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I dressed in thigh-high boots, a minidress that showcased my baby bump, and a black fur coat. My hair was in long, loose curls and my makeup in my signature winged eyeliner and red lipstick. One of the things I enjoyed the most about pregnancy was how my body changed to create new life. Women were magical beings and nobody could convince me otherwise. I felt more grounded in my life than ever and with every passing week, I continued to grow and evolve into the best version of myself. I loved it.
Late afternoon, I knocked on the guestroom door in the west wing. Dacia was staying over for the weekend. Yves and Céline considered her like their surrogate daughter and often invited her over.
My ice princess of a sister slowly thawed under their ministrations and it was wonderful to see her trusting others besides myself.
I twisted open the door when I didn’t hear a reply.
There was a stillness inside the room and Dacia was nowhere to be found.
The French doors leading to the balcony were ajar; I walked towards the billowing white curtains. My sister’s silhouette was carved behind the thin fabric.
“Hey,” I murmured, stepping onto the balcony.
Dacia leaned against the limestone balustrade, a lost look in her eyes.
She snapped out of her daze when I called out to her again. Surprised, she drew in a surge of breath. “Hey.”
“I was wondering if you’d like to come to the Halloween festival with us. Ella and Cade will join us too.”
Dacia smiled wryly and tucked a wayward blond strand behind her pierced ear. “And act as a fifth wheel? No, thank you.”
“What are you doing here?” The gardens were lovely, but Dacia’s previous pensive state was a clear indication that she hadn’t been admiring the sight.
“Just thinking.”
I chin-nodded at the gold-encrusted knife in her hand. She clutched it in a death grip. “Where did you get that?”
Dacia chewed her lip, debating.
I hiked a brow inquisitively.
“This belonged to Romero,” Dacia finally said and frowned down at the blade like she forgot she held it in the first place.
Romero St. Clair breezed into the city one day and disappeared one night without a trace.
In his short stay, he seemed to have left his mark on my sister.
Dacia’s cryptic words from months ago never escaped my mind. So much so that I asked Zeno about his childhood best friend. But my husband had no clue about his whereabouts.
Romero could not be found because he did notwishto be found.
Even after months, Dacia remained tight-lipped on the subject of the notorious drug lord.
A wind sailed forth and whipped Dacia’s blond strands behind her shoulders. She closed her eyes. I wondered if that was how Romero’s presence felt to her—strong and intangible, like the Zephyrus wind.
My sister wasn’t a romantic at heart. She claimed to be unable to fall in love, yet she was so prominently affected by this man.
“Do you miss him?” I asked since she held his blade the way a toddler did their favourite plushie.
Did he remind you what it’s like tofeelagain, Dacia?
“No. This isn’t of any sentimental value.” Dacia gripped the blade until her knuckles whitened. “It’s simply a reminder.”
“Of what?”
The smile on her face was suffused with coldness. “Toneverlower my guard again.”
“What brings you here today?”
