The Secret (The Evolution of Sin 2)

“Elena’s making it sound like this fairytale but really, they are not good in the heart, you know?” Cosima stroked the stem of her wine glass, staring into the bowl as if it were a crystal ball. “They found Cage too but didn’t bring him back to America.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Cosi. They paid for his living expenses and visited him. Cage is just ungrateful.” Elena sniffed.

“I don’t know what your problem is with Cage, but you need to get over it. He’s practically family.”

“Oh, so we are letting just anyone into the family these days?”

“Elena,” I protested softly because I could see Cosima was gearing up for a throw down.

Her lips thinned and she reached out to pat my hand as she said, “I wasn’t talking about you, Giselle. Obviously, the twins and Mama are very happy you’re in New York now.”

Her words slammed against the soft spot in my ribcage and cracked bone. My breath whooshed out of body but I shook my head when Cosima leaned forward to take a bite out of our older, callous sister even though my own rage was burning the back of my tongue.

I knew there were reasons behind Elena’s attitude, excuses and psychological scars that could provide invaluable context to her insults. I knew it, but I didn’t care. The bottom line was, I didn’t like her and I could barely remember a time when I had.

When we were younger it was easier for me to take the passive aggressive put downs, the scathing reminders of my flaws. But it was different now, not least of all because I was in love with her boyfriend.

It made the situation so messy I could only stare at it, unwilling to dirty my hands even if it meant cleaning it up. I hated my sister and I was in love with her boyfriend. Even if the two had once been separate entities, they couldn’t be mutually exclusive now that I had made their connection. Once combined, they yielded an infinite number of questions but the most important one flashed before my eyes like a neon for-sale sign; was hating my sister justification for ruining her life?

Chapter Four.

Osteria Lombardi was three blocks from DS Galleries and I made a point to walk past the artful stone façade on my way home from the restaurant. I even peered in the windows but I told myself I wasn’t looking for anything in particular. A massive abstract painting done in brilliant glistening oils hung over the reception and before I had made a conscious decision, I was through the wide doors into the cool interior.

The receptionist smiled as I approached but she left me in silence to stare at the piece for a moment longer.

Anyone who inquired at the front desk was immediately submerged in the painting. I was underwater looking up through layers of cerulean, lazuline and pastel blues to the heart of the sky where it winked white and yellow as if behind a pane of mottled glass. It was deeply disorientating and yet strangely serene, imbuing me with the kind of calm that comes from holding your breath underwater for a little too long.

When I finally blinked, surfacing with a physical shiver, the young woman behind the desk smiled kindly at me. It didn’t surprise me that she was used to such a reaction. It was a stunning piece.

Since I was already there, I strolled through the gallery, a collection of large and larger rooms made cohesive by the exhibits on display. Though there were some stunning pieces, including an array of weepy watercolors depicting haunting scenes of solitude, there were no more paintings like the one in the reception.

“Who is the artist?” I asked when I rounded back to the front room.

The petite Asian woman smiled but the sound of approaching footsteps distracted us both from her answer. I felt overheated and conspicuous in my green dress, like Gatsby’s beacon. My embarrassment was short lived though because it was true, I had come into the gallery hoping to see him and my wish had come true.

“Sinclair,” I greeted calmly as I turned around, proud of my composure.

It shook dangerously when I took in the tall, cool sight of him standing before me with his hands in the pockets of his grey tweed pants. He was dressed casually, the sleeves of his oxford blue shirt rolled up and his suit jacket disposed of to reveal a gorgeous flannel vest cut perfectly to his tapered torso. My mouth was parched by the time my eyes reached his, the blue of his irises smoky with indecipherable emotion.

“I wondered if you might stop by.”

I blinked which only made his beautiful lips twitch slightly in amusement.

“Thank you, Eddie.” He nodded towards the receptionist. “I’ll take it from here.”

Without turning to see if I followed, Sinclair strode briskly down the corridor that I had just emerged from. I hesitated. Now that I was actually in his presence again, my determination to tell him off wavered precariously. Just the sight of him, the feel of him in the same room as me, unbound me from the tight moral constraints I knew were necessary.

“He wants you,” the Asian woman explained, startling me out of my blank stare.

“Excuse me?”

“He wants you to follow him,” she explained kindly and I realize she was probably used to clients staring dumbstruck after her hunky boss. “His office is on the top floor of the building. I’ll let his assistant know you are on your way up.”

“Isn’t that office space?”

She smiled sympathetically at me. “Yes, for Mr. Sinclair’s p

rimary business, Faire Developments.”