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Even though her back is to us, I can see the tension and nerves working their way to the surface. Cynthia awkwardly glances around, but Siân doesn’t seem to notice the change in her caregiver’s demeanor. I watch her closely because the last thing I need is for her to blow my cover and ruin everything I’ve been working toward with Siân. All this time, I refrained from questioning her about her life before now. One, I already know everything, and two, she needed to be comfortable enough to share on her own.
“You have a beautiful home,” I say, despite not giving a damn about the décor.
“Thanks,” she snips.
We enter the dining room, and Siân takes her place at the small table, patting the seat next to her for me. I settle in beside her, scooting close and rubbing Siân’s arm for appearance’s sake. Cynthia disappears into the kitchen and returns a bit later with a large bowl of spaghetti in one hand and a salad in the other. She sets them in the center of the table and returns to the kitchen for a basket of breadsticks and a frosty, cold bottle of wine.
“Here, allow me.” I hop to my feet, taking the cork from between her fingers and snagging the wine.
Cynthia flops into her seat, her gaze darting to Siân, whose attention is focused on me.
Once I get the cork out, I pour wine into a glass for each of us. Whiskey is more my speed, but when in Rome, right?
“Thank you,” Cynthia says in a near whisper and downs the drink before I can return to my seat. “Let’s eat, shall we?”
Siân wastes no time loading both of our plates with food, and I must admit, it all looks great. It’s been too long since I’ve had authentic Italian food. Every cockamamie place here is nothing but knock-offs.
“Do you make your sauce from scratch?” I question and use my spoon to stir a helping of pasta onto my fork.
“The noodles, too.”
“Perfect,” is all I let out before stuffing my face. “Mm,” I moan with a tilt of my head.
“Good, yeah?” Siân says with her mouth full.
“I haven’t had good pasta in forever,” I admit, this time out loud.
“Cynthia is the best cook. I swear she needs to open a restaurant.” Siân bites into a breadstick.
Cynthia smiles, her posture finally settling just a bit. She’s still on guard and I sense she’s trying not to alarm Siân. If she indeed remembers me, which I suspect she does, then she knows what I’m capable of. I may have been a boy when she knew me, but she’s well aware of my father and the way he raised me. It would be unwise to cause a scene when there is no one here to protect her.
“And as I keep telling you, my dear, it takes money to start a business.”
That and the fact that they’re living in this country under aliases, and if I had to guess, Cynthia never bothered with obtaining any kind of legitimate citizenship. She couldn’t have, not without alerting my father that Siân didn’t perish in that fire.
“I’ll invest if this is something you really want.” I spin another serving and devour it.
Cynthia stares at me, my proposal catching her off guard. “Th-thank you, but it’s unnecessary. I’m way too old to be trying to start a new career at my age.”
“Nonsense. There is no age limit to building a better future. You taught me that,” she interjects.
“I did?”
They laugh.
“So, Christian, is that an accent I hear? Where are you from?” Cynthia bounces her gaze between her plate and me.
She definitely remembers me.
“All over. I work for my father’s company and sometimes spend months, if not years, in one location. I guess I’ve picked up different accents over time.” I consume another bite.
Cynthia nods. “That’s nice.”
“Eh. It can be exhausting if I’m honest.”
“I imagine it could be. How did you meet my girl?”
Siân reaches for her wine. “Near campus. I was at the bar with Kyla, and he approached me.”
“Oh, so, you’re a student as well?”
I shake my head and swallow the food in my mouth. “No. I was new to town and just stopped by the first bar I came across.”
“And it just so happened to be the bar near the university?”
I press my back into the chair and narrow my eyes at her. “A beautiful coincidence, I’d say.”
“It is.” Cynthia’s tone is suggestive, and for the first time tonight, Siân seems to notice the tension in the air.
How could she not? The shit is so thick, you can cut it with a knife.
“I have something to tell you,” Siân cuts in. “We have something to tell you.” She places her small palm over the back of my hand.
Cynthia stops all movement, even down to breathing. Silent and pensive is how she waits for the announcement Siân is about to make.
