A Million Different Ways to Lose You (Horn Duet 2)

I couldn’t stop the tears from falling any more than I could stop the earth from spinning. I missed him desperately. Although I couldn’t deny that there was still a shade of resentment coloring my memories of him. That last conversation we had played over and over in my mind, even after all these years…

I had picked up the morning paper that day on the way to class, read the headline, and almost cast up my crumpets onto the sidewalk. A picture of my father stared back at me from the front page. The long and the short of it was that he was being indicted for embezzlement. The theft of three million U.S. dollars didn’t go undetected in a country that only has a total GDP of fifteen billion. I willed my legs to run, not just walk me to his office. His longtime secretary, Jerina, saw me rushing down the hall with a bewildered expression. Hers became sympathetic almost immediately. Then, something akin to guilt flashed across her face, though it was gone before I had the chance to take a closer look.

“He went home, Vera. They won’t allow him back to get his things until tomorrow, and only accompanied by an officer of the law,” she told me in a pained voice. An attractive woman in her late forties, I knew she’d been in love with my father for years, and hoped he could return her affection. It never came to be. Whatever he had with my mother was sadly the beginning and the end for him.

By the time I reached our comfortable but modest apartment, I was sweating bullets. I found him still dressed in his immaculate gray suit, sitting at the kitchen table with his copy of Plato’s Republic next to his cup of espresso, staring out the window absently.

“Papa?” He didn’t turn to look at me. “Is it true?” I asked in Albanian.

“Is what true, Zogu?” he replied casually, using an Albanian term of endearment which means birdie. I swallowed the damning words stuck in my throat. It seemed insane to even voice the question out loud, directed at a man I had always held as the standard-bearer of ethics in the world.

“Did you do what they’re accusing you of?”

He turned to look at me then. Brown eyes to brown eyes, unwavering, he said, “No.” Something inside of me fell back into place. I knew he would never lie to me. Never. After that, I never once questioned whether he was innocent of the crime he was being accused of…

“Hey.”

I turned towards the masculine voice coming from the doorway. He leaned against the frame with his arms crossed in front of him, the sleek lines of his muscles in stark relief, the gray sweatpants he wore hanging low on his slim hips. A sated smile graced his face, his lips swollen and bruised by my hungry kisses. It didn’t seem to be bothering him though. His moods had been so volatile lately it was a relief to see him so relaxed. Amazing what good sex could do to a man’s mood. I only hoped it lasted longer than an evening.

“The bed’s cold without you.” His gaze fell on the lid of the box I was holding. Uncrossing his arms, he walked over and stood next to me. “You’re going through your father’s stuff?” he asked, his fingers raking through my short hair.

I didn’t think he expected an answer. I think he was just surprised I had finally gathered the courage to do it. My attention back on the contents of the box, I said, “It just doesn’t make sense…it has never made sense.”

He exhaled deeply and lay down with his legs stretched out, his weight resting on his elbows.

“Can you think of any reason why he would do this?”

“Not one. He was never interested in anything remotely pecuniary. His hunger was always for knowledge.” One glance at Sebastian’s expression told me he wasn’t entirely convinced. “You don’t believe me? Of course you don’t,” I said, bitterness coating my tongue. “The man who owns a bank wouldn’t believe that some people aren’t motivated by money.”

“Pump the brakes, darlin’” He grasped my chin and tilted it so we were eye to eye. “At least let me explain before you go judging my thoughts.”

“Then it’s me you don’t believe––don’t trust?”

“That’s not it either,” he corrected, shaking his head. “Did you ever wonder how he could afford a nanny and a private tutor imported from England?”

The question rolled around my stomach like a lead marble, a question that had been slowly poisoning me for the past six years––and the only reason for me to ever doubt my father’s innocence.

“We lived a very modest lifestyle. No vacations, one small car. The apartment was a small two bedroom.”

“That’s a bit convenient, don’t you think? You’re a smart woman, Vera, do the math.”