The Affair: Week 3 - Take A Chance - Page 11

He blinked. He definitely hadn’t expected her to ask that question.

Ask for Adrian’s forgiveness, she recalled him saying in Cristina’s last moments. Vanni had demanded that Cristina ask for his mother’s and Adrian’s forgiveness, then denied her his own. Cristina had mentioned the name, too. Emma had been wildly curious since she’d heard the name. She knew from Googling the Montand name, and Vanni’s explanation for his nickname, that Michael was the name of his father, so he wasn’t Adrian. In her imagination, the name Adrian had taken on some kind of forbidden charge, a name that was thought but never said . . . one of the unspoken words hanging like a dense cloud at Cristina’s burial.

She drew three shaky breaths in the silence that followed, her anxiety ratcheting up. His face looked rigid. For a few seconds, she thought he wouldn’t answer. She shouldn’t have asked.

“My brother. My twin brother. He’s dead.”

Her mouth sagged open. “You had a twin?” she asked, shocked. “How . . . how did he die?”

“He drowned, but Cristina killed him.”

Emma gasped at the quiet, yet brutal, slicing quality of his tone.

Vanni exhaled and dropped his hands from her waist, placing them on the wall near her hips, his thumbs touching her skirt. He lowered his head so that she couldn’t see his eyes.

“We were swimming in Lake Michigan. We were nine years old and shouldn’t have been in the water on that day at all, but if so, only under close supervision. That was what Cristina was supposed to be doing, but she was too busy with more important matters.” Vanni said in a weary, bitter tone. “Cristina was kind enough to Adrian and I when my father was around, but when he wasn’t, she could be vindictive and negligent. It was the latter that ended up being the most deadly of her sins, although I always felt there was a fair share of the former in the instance of Adrian’s death. More likely, she hadn’t thought things through much, if that was the case. It was me she hated the most, and I was always physically stronger than Adrian. It was that way ever since we were born—”

He broke off. Emma just sat there, wretched at having brought up the awful topic, miserable at the glimpse of his pain.

“There was a strong undertow that day,” he continued in a flat tone that she hated. “Other beaches along the lakeshore had been closed, but that’s not the kind of thing Cristina would have bothered to find out before she told two nine-year-olds to go swim and then attended to matters of real importance—her social schedule. We were caught by a strong undertow and pulled out toward the breakers. He hit them, and was wounded. Afterward he was weakened. He didn’t have a chance of keeping his head up in the rough water with that undertow pulling at us.”

“Oh my God,” Emma whispered, horrified. “Vanni, I’m so sorry.”

And he’d been there. He’d seen it all, as had Cristina, most likely. Vanni had survived, and his twin hadn’t.

“Did it happen at the Breakers?” Emma whispered, a little frightened by the idea for Vanni’s sake.

“It was there, but a different house. I had the Breakers built after my father died several years ago, on the site of my childhood home.”

She just stared at him a moment, connecting dots, trying to make sense of it all and struggling. Such a beautiful place to die, she recalled Cristina saying on the day she’d passed. Emma had mistakenly thought she’d meant her own impending death. Now she understood that Cristina had meant Adrian’s.

“You say that you blame Cristina,” Emma said slowly, “but you insisted on the drapes being closed in her suite, blocking her from a vision that she would have undoubtedly found upsetting to endure, day in and day out. You say she was negligent, but you were very careful about keeping her well cared for and shielded from the site of Adrian’s death.” He remained unmoving, his head lowered. “And you were there when Adrian died, too,” she whispered, a prickly feeling of dread rising in her. “Yet you built a house where you have no choice but to stare at the place where he died. You can never escape from it . . .” He straightened, his hands falling to his sides. She faded off when she saw that hard, glacial look enter his eyes. Once again, she’d dared to tread where she shouldn’t.

Where she had no right.

She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the sudden feeling of intense sadness. “I’m so sorry, Vanni,” she said sincerely. “To lose not only a brother, but a twin at that age.”

“My other half,” he said, as if to himself. A grim smile pulled at his lips. “My better half. Much better.”

“Do we have to discuss this now?” he asked after a moment. “I thought we were going to talk about your uncertainties. Do you want to be with me or not, Emma?”

This time, she didn’t stop herself from reaching up and touching his face.

“You know that I do.”

“Do I? I’m not so certain. You have no idea what I see in your eyes, do you? Right this second?” he said, his mouth twisting slightly. “You’re afraid of me.”

“No,” she said steadfastly. “If there is fear there, it’s for myself. I’m worried about what could happen to me, being with you. Don’t you think that’s natural?”

He looked like he’d just eaten something bitter. “I think it’s right that you should question it. Maybe it’s for the best,” he said, stepping back so that her hand fell from his jaw.

“I haven’t decided yet, Vanni,” Emma said starkly. He glanced up and she saw the surp

rise in his eyes, the flash of hope. The subsequent wariness.

“Give me some time to think about it, okay?” she asked more quietly. “I just want your word that if . . . if I agree—”

“I’ll keep you safe, Emma. I wouldn’t harm you. Ever. I only want to challenge you. I want to see you helpless with desire, just as helpless as you’re making me. I want to look into your face and see nothing but pure need.”

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