The Secret (The Evolution of Sin 2)

His lids lowered. “Yes, but I only modeled for two years. When I turned eighteen, I demanded to be allowed to go to college. I was smart and well mannered, the perfect young man in their eyes. I think they figured, why waste his potential? They already had Cage, the artistic prodigy and, to some extent, Cosima, who was the real talent in front of the camera and on the runway. Even better if their oldest son wanted to follow in his father’s academic footsteps, maybe even follow him into politics.”

“It’s almost like a fairy tale. I mean, out of all the orphans in the world, they picked you. I would ask myself all the time how it happened. I mean, why you?”

His gaze snapped to mine an

d I realized that I had touched a nerve. My hand reached out to brush through the thick reddish hair dangling in front of his face and I pushed it back from his forehead.

“I know why I would have picked you,” I amended softly.

He snorted. “You know, I didn’t do anything to earn this face.”

My heart twisted. How could he think he was only worth the value of his beauty? I had never met a more accomplished man in all my life and I doubted I ever would.

“You’re right. But you worked hard to develop into the sophisticated, intelligent, driven man you are today. And in my eyes, that’s sexier than any six pack.”

He raised his eyebrows at me and I giggled. “Okay, okay, I love your six pack too.”

There was a slight smile on his lips and for a few moments, we drove in silence, listening to the deep rasp of Cage on the CD player. He sang in English, his voice rising like the howl of wind over the crashing drums and swooshing guitar. I had always loved Caged and everyone in France seemed to quietly lust after at least one of the gorgeous band members so I really hoped they could make it in America.

It was amazing to think about how inextricably linked we all were; Sinclair, Elena, Cosima, Cage and I. They had been together for years, through the kind of experiences that I had only ever read about. Sure, I had known hunger and abuse, crime and drunkenness but I had been young, shielded by the worst of it by my other siblings. I squirmed in my seat, feeling disgustingly naïve and fresh off the farm.

We finally pulled into a small packed lot beside the water, the lights of the city and Verrazano Bridge reflecting in the deep blue ocean. The combination of the urban and natural filled me with fizzy adrenaline and I quickly slipped out of the car with my camera to my eye in order to take a few pictures before the light picked up. But I was melancholy, sucked into the vortex of self-hatred and doubt that had plagued me throughout my younger years. It was a strange feeling to realize that I was extraordinarily lucky. I felt almost sick with it.

Sinclair was quiet too as he gathered our gear and briefly spoke to some other men going down to the rocky water’s edge with their poles and coffee thermoses. I drifted away from him as he set up our stuff and politely asked to take some pictures of the beautifully weathered fishermen already sunk knee deep in the icy waters. They consented without words, a grunt or nod or maybe a toothy grin was all I needed and I was surprisingly grateful for their silence. The quiet felt good around me, like a warm blanket over my shivering sense of self.

When I finally made my way back carefully over the slippery rocks to our post, the sky was losing the last of its girlish blush, sinking into an eggshell blue. I stopped just to his left side and studied Sinclair through the lens, the way his hair rustled like liquid copper in the wind and the slight flush that sat high on his pronounced cheekbones. I could understand why Willa had chosen him; his beauty was a strange thing, rare and almost inanimate, like a statue brought to life.

I don’t know how long I stood there before he turned to me. We stared at each other and I wished hopelessly that he could understand even one tenth of the turmoil inside me.

He sighed, as if in answer to my unspoken desire, and placed his rod in a crevice between two large rocks. In three long, sure steps over slippery boulders, he was in front of me. I tipped my head to maintain eye contact. I was strangely breathless as his intensity exerted itself like the force of gravity on my lungs.

“Elle.” His cool hands cupped my face. “Stop thinking.”

I tried to articulate myself but could only shake my head.

“I didn’t bring you out here to over think, to stress or worry about if what we are doing is wrong. I brought you here because this is one of my favorite places in New York and I wanted to share it with you. Can you please let it be as simple as that?”

I shook my head again but this time, I found my voice. “Why me?”

His eyes darkened. “You won’t like the answer to that.”

My heart plummeted to the pit of my stomach so quickly that I thought I would throw up. Somehow, I managed to smile thinly and step away from him instead.

“Fair enough,” I said, moving past him to grab my smaller rod.

It was purple with a glittery grip and I laughed wetly as I took it into my hand. When I looked over at him, he was shaking his head at me in irritation.

“Is this Elena’s?” I asked, because I was that masochistic.

“If you can’t stop yourself from saying idiotic things, don’t speak,” he barked, striding back over to pick up his rod.

I blushed at his reprimand but it was true, I was being petty and weak. Why couldn’t I just enjoy this gorgeous morning with this gorgeous man? Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, and all that. So – I took a deep breath and shoved all the grime in my soul under the rug – I wouldn’t.

“You bought it for me, didn’t you?” It was a rhetorical question because I knew he was too angry with me to answer. “Thank you, it’s adorable.”

He nodded curtly and adjusted his stance.

“Je n’arrete pas de faire l’andouille,” I murmured just loudly enough for Sinclair to hear me.