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I made the mistake of sending him, instead of Silas or Liam to collect a shipment. I thought he was ready for more responsibilities but, again, proving how much of a hot head he really was, he shot the driver because he asked for Silas instead.
It was stupid and my supplier was pissed, rightfully so, but he knew a war with me would lead to much more causalities, his side more than mine.
And so, he decided our business ended there. A lifetime partnership destroyed because my brother never learned to reel in his anger. He always acted without thinking and if he wasn’t careful, I would have to bury him before I died.
“So?” Liam asked, “Are you going to let him?”
“Yes. It should keep him busy and out of my fucking way,” I said, before relinquishing my attention to the documents scattered on my desk.
Chapter Thirteen
MIA
Iheard a knock on the door of my “woman cave”- I didn’t know what else to call it.
It was the room my husband so generously had redecorated for me to complete my crafts and anything else I fancied.
And if it couldn’t get any more perfect, there was a view of the garden. It was slowly becoming my favorite space in our home as I sought to reclaim who I was before Ilya happened.
I cleared my throat, calling for the person to come in. Immediately, the door swung open and in walked a slender girl with wavy, black hair.
Every feature of hers was similar to that of my husband, except for his smoldering dark eyes. Instead, hers were green.
She must be his sister. Elias told me they were visiting but I thought he would call when it was time to greet them. Apparently not.
“I’m Elizabeth,” the girl said as she held out her hand.
My hands were messy since my prior activities consisted of trying to create a bowl made of clay. It was a disaster, one that was quickly frustrating me.
I wiped my hands on my apron but that did little to get rid of the raw material.
Elizabeth still shook my hand, not minding the residue that transferred to her hands.
“Sorry about that,” I said.
She shrugged her shoulders, “No worries.”
She began to walk around the room which had a plethora of canvasses, yarn, anything that I thought would be worth trying.
“My brother didn’t tell me you liked… art,” she said, unsure of how to explain the room that was not dedicated to a sole theme.
I lightly chuckled, “Uh…I don’t know if I like it right now.”
My head briefly turned to the pottery wheel, frustration still lining my features. His sister laughed, looking as I feuded with the wheel.
“Here, let me help,” she said grabbing another apron that was hung on the wall, before sitting at the wheel, “What are you trying to make?”
“A bowl,” I said, shyly because the clay told another story with its peculiar shape.
That caused Elizabeth to belch another boisterous laugh which made me cackle a bit too; her laughter was contagious.
She began to use her fingers to mold what I failed to do, and the results already seemed promising.
“Where did you learn to do that? I tried watching videos on my phone and it came nothing close to that,” I said, pulling a chair to sit next to her, hoping to learn from her as well.
“I’m an art major so I did a bit of pottery at university. I only came here to visit since my father wanted to see my brother after his marriage to you.”
“Oh. How long are you staying? I really need help with that,” I sneered at the wheel like it was my worst enemy.
