The Secret (The Evolution of Sin 2)

Her lips wobbled before forming a smile. “We haven’t made one of those since we were teenagers.”

“Exactly,” I said, strangely happy with the idea of spending the morning baking with my sister. “Why don’t I call Mama and we can make one together?”

Elena took my hand, coming to her feet before me. We smiled shyly at each other for a moment with our hands clasped.

Thank you, she mouthed.

I’m sorry, I wanted to say but instead, I squeezed her hand and asked, “Do you remember the recipe for the homemade lady fingers?”

When Sinclair entered the kitchen Cage and Santiago were close at his heels and the morning had passed into the late evening. The gorgeous mahogany dining table, which I couldn’t help but notice was the same shade as Sinclair’s hair, was laden with flower arrangements stuffed into pumpkins Elena, Mama and I had carved ourselves that morning. Lindi Ortega’s bluesy country music threaded through the speakers, lending itself to the candle lit atmosphere and the heady scent of Dean & Deluca’s Thanksgiving dinner warming in Elena’s underutilized double-wide ovens.

I knew he was in the kitchen the moment he crossed the threshold even though we hadn’t heard the front door open over the swell of our voices raised to sing along to Desperado. Elena froze beside me a few seconds later, bent over the open oven to check on the turkey. She shot me a frantic look as Mama warmly greeted the men and I nodded at her because I didn’t know what else to do. She took comfort from the gesture and straightened, self-consciously patting her frilled apron. She hadn’t changed into something formal yet and I knew that bothered her.

“Daniel,” she greeted quietly before going to place a soft kiss on his cheek.

He wound his arm around her waist and tugged her into a quick hug. “The place looks beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She blushed. “Mama, Giselle and I spent all day decorating.”

“We made also tiramisu,” Mama said, beaming proudly at the sight of Elena and Sinclair together.

“Oh, where?” Cage asked, darting forward to open the fridge in search of the treat.

Mama tsked him and slapped at his hand as it shot forward to taste the cocoa covered mascarpone top. “You wait!”

He pouted dramatically, batting his eyelashes at her. “But I promise to share with Iago. You know, Caprice, he has never had the privilege of your cooking.”

“We helped too,” I reminded him.

He made a disgusted face. “In that case, I hope you ordered something else for dessert too. Just in case, of course.”

“Of course,” I repeated mildly.

I squealed when he lunged at me, pulling me into his arms for a smacking kiss on the lips.

“In any case, you look good enough to eat so I could always have you for the last course,” he growled lasciviously.

I laughed and tugged at his thickly braided hair. “You rogue.”

“You flatterer.”

“Put her down, Cage,” Sinclair ordered with his arm still looped around Elena. “And try to behave tonight, will you?”

Cage pursed his lips and stared at me with sparkling eyes as he lowered me slowly to the ground, so that our bodies brushed intimately. My eyes flicked over his shoulder to Sinclair, whose jaw was clenched as he played with the ends of Elena’s hair.

“Stop it,” I whispered to Cage. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“It’s not nearly hard enough or one of you would have made a change,” he retorted but he let go of me nonetheless.

“What time will the others be here?” Santiago asked me as he came forward to press a kiss to my cheek.

His fingers brushed lightly over my neck, reminding me of our conversation yesterday about how pretty I would look in a collar. I shivered.

“Cosima should arrive around eight,” Elena sa

id.

“This is quite late for Thanksgiving dinner, no?” Sinclair asked.