The Secret (The Evolution Of Sin Book 2) Read online

  “No,” I murmured, because even though I wanted to be alone, I knew Cosima would be upset if I spent my first night home without her. “I’ll go.”

  Mama nodded and pressed a kiss to each cheek. “You will feel better in the morning. Come by the restaurant when you have a minute, si?”

  My acceptance turned into a squeak as Sebastian lifted me easily in his arms and squeezed me tight.

  “I’m glad you are finally home, Gigi.”

  Tears pricked the back of my eyes so I buried my face in his neck and clung to him hard before he let me down. He smiled down at me with those large amber eyes but I could tell it was just a mask so that I wouldn’t pull away from his searching gaze. He wanted to know what was wrong and it went against his nature not to question me further. The only reason he was letting me go at all was because he believed Cosima would press me for answers.

  I said goodbye to the rest of the party, claiming jet lag as the cause for my early departure, and left with my sister. We were quiet in the cab and Cosima’s uncharacteristic silence made my distress all the more acute. Apart of me wanted her to hit me so hard with questions that I cracked open and spilled all my secrets. It would feel so good to come clean, confess about the mess my life had become, but I knew that it would be selfish to indulge myself. Elena was our sister and expecting Cosima to keep my secret was asking her to pick sides.

  Besides, I was more than a little afraid she wouldn’t be on mine.

  She watched me as we entered the tall, elegant building near Central Park West. I took in the sweeping lobby with caramel colored marble floors and the older man with brilliant white hair manning the desk. It was a soothing, sophisticated place that didn’t seem to suit my sister but I realized that the last time I had really spent any quality time with her was back in Italy at our small house on a wild plot of salty land in Napoli. She was a model now and a successful one at that.

  We traveled up to the eighth floor and I knew she had made a deliberate choice to live on this level, as it was her lucky number. For some reason, I held my breath while she opened the large door at the end of a short hall. I was worried that her apartment would be much like the building, aesthetically pleasing but impersonal, glossed over with glamour instead of warm with personality. The idea that I might not know my sister like I had always assumed made my skin prickle.

  I let out a sigh of relief as soon as I stepped inside. Large black bookcases stuffed with novels sectioned off a small office behind the living room where twin chocolate brown leather chairs and a mahogany sofa bracketed a large fireplace. The walls were painted a deep warm red and the dark wood floors extended all the way back into the kitchen where I could see glass fronted cabinets and a dedicated shelf overflowing with herbs. It was so true to the Cosima I knew, brilliant and warm and secretly introverted, that the sight of it instantly settled my stomach.

  “You like it.” She grinned at me and slipped off her ridiculously tall heels, putting them in the mirrored closet beside the door.

  “I love it,” I agreed.

  “I bought it three months ago and I’ve been slowly trying to make it my own,” she admitted. “I had to flirt shamelessly with the building committee in order to paint the walls – they were beige.” She made a face, prompting me to laugh. “But I think it’s coming along nicely.”

  She took my purse and jacket from me, hanging it up amid the myriad of designer items in the closet before taking my large suitcase in hand.

  “Hades is around here somewhere,” she said over her shoulder as she led me through the apartment to the hallway where my bedroom would be. “He can be little hostile with strangers.”

  Hades was her black cat, a feline with more attitude, even, than his mistress.

  “Oh, Cosi,” I gasped when I saw the room that would be my own. Blues and lavenders dominated the scene, inspired by the massive painting over the white wrought iron bed. It was one of my own pieces, one that I had sent to her after my first gallery showing. Tears brimmed over my lashes, my emotions unable to take another hit, no matter how slight.

  “I decorated with you in mind. I know you want to find your own place but I want you to feel at home here and if you want to stay, well,” she shrugged, “that would be fine too.”

  I laughed weakly and hugged her. “Sei carinissima.”

  “I’m not sweet at all. I just love you.”

  There was no just about it so I squished her harder.

  “And when you are ready to tell me what happened with you and Elena, I hope you’ll come to me. No matter what, I’m yours, I’m here for you,” she whispered, stroking a hand down my hair.

  I only nodded as the tears came freely, dripping soundlessly down my face.

  Chapter Three.

  I had made a list on the plane. A list of things I had to accomplish my first week in the city. But at eleven o’clock on my first day in New York City, I sat at Cosima’s kitchen counter staring blankly at the paper, my eyes stuck on the first item lining the top; contact Elena’s boyfriend about DS Galleries.

  Cosima had left at the crack of dawn for a photo shoot in Central Park, her beautiful face bare of make up but glowing even at four thirty in the morning. I had shuffled out of my room on two hours of restless sleep and pressed a kiss to her cheek. At the time, I was happy to have the morning to myself but now as the afternoon crept closer, I found myself still paralyzed in my chair.

  I tried telling myself a million different things. That I couldn’t love a man I had only known for a week, that it didn’t matter because I couldn’t love him enough to hurt my sister, that even that didn’t matter because he didn’t feel the same way about me and how awkward would it be at family dinners knowing that he had done things to me and I to him that I had never dreamed about before meeting him.

  I tried to luxuriate in the love I felt for my sister but the material felt rough, abrasive against my skin. Elena and I hadn’t been close in a long time and I wasn’t sure if that should alleviate my guilt or deepen it.

  But it didn’t matter, and honestly, I knew no rationale would make the problem go away nor my overactive feelings about it or him. I was stuck, well and truly stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  I was just about to drag myself out of the apartment to walk aimlessly around New York, hoping to absorb my new hometown, when the landline trilled. I hesitated for a second before answering and immediately regretted it.

  “Giselle Moore? This is Margot Silver.” I recognized her professional disdain immediately – Sinclair’s personal assistant was hard to forget. “I’m calling on behalf of DS Galleries. We would like to set up an appointment for you to meet with our curator Beatrice Rossi at your earliest convenience.”

  I swallowed loudly before answering, was she going to pretend she didn’t know who I was? “My schedule is relatively open as I’ve just moved to the city. I can be available whenever is convenient for Mrs. Rossi.”

  “Very well.” Her tone had warmed fractionally. “She has a cancelation tomorrow at one o’clock. If you’ll come to the gallery, she will see you then. Oh, and you may want to think about investing in a cell phone and joining the modern age so that it is easier to get in touch with you.”

  My hand was slightly unsteady as I replaced the old fashioned phone back on its cradle. I let out a whooshing breath and dragged my hands through my hair. Sinclair had kept his promise to Elena to introduce me to the New York City art world, but he wouldn’t be doing it himself, that much was sure. It was for the best, of course, but my heart still panged pitifully in my chest as I stalked into the bathroom to shower before lunch with my family.

  The streets of New York are not at all like the streets of Paris. The French city is the most visited in the world and yet even at the height of tourist season in the summer, it does not feel half so crowded as New York City on any given day. I thrilled to the bustle as soon as I descended from Cosima’s quiet apartment. My senses tingled as they were assaulted with every smell from bagels to smok
e and choking exhaust and my eyes flitted across hundreds of beautiful varied faces. My dilemma was momentarily trivial in comparison to the hugeness of New York and I allowed myself to bask in humanity.

  Unfortunately, as soon as I reached Osteria Lombardi in Soho, my good mood gave way to anxiety. I had been inside my mother’s restaurant only once before, when Cosima had flown me in for the big opening party. So, it felt strange to stand in front of the brick façade, staring at the family name I had forsaken scrawled elegantly across the massive glass window beside the red painted door.

  I wrung my hands together as I realized the truth of my situation. A childhood of poverty and frequent, violent, visits from the mafia had adhered my siblings, Mama and I together like paint on canvas but after I left Italy five years ago I had purposely kept my emotional distance from them. I had needed the space to recover from Christopher.

  Now, I was paying the price. I had no idea what was going on with my siblings and worse, I hadn’t even known Elena’s God damn boyfriend.

  I dragged a deep handful of city air into my lungs and opened the door.

  Soft Italian opera floated on the fragrant air and the murmur of late lunch diners lent the rustic, elegant interior a homey feel. The exposed brick walls were lined with shelves full of Italian wines and the wood beamed ceiling perfectly matched the dark chocolate stain of the table and chairs.

  Loud throaty laughter drew my attention to the back of the long rectangular room to the table where the Lombardi family sat.

  “Giselle,” the twins and Mama called out at the same time, their musical voices chiming.

  Mama got up to wrap me in her sweet dough scented arms and I felt myself relaxing a bit. It had been a long time since my mother held me.

  “I order for you,” she said as I settled beside my brother.

  He quickly placed a kiss on my hand in greeting. I watched him check the screen of his buzzing phone and smile roguishly.

  Mama swatted at him with a fierce frown. “You know the rules, patatino. Phone down.”

  Seb chuckled but his phone disappeared with a cool slight of hand. “I’m a grown man, Mama, I think we can stop with the nickname.”

  I cocked my head playfully and squinted at him. “I don’t know, you do kind of look like a potato.”

  He bristled because his beauty wasn’t something he took for granted but he surprised me by saying, “That is Mr. Potato Head to you. Who do you think they modeled those suckers off of?”

  Elena remained absent as the food was brought out and we all tucked into Mama’s delicious meal but I decided not to remark on it. Instead, I teased Cosima about the make up she still wore from her animal print themed shoot in Central Park and Sebastian told me about the development of a film he was intent on directing and starring in. After three glasses of wine and a heaping plate of Mama’s pillow soft ricotta gnocchi, I felt as if I had never left the family table.

  “Where is she?” I asked because my tongue was loosened from the Chianti.

  They didn’t have to ask whom I was speaking about.

  “Appointment with the adoption firm.”

  I looked sharply at Sebastian. How had I forgotten that Elena wanted to adopt? My stomach flipped and I placed a hand over my mouth, certain I might be sick.

  “How far along are they?”

  I could feel Cosima’s careful gaze as Seb answered. “Early days. They’ve been approved but no matches yet.”

  “No wedding?”

  Cosima had mentioned over the phone that Sinclair didn’t believe in marriage but perversely, I wanted to hear them talk about him.

  “He is a handsome man but the family idea is,” Mama pursed her lips as she fought to translate her words into English, “broken. Marriage for him is a cage.”

  “And a baby isn’t?” My voice was remarkably calm even though my heart thudded loudly inside my ribcage. Any sister would ask questions about the boyfriend so I didn’t think I was being too conspicuous.

  Mama shrugged. “They do it differently in America.”

  “He’s French,” I automatically corrected her.

  My nails dug into the skin above my knees as punishment for my stupidity.

  “I know what you mean though,” Cosima said. Her golden stare made sweat fizzle under my skin. “Honestly, I think that he wants a baby to please Elena. He would do anything to make her happy.”

  I was careful to school my features into a pleasant but unconcerned expression and gave a noncommittal, “Mmm.”

  “I’m not a fan.”

  “Sebastian!” Mama scolded him, slapping the back of his hand even as her wide mouth smiled.

  He winced and rubbed his hand dramatically but I wondered if he wasn’t delighted with her. Cosima and he had been without parents for so long that I thought it would either be irritating or incredible to have a mother, especially such an involved one like Mama, in their lives again.

  “What? I don’t. He does not know how to properly love a woman. If he did, Elena would be a much happier woman, no?”

  “Have you ever thought that might be Elena’s problem and not his?” I asked before I could help myself. When everyone’s eyes swiveled to me, I swallowed harshly. “I mean, you can’t rely on other people for your own happiness.”

  I really needed to try to remember that. I’d been walking around like my former self, the pre-Sinclair Giselle who smiled only timidly and still felt like a scrawny, unappealing youngster. Just because I couldn’t have him didn’t mean that I had to revert to that. I had fallen in love with two people that week in Mexico, Sinclair and the new version of myself, one that I was genuinely proud of.

  I sighed into the contemplative silence at the same time that Cosima did and we both smiled at each other.

  “I’ve known him for years, you forget that I introduced him to Elena and I wouldn’t have done that unless I had faith in his character,” Cosima said as she glared at her male equivalent but he only shrugged casually, throwing a wink my way when it only made Cosima more irritated.

  “Me? I like him. He is very cold. I can say this? No hugs for him, you understand?” Mama tried to explain even as she stroked my hair, twirling it around her fingers and draping it against her palm. She had always loved my red hair and I knew she was happy I had stopped dying it black.

  I thought about the Sinclair I knew and tried not to take away too much hope that the warmth I had experienced with him was a one off, reserved not even for his girlfriend but just for me, his week-long mistress, his holiday affair. He had wanted me to love him, making love to me until the wealth of my affection for him was all I felt, all I could articulate. Why had he done it?

  I couldn’t decide now who the villain was. Me, for pursuing him, for allowing myself to love another woman’s partner, or him, the gorgeous devil who had so thoroughly, so easily, seduced the simple European girl on the way to a fresh start?

  “I’m late,” Elena announced by way of apology, as she slid into the vacant chair at our table. The rich material of her cashmere coat whispered as she swung it off her delicate shoulders and around the back of the chair. In a high necked lace blouse and stove pipe black pants she looked like an Italianate Audrey Hepburn.

  “Yes, and I don’t believe I forgive you,” Cosima warned.

  A reluctant grin tapped Elena in the cheek as she immediately moved forward to place warm kisses on her youngest sister’s cheeks.

  “Better.”

  This time she actually laughed, a sound I was pretty sure I hadn’t heard before.

  “You are such a dork.” She shook her head and reached over to take Mama’s hand in hers. “Seb, how are you and flavor-of-the-week?”

  He snorted but didn’t take offense. “How did you know her name is Flavor?”

  “Easily, all your bimbos clearly had unintelligent parents. That kind of stupid is genetic.”

  “Just because they aren’t rocket scientists doesn’t mean they aren’t highly imaginative in… other areas.”

&nbs
p; “Slut.”

  “Prude.”

  “Ragazzi!” Mama scolded tiredly. “Enough. I must go to the kitchen and help men there. You sit, Elena, and eat, si?”

  “Si, Mama,” we chorused.

  “What happened to Savannah?” Cosima asked as she topped off our glasses of rich red wine.

  Sebastian’s reaction was immediate. His thick straight brows crashed down over his molten eyes like boots stomping out a fire.

  “Nothing.”

  “Who is Savannah?” I batted my eyelashes at my brother. “Your lover?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Oh, someone is touchy.” Elena frowned at her nails, smoothing down a slightly ragged cuticle on her otherwise delicate and perfectly manicured hands. “And I don’t see why. Savannah Richardson is one of the most well-respected women in the city, Sebastian, hardly a dirty little secret.”

  He bared his teeth and – I almost couldn’t believe it – growled.

  “Oh right,” Elena continued smoothly. “She is recently married, isn’t she? To some hot shot Hollywood producer.”

  “Elena,” Cosima warned softly, her shoulder pressed hard into Sebastian’s side in an effort to stabilize him.

  “Fine, I’ll just say, it’s probably for the best. She should be with someone her own age. Tell me, what is it like to have sex with someone the same age as Mama?”

  “Elena,” Cosima snapped this time but it was too late.

  Sebastian was out of his chair, looming over the table so that he was right in Elena’s calm face.

  “I think you’ve proved to all of us as that age doesn’t equal maturity.” He ripped the leather jacket from the back of his chair and took a moment to stare at her, his features softening slightly. “And you would not be nearly as cruel, if you understood love yourself.”

  “Sebastian,” I called after him as he stormed away from the table, the consummate actor, exquisitely dramatic.

  “What is wrong with you?” Cosima asked, somehow keeping her irritation firmly under control. I was surprised, to say the least. The teenage girl I had lived with five years ago was not capable of such self-restraint.