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Of all the things I expected him to say,thatwas not one of them. “All this time.” My words felt like they came out in slow motion. “You knew who Sorina was? This wasn’t a random act to take a poor kid under your wing out of the goodness of your heart, was it?”
“No. But I did not know about her until recently. Irina never told me Sorina was hers. She led me to believe Adriana was her mother. At the time, they lived together. One day, I received a letter from Adriana explaining Sorina’s situation, along with a picture of her. By the time I received this information and flew to Bucharest, Adriana had passed, and new tenets lived in their building. I searched the city nonstop and didn’t know her whereabouts. It took months and several private investigators to finally find her.” He picked up a picture, this one of a young girl. Next to the older photos, it was obvious the resemblance between mother and daughter.
His lips twisted wryly. “When I found her, she tried to rob me blind.”
“I presume Sorina doesn’t know any of this.”
“No. I didn’t tell her. Couldn’t tell her.”
“Why?”
“Because she would hate me if she knew the truth.” His voice quivered. “I wanted to marry Irina long ago.” He dipped his head in shame. “I would have.” He picked up a faded photo of her mother. “I loved her so much, and I couldn’t save her.” He took another shaky breath. “It was an accident, and I couldn’t save her.”
I wasn’t here for Arty’s tale of redemption as heartbroken as he sounded. Love was a fucking myth for idiots who liked to set themselves up for failure. Even the infallible, philanthropic Arty had obviously taken a fall, and along with it, shown me his halo wasn’t always so shiny. However, I had another topic on my mind. “Is she yours?”Was she your daughter? A cloud of suffocation hovered over me, and the question that had been bubbling up my throat, finally came out.
“No. It couldn’t be. I couldn’t have children. Besides, Sorina was born before I met Irina.” He shook his head, and melancholy lingered in his eyes. “But I wish she were.” His words surprised me. I could see the anguish he carried, and I was irrationally jealous, whether because of the idea he loved Sorina more than me, or the question of the parameters of his love for her. Was he chasing shadow fantasies and blurring lines between mother and daughter? I wasn’t certain.
Something else pulsed against my nerves like a ridiculously unacceptable chant that suddenly decided to voice its opinion.She was mine. Christ, where did that thought come from?She was not mine.
“I am very fortunate for this opportunity to have her in my life, considering the past sins I’ve committed.” His hand shook as he raised his tumbler to his lips.
My eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”
Arty set the glass down calmly. “You will not say a word to her about this conversation,” he warned in fierce resolve.
“Don’t you think she should know?”
“Now is not the right time.” His fists clenched over the photos as if he were morphing back into a shrewd businessman.
“You have to tell her.”
“I will tell her, eventually.” He swiped a palm over his mouth. “But for now, never speak of this again.” Another warning. And the next words he said were even more unsettling. “Dmitri, do not ever forget your place with her. She is your sister.”
Dmitri
—Age 18
It was graduation, and Arty wanted to take Sorina and me out for dinner. It was a modern ranch-style stucco house with a tile roof settled in a remote area of the Hill country with five-star food and a well-known chef who was classically trained in French cuisine. One had to make reservations six months in advance to have the chance to dine here. Of course, Arty carried enough weight in the area to get whatever he wanted when he wanted it. We had our own private table set outside, surrounded by a manmade waterfall and lights strung all around, providing soft lighting in the vast Texas sky.
He required we dress formally, of course. I had on a black suit with a white shirt, sans the tie, because I hated them. If he’d made me wear a tux, I would’ve revolted. Sorina wore another designer dress that was turquoise and strapless with a mini tulle skirt. Probably another one of Arty’s gifts. He obviously loved seeing her in beautiful things. His own little doll. I inwardly cursed.
After that night of Arty’s drunken revelation and warning to me, he approached me the next morning and reiterated again to keep this information between us for Sorina’s own good. It was as if nothing had ever happened.
We were seated, and champagne glasses were filled with Dom Perignon. Since this was a special occasion, he allowed us to drink. He gave me a congratulatory toast, and glasses clinked together. “Sorina, you look beautiful, just like a princess.” Arty raised his glass to his lips. He doted on her ad nauseam, even buttering a piece of French bread for her.
She smiled demurely, and I fought rolling my eyes like a chick. Then she glanced at me. There was something vulnerable in her expression, as if she were silently seeking my approval as well; however, it disappeared in the blink of an eye. But it wasn’t long after she recovered her sass, when she caught me watching her as she picked off a minute piece of bread between her finger and thumb, raising an eyebrow at me. “Staring while someone eats is rude.”
I clamped my jaw in annoyance. “So is playing with your food.”
“I’m not playing with it. I’m taking small bites, like a lady.”
Her eating habits left a lot to be desired. “It’s a bite-size piece of bread. Just eat it already.”
She scowled at me and flashed her teeth as she finally took a bite.
“Why don’t we order appetizers?” Arty suggested as he watched us again with a sense of skepticism.
After ordering oysters on the half shell, escargot, and caviar, Arty asked, “Besides football, have you decided what you want to major in at Hillside?” Safe question.
