Finding Perfect (Fool's Gold #3)(63)

He watched her cautiously. She was saying all the right things, but something was wrong. He felt it in his gut.

She led the way to the second floor. The master bedroom was in the back. He showed her the small bedroom that could be made part of the master suite, the hall bath that was huge and the excess of storage.

“It’s nice,” she said. “Lots of light and space. I really like the craftsman details.”

They went to the main floor. He told her everything he wanted to do in the kitchen. Then he led the way to the study.

“This room is great,” he told her. “I don’t usually like paneling, but the combination of wood and windows really works. There are plenty of bookshelves.”

He waited for her to walk in, but instead of looking at the room, she took a step to the side and tucked her hands behind her back.

“Pia?”

She seemed lost in thought. “You’re going through a real estate agent, right? Josh doesn’t own this house.”

“He recommended someone. His houses are all smaller. With three kids coming, I knew we’d need something bigger.”

She looked at him. “Did the agent say anything about the family who lived here before?”

“No.” His gut clenched. “Did you know them?”

She nodded. “My family owned this house.”

She’d lived here? Talk about being an idiot, he thought. “Why didn’t you say something? Why did you let me give you a tour?”

“I wanted to know what it would be like to be back in the house. I wanted to know…” She stared at the study. “My father committed suicide in there. I’m the one who found the body.”

PIA WAS PLEASED SHE could say the words without flinching. It was almost as if she were telling a story about someone else. Perhaps enough time had passed that the past didn’t have any power over her, although she had her doubts.

She turned her back on the study and walked into the living room. This space was safer, she thought. Fewer memories.

“I had the whole third floor to myself,” she told Raoul. “I slept in one room and had another set up with couches and a TV. My friends all came here because I had the cool parents who didn’t care what we did. We could stay up all night, talk on the phone, even steal liquor from the cabinet in my dad’s study. Whatever the hot thing was, I had it. Everyone envied me. They thought I was lucky.”

He didn’t speak, he just stood next to her, listening. She looked out the window because it was easier than seeing the pity in his eyes.

“It took me a while to figure out neither of them ever cared about me. I was just another way to show status. We only cared about how things looked, not how they were. I grew up selfish and mean. Having more clothes than I could ever wear didn’t make up for having parents who never loved me. I resented the other kids who were smarter, or had a great family.”

Involuntarily, she looked at him. Thankfully, there was no emotion in his expression.

“I was mean,” she said flatly. “I tormented everyone who wasn’t in my circle of friends. I made fun of them, spread rumors about them, told lies. And because of who my parents were, everyone believed me.” She tried to smile and failed. “You would have hated me.”

“I doubt that.”

“You would have. And I would have deserved it.” She was sure of it. “When I was sixteen, my father was charged with embezzling from his company. The news only got worse. He hadn’t paid taxes or bills. I don’t know where the money went. Maybe we spent it all. By the beginning of my senior year, it became clear that he was going to be charged with some serious crimes. Rather than face the felony charges, he put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger.”

Raoul reached out to her, but she stepped back. He couldn’t touch her—not now. If he did, she wouldn’t be able to get through the story.

“I heard the noise and came running. I burst into his study.” She paused, willing herself to say the words, but not actually remembering what it had been like. “It’s not the same as the movies. It’s not that clean. There was blood everywhere.”

She swallowed. “I called 9-1-1 and then I don’t remember very much. My mom left for Florida and I went into foster care. Everything was different. I didn’t have this house or half my things. And all those kids I’d tortured got their revenge. They made my life a living hell.”

She turned to look out the window again. “I don’t blame them. I deserved it.”

“What about your mom? Did you want to go with her?”

She nodded. “She wouldn’t let me. She said she needed time. There was no discussion about what I might need. She told me it was important for me to graduate with all my friends, and when I tried to tell her I didn’t have friends anymore she wouldn’t listen.”

She folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t know what happened to the house. If it was sold or repossessed or what. I finished school. My grades had never been better, probably because I didn’t have any distractions. I was voted off the cheerleading team, my boyfriend dumped me. I applied for a part-time job with the city, which is how I got involved with what I do now. My mother didn’t come back for my high school graduation and she made it clear I wouldn’t be welcome in Florida. I haven’t seen her since.”