Our eldest sister looked uncomfortable but allowed herself to be maneuvered by Cosima so that we lay in a row with Cosima at our center, connecting us but tactfully giving us the space we needed with each other.
“We were talking about men.”
“Ah.”
“Giselle had a little fling in Mexico.”
“Really?” Elena’s brows almost touched her hairline. “That doesn’t seem like you.”
Anger rushed through me like a brush fire before I settled it with a deep, careful, breath. “It isn’t but I’m glad I went through with it. I want to be more bold.”
“There’s a thin line between bold and reckless,” Elena said in her schoolmarm voice, the same tone I had heard countless times as a child and the same tone I still heard every time I faced a potentially thrilling situation, always cautioning me to stay safe.
“Oh come on, Lena, it’s only a harmless fling.” Cosima winked one of her golden eyes at me. “And besides, you of all people can’t blame a girl for falling for a pretty face.”
“True.”
“Daniel was a model for a few years.” Cosima laughed at the expression of prudish disapproval on our sister’s face. “That’s how we met.”
I remembered Sinclair’s terse expression when he brought up his own short lived modeling career and even though I didn’t know his foster parents, a flare of hatred burned up my throat. I was grateful to Mama for not pressuring Cosima into the profession but that didn’t mean my little sister didn’t carry invisible scars on her pretty gold skin.
“Wait till you meet him, over the last few years he’s become even more stern.” Cosima made a face, comically constipated looking, before dissolving into laughter. “If Elena didn’t make him have Bran cereal every morning, I’d think he was having serious issues.”
I laughed, scooting from the bed as I did so. I indicated pouring some wine and moved towards the door when I got their nods of approval. It was a rare conversation amongst our family that didn’t include a bottle of wine.
“Very funny.” Elena smiled indulgently at our favorite sibling. “I should get out there, he’ll be here soon.”
“Where was he this time?” Cosima asked, idly running a hand through Elena’s short, elegantly curled tresses.
“Mexico,” she said as I closed the door behind me and made my winding way back into the large kitchen at the front of the house.
It was an open space punctuated with a large wooden island over which Mama’s prize copper pots and pans resided on a sort of rustic trellis. The cabinets were an unfinished birch and the gleaming countertops were cool under my questing fingers as I sought out the clay pitcher of red wine Mama kept filled at all times.
I smiled at the sounds of laughter from the main room and for the first time that night, I relaxed enough to stop worrying about Sinclair. The decision to leave him without a word would plague me for the rest of my life, I knew, but at least for this first month in a new city, surrounded by my loving family, I would have plenty of opportunities to take my mind off of it.
I was pouring out three glasses of wine when I felt the prickle of awareness race up my spine. There was the soft fall of shoes crossing the wooden floors and then the heat of another body pressed close to my back. Somehow, though I didn’t know how it could be possible, when I turned around to face the stranger it was my Frenchman.
“What are you doing here?” he snapped, his eyes blazing.
He looked at ease in the space. His crisp shirt was still pristine and tucked into his charcoal grey pants but it was open at his throat to reveal a deep slice of brown skin, the cuffs were rolled hastily over his forearms and his jacket hung across his shoulder casually as if he had just taken it off to relax. Even though I had just seen him this morning, the sight of him in my Mama’s kitchen threw into stark relief just how absurdly good looking he was.
“Well?” he growled when I didn’t immediately answer.
I couldn’t believe that he was here. My mind spun wildly, trying to confirm his presence. It seemed more probable that I was imagining him. I had the strongest urge to reach out and run my fingers through his glossy red brown hair.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered, afraid he would disappear.
Confusion crossed his face but something like horror came over his features and he croaked, “Elle… Giselle Moore.”
I opened my mouth but no noise would come out, probably because my thoughts kept running into themselves and collapsing. I cleared my throat, about to ask something when Elena came in from the hall, obviously looking for him. “Oh good, you’re here.”
She walked briskly over to him and planted a perfunctory kiss on his cheek. He was still staring at me, a stunned expression on his arresting features. And as Elena tucked herself into his side, I finally understood why.
“Giselle, this is my partner Daniel Sinclair.” Her voice was cool, carefully devoid of the Italian accent the rest of the family still maintained.
A loud sound thrummed through my ears, a crackling, creaking and thunderous noise akin to a burning building falling in on itself. I hadn’t known that heartbreak was audible but – I swallowed hard against the rise of sobs in my throat – I discovered that, apparently, it was. I didn’t have time to fully absorb the behemoth emotion because Elena was staring at me as if I had grown three heads.
An awkward moment ensued where we all stared at each other but finally, my face flaming with embarrassment, I stepped forward with my hand extended.