and then my beloved Paris. It felt strange not tell her about my siblings though. Usually when someone questioned me, I automatically spoke of their more glamorous lives, casting my own dull existence into shadow. Instead, we talked about art and France, both of which Candy was an expert in.

By the time we decided to head home the light was syrupy as the sun began to sink in the cerulean blue sky and Candy was laden with shopping bags.

“I can’t believe you didn’t get that bracelet,” she said between each labored breath. “Seriously, Elle, it was gorgeous.”

I sighed, picturing the Mexican silver and turquoise cuff that we had seen in the jewelry store. It had been a beautiful piece of jewelry but I couldn’t afford it. The credit card Cosima and Sebastian had given me had practically burned a whole in my pocket but I refused on principle to use their money for anything less than essentials.

“Starving artist,” I said by way of explanation, though that wasn’t exactly the truth either.

“You don’t look it.” Candy eyed my curves with good-humored envy. “I’d give my right arm to have a figure like that.”

“It took me a long time to be okay with it,” I admitted, running a hand over the exaggerated flare of my hip. “I have two tall, thin sisters.”

Images of Cosima in Sports Illustrated flashed through my mind but I repressed my old habit of comparing the two of us, burrowing it deep beneath the confidence that Sinclair had newly gifted me.

Candy pursed her lips. “Damn, there are more of you?”

I laughed and felt warmth suffuse my chest as she linked her arm with mine. It felt good to be light hearted and girlish, to laugh too loudly at Candy’s impressions of Cage and snigger together over details of her last lover who had a thing for woman sucking lollipops.

“No seriously,” she had said, eyes wide. “I ended up with three cavities.”

I had never really had many friends unless you counted my family. Brenna was my only true friend and I couldn’t even remember the details of our relationship in the beginning. After she had invited me for coffee the first time, who had called whom next? Either way, it had always been easy, and I realized that I felt the same unselfconscious ease with Candy.

We were laughing when we entered Sinclair’s suite using the spare key card he had given me. I pretended not to notice Candy give it a significant glance and, happily, the low murmur of chatter in the room distracted her.

Obviously, the inspection had gone well, because the men involved each clutched a flute of frothing champagne and they all cheered when we entered.

“You got it?” I asked, breathless from the excitement crackling in the room.

Sinclair dropped the unopened bottle he been holding – which Cage caught hastily – and strode over to me before I could even blink. He hefted me in his arms and beamed into my face. “Oh yes, siren, we got it.”

I squealed and hugged him, too aware of the others to do anything more. Cage, apparently, shared no such qualm because he was on Candy, his lips slanted over hers, before she could protest. When he finally broke away with a loud smack and a cheeky grin, she was the colour of a livid sunburn.

“You ass,” she snapped.

Cage only chuckled and turned to me, trying to plant a kiss on me as well.

When Sinclair raised an eyebrow at him and hugged me closer, he only shrugged and murmured, “Spoil sport.”

I ignored him. “Are we going to celebrate?”

“We are.” Duncan adjusted his glasses and indicated his champagne flute.