Blossom in Winter (Blossom in Winter #1)(32)

She smiles broadly at me, interlocking our fingers. “It’s not your fault,” she reassures with a warm voice, but I can’t help feeling it is. “I’m the one who met him in his bedroom while you were distracted.”

“Alright, enough about bedrooms.” I leap out of my seat. “You deserve a mojito… Virgin mojito,” I tease.

She folds her arms across her chest. “Ha ha. Very funny, Mr. Van Dieren.”

I go to the bar area in my living room to prepare the promised cocktail. Meanwhile, Ms. Curiosity can’t stay still and decides to stroll around my entire apartment. The condo I’m renting is quite spacious, with a modern design, minimal furniture, and a big terrace for dinners outside. Just enough for my usual booty calls. Petra goes a bit further down the hallway, curious (as always) to explore. I can’t help but shake my head.

With her cocktail in hand, I find her inspecting a framed contemporary abstract oil painting on the wall. She doesn’t recognize the artist. I stand beside her, glance at the artwork, and say, “Your mom painted it.” She gasps in surprise. “Tess gave it to me when I became your godfather. You were maybe seven months old.” A smile settles on my lips recalling such memories, and I give her the mojito. “It was a real honor when Roy asked me to be your godfather.” But as I recall what I’ve done, I lower my gaze and my smile fades away.

I hear her swallowing hard.

After a silent minute, my eyes meet hers again. “I owe you an apology,” I declare. “I’m sorry to have been absent for so long, Petra.” I feel a deep pain in my chest simply at the thought of it. “Now that I’m back, I promise I’ll make up for it.”

She takes a sip, and her face beams with a cute little smile. “I must say, I couldn’t have dreamt of a better godfather,” she replies in a low, tender voice.

“Thank you,” I murmur.

Her grin gets wider. “The mojito tastes great, by the way.”

The corners of my mouth instantly curve up at her words. She opens her arms and gives me an unexpected hug. With her head resting on my shoulder, I stroke her long, wavy hair—I love the jasmine smell of it—and briefly close my eyes, treasuring this moment. It reminds me of the hugs she used to give me ten years ago. They always feel the same to me, profound and genuinely warm.

After she releases me, I reach down and give her small hand a kiss. Her lips spread apart as she observes mine touching her skin. But to my surprise, my kiss is slower, tender, and deeper than usual. It’s probably only a millisecond longer, and yet I felt the difference. “Well, it’s getting late,” I say, glancing at my watch. “It’s already one o’clock.”

“I see…” She looks around, probably trying to find a viable excuse to stay longer. “I’m hungry. Do you have something to eat?” And she trots toward the kitchen.

I shake my head in amusement. I know her so well. “I don’t eat much here. Maybe some toast and yogurt,” I reply.

“I can cook something for us.”

“Petra, yogurt or home, now.”

“Okay, fine. What kind of yogurt do you have?”

“I don’t know, but I think Maria brought some.”

“Maria? Your new girlfriend?”

“The maid, Petra.”

She opens the fridge. “Hmm, looks like Maria loves raspberry yogurt. You want one?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

Leaning against the doorframe, my arms folded across my chest, I let my eyes dwell on her for a moment. A hint of a smile plays on my lips. Petra can’t help but look exactly her age despite her heavy makeup, her black hair, her leather skirt, her choker necklace—all useless embellishments to my eye. She’s so beautiful without all this rubbish. Natural, angelic, pure… Why on earth would she put all that makeup on? Her skin is already spotless. I can’t help but chuckle: here she is, standing in my kitchen acting like a little girl, her eyes closed as she eats—or devours—a raspberry yogurt. “Mmmm...” I laugh, hearing her voice. Does she know how cute she is? “This is really good,” she says while I remain looking steadily at her, quite entertained. “Can I ask you something?”

But I blink at her question, straighten my posture, and clear my throat. “Sure.”

“Why did you disappear for ten years?”

My heart skips a beat. I didn’t see it coming. “Your dad told you. I moved back to Amsterdam for work.”

“But you didn’t even call…”

“Petra, you were seven,” I snap.

“So what? You think kids don’t have feelings? I considered you my best friend. I trusted you.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d even remember me afterward.”

“I don’t believe you.” Her voice comes out loaded with sorrow. “Why did you abandon me? Why didn't you ever call? Or ever attend any of my birthdays? I know you came to New York on many occasions. Why didn’t you ever want to see me? I… I missed you, for God’s sake!” Her pain is so palpable that it stabs my chest. She sighs heavily, crossing her arms, and turns her face away.

“Petra.” I move in her direction, trying to reach for her, but she takes a step back. Nevertheless, I pinch her chin and keep it up, forcing her gaze to meet mine again. “First, I missed you just as much, if not more. And second, ask your dad—he’ll tell you why. But believe me, it was in your best interest.” I find myself a bit lost in the infinite blue of her eyes; they look like two big, bright sapphires staring back at a flawed human… Okay, enough. I break eye contact, checking my watch. “Time to go, Ms. Van Gatt.”