Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways #1)(67)

He walked me home in dignified silence. We both blew wispy condensation against the crisp air, like children.

I knew I should be terrified of opening up, giving him an exclusive glimpse into my brand of crazy. After all, newly thirty-two-year-olds weren’t supposed to celebrate their birthdays at a cemetery with men they hardly knew. Especially not men like Christian—who was hell bent on destroying what remained of my dysfunctional family.

When we reached my door, Christian ran his hand over my cheek. It was warm and rough. I hadn’t been with a man for over a year. Not since a Tinder date that had started with awkward sex and ended with the guy weeping on my shoulder about his ex, who wouldn’t take him back. Goose bumps prickled the back of my neck. I breathed Christian in. Exhaled my inhibitions out.

“Thanks for letting me be there for you today,” Christian said.

“Thanks for not running for the hills, screaming.” I brushed my shoulder over his, the way he had after our dinner date. Honestly, I forgot the last time someone other than Jillian had done something so sweet for me.

“You’re not as broken as you want me to think, Arya.” Christian smiled, and boy, could I get used to that smile.

“Am too.”

“Well, I’m worse,” he offered.

“Prove it,” I challenged. “Tell me what’s your brand of messed up.”

“Maybe. Later.” But it sounded so much like never I didn’t want to press him for more.

“Changed your mind about us yet?” His voice had a way of moving over my skin, like fingertips.

“Not in the least.”

“You will.”

“Don’t hold your breath.”

“Why not? I’m a great swimmer.”

And thus, Christian kissed the tip of my nose and strolled off into the night, taking a small chunk of my heart with him.



The next day, at work, the missing piece of my heart made my chest feel empty. I wanted to see Christian again, to ask for it back. Maybe it was because he’d come to the cemetery with me. Or maybe it was our kiss the night before. Perhaps Christian was just a distraction from the real disaster encroaching into my life. My father’s case was spiraling out of control. I’d given up on social media, newspapers, and news websites and declined all social invitations. I’d even gone so far as only communicating with my mother via text. Which, as it turned out, wasn’t a bulletproof plan.

“Hullo.” Whitley plopped on the edge of my desk, swishing her magnificent ash-blonde hair with a smile. “You have a visitor downstairs.”

“I do?” I perked up instantly, ashamed of how excited I was, then cleared my throat, rearranging myself in my seat.

Whitley’s smile broadened, coated with enough lip gloss to fill a bowl of slime. “Oh, honey, I think it’s wonderful that you’re reconnecting with her. Even if the reason for your new relationship is what happened with your father. Should I buzz her up?”

I blinked rapidly before the penny dropped. It took everything in me not to groan.

“No, I’ll go down to see her, thanks.”

“Arya! I’m so glad I got the address right. I thought your father mentioned something about you working on this street.” My mother tugged her white leather glove from each of her fingers before removing it completely. She was clad in one of her more iconic dresses from my childhood.

“Yes, Mother. I’ve been working here for four years, give or take. We have biannual parties for our clients on the roof. Conrad used to come.”

He used to help me clean up afterward too. My mother, however, tossed my invitations into the trash unfailingly.

She had the good sense to look embarrassed, smiling apologetically. “Arya, can we talk?”

With a head jerk toward the nearest coffee shop, I led the way. I allowed my mother to pay for our coffees, knowing she was going to make a fuss about it if I didn’t. When she sat down, she produced something from her Chanel bag.

“I got you a present for your birthday.”

“That’s a first,” I couldn’t help muttering, but I opened the thing anyway. The box was lovely. Blue velvet. I thought it’d be a bracelet or a diamond choker. My mother had a soft spot for fine jewelry. But when I swiped away the fine tissue paper, I found something completely unexpected. It was a framed picture of me and Aaron when we were babies. We were both on our bellies, staring at the camera, wide eyed.

I coughed to cover my emotions. “We looked so different from one another.”

My eyes were green, his dark brown. My hair was brown, his blond.

“Yes.” My mother wrapped her delicate fingers over her coffee cup. “I went through IVF treatments. When I fell pregnant, it was with triplets. But your father only wanted two children, and it was a high-risk pregnancy, so the doctors sided with him. You were supposed to have another sibling.”

My head flew up from my present, my eyes widening. “You never told me that.”

She shrugged. “You never asked.”

“What were you expecting? Hi, Mom, what’s for breakfast today? Oh, and by the way, did you ever have a selective reduction when you were pregnant with us? Yes, pancakes are fine.” But before she could answer, I frowned. “Wait, Conrad didn’t want any more kids?”

I had always thought it to be weird that my mother hadn’t fallen pregnant again in the years after losing Aaron.