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He poured me a cup of coffee and I stirred cream and sugar in. We stood in silence by the bar for what felt like forever. Then I heard footsteps on the floor above us. Crisp, firm, like someone was striding with purpose.
They faded for a moment and then I heard them on the steps. The door pushed ajar and a tall man who looked a little like Duran strode inside and stopped short.
My stomach tightened.
Right away, he frightened me to my bones. I could tell they were brothers, they both had the same structure to their handsome faces. The same jawline, the same lowered brows,the same heavy, arched noses, the same thin, soft mouths. But the resemblance stopped there. He wore a charcoal gray suit and his dark hair was slicked back over his head. It was a few shades lighter than Duran’s.
Lucien’s eyes dragged over his brother and rested on me.
My heart pumped. It felt like all the heat had drained from the room. His eyes were a pale, hazel color and there was nothing in them. No matter how hard I stared into his gaze…it was just emptiness and ice.
Pure coldness.
A gust of barren wind over a winter shore.
“Lucien,” Duran said.
His brow twitched and he reached into his inner pocket and took out a cigarette. Was he going to smoke inside? No, he put it to his lips and let it hang there for a moment. Then he took it out and pointed at me, cigarette between two fingers.
“That’s the Scavo girl,” he said.
His voice was smooth and flat with a little bite. Like iced vodka.
“It is,” Duran agreed.
“Why the fuck do you have her?”
The words seemed like there should be an accompanying emotion or gesture to them, but Lucien’s face remained firmly in place. Like he’d been carved from stone.
Fuck that. He gave me the chills.
“Her father knows she’s with me,” Duran said, emptying his whiskey and setting it aside.
“So that’s why he called off the search,” Lucien said.
“I asked him not to tell anyone if he valued her,” Duran said.
Lucien’s jaw twitched and there was a long, long silence. Finally he released a heavy sigh and shifted his weight.
“She pregnant?”
Duran’s brows shot up. “No.”
“Alright,” said Lucien. “If she’s not pregnant, you can put her back where you found her.”
My jaw dropped, but Duran didn’t seem phased.
“No,” he said. “Please let me talk through this with you in private.”
Lucien released another short sigh. “Alright, we’ll talk after lunch. Olivia will be back soon and we’re eating in the dining room. The guest bedroom is made up for the girl.”
“Her name is Iris,” Duran said.
“Alright. The guest bedroom is made up for Iris,” he said, dipping his head. There was the tiniest bite of sarcasm through all the coldness.
“She’s staying with me,” Duran said.
Lucien shook his head and said something in French. Duran answered in the same, his words short and almost irritated. I thought I saw a flicker of exasperation and then he shrugged once.
