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I’m calm in the face of my sister's rage. I have to be. "Jovich and Dimitri are working on putting everything in order. Obviously, I'm not going to stand for any of this. Whoever was stupid enough to cross our father will pay for it."
"I can't believe this." She lets her face fall into her hands like the weight of these thoughts is too much to keep her head straight. "I thought... I thought he was untouchable."
I stay quiet in spite of the many things I could say. I don't want to hurt her any more than necessary. I've spent my entire life trying to keep her safe and the last few years trying to keep her innocent. I have no intention of seeing that hard work undone.
"Our flight leaves at eight. You’ll want to get some sleep. It's not a short trip."
"You're having his funeral in Costa Rica?" Claire ventures, looking to Rhea for confirmation.
"That's where our whole family is buried." Rhea sighs with a roll of her eyes. "We never spent time together while we were alive. I guess they think that there may be some redemption in death."
"There is no redemption for the Boudreaux's." I finish my beer and look at them levelly. I see my sister scowl and wonder if I should be a little less cynical, but I’m not going to candy-coat poison in order to convince my sister to eat it.
"Now is not the time to lament all of your grievances with our family," Rhea warns with one hand up. "We should be... celebrating his life."
"Rhea," I laugh. "That's nothing to celebrate."
Claire considers my words a moment before speaking. "Life is always cause for celebration.” She says, nodding shortly like she’s trying to convince herself of that. “And death means that there was life, so I’m with Rhea. I say we celebrate."
Of course, she’s with Rhea. She clearly doesn't realize the implications of being involved with my family. But then that’s just proof that I've done a great job sheltering my sister from all the sordid details of what it means to be a Boudreaux. Claire is apparently like the human version of a Labrador retriever— blindly loyal.
But is it genuine?
I turn and grab another round of beers. "All right.” I concede, deciding that if I go full tilt on telling my sister how evil our father truly was, I may just send her running from me. That’s the last thing I want. “What are we celebrating?"
"How about you put some clothes on and meet us in the theater room?" Rhea suggests.
I smirk when Claire's eyes fall on me, still dressed in only my boxers. She turns a soft shade of pink and abruptly looks away. Her tongue darts out over her lips before she chases it away with a sip of her beer. She’s flustered, and it’s really fucking cute. Women don’t often get flustered in my presence. They’re either so terrified of me that they run away or come straight for me without hesitation.
"Do I make you uncomfortable?" I venture, letting the teasing edge coat my words.
"No." She says quickly, forcing her gaze to meet mine. "I'm fine."
Another long pull on her beer tells me otherwise.
The smirk finds its way back to my face. As I walk past her, I can practically feel the heat radiating off her. I like that.
We just met and already I have such power over her.
I like having power over people, as long as it’s the right kind of power. I want power, I want respect, and I want people to fear me. I don’t want that mix to all come from one person. People who respect you shouldn’t fear you, but people who fear you should respect you.
Claire doesn’t need to fear me unless she’s hiding something.
As I walk into my room, it strikes me that something is amiss. I glance around but find nothing out of place.
I’m alone in my room, but the curtains billow inward with the night breeze. I left the balcony door open in my haste to interrogate Claire. Her shoes and dress still lay on the floor, and I can't help the stab of disappointment that I missed seeing her all done up before she started to undress. Not that I’d trade it for seeing her in that lingerie.
Does she always wear such sexy underwear, or was she planning to bring someone back to my room?
The thought makes my blood run hot, but I’m not sure if it’s just my bed that I’m suddenly feeling territorial over.
I shake my head as if that will drive the sinful thoughts of her out of my mind and cross to the balcony, looking down at the woods that separate my childhood home from the rest of town. Everything is calm and quiet. The other side of the house— where Rhea's room is— faces the ocean, which is never still. Perhaps that accounts a little for our personalities. I, too, am still on the surface, a picture of quiet strength and solidarity. But deep within, there are many little surprises… most of which are less than pleasant. Rhea, on the other hand, is wild on the surface. She crashes and dances and screams like the waves breaking on the shore, but she’s gentle and serene under it all.
I was pulled under the ocean’s surface once. It was actually quite a peaceful place to be. Not a single part of me had any desire to fight to get back above the water. It was Rhea who had pulled me out, though, dragging me back to the shore. She saved me once, and even though I hadn’t wanted to be saved, I decided that day that I would spend the rest of my life doing the same for her. Saving her over and over again, protecting her. Nobody else is going to do it. Nobody else can.
The shrill ringing of my phone cuts through the distant sound of crashing waves, pulling me back to reality. I glance at the caller ID.
Unlisted.
