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“Ella, you nun,” she chastised me while shimmering out of her knee-length dress and tossing it at me. Cassie was taller than me. She was five feet, ten inches, without her platform heels she was always sporting.
I’m only five feet, four inches, and this dress looked longer on me, hugging in weird places. Cassie was supermodel skinny, and I had curves for days, an hourglass figure. So, my ass took up a huge portion of the dress.
Cassie studied me, her face going through a series of different expressions, from perplexed to absolute distaste. Cassie reached up in her hair, pulling out a pin and letting her brown, curly hair cascade down to her shoulders while she yanked me by the bodice to her. She clipped the pin between my breasts and studied me again.
After a minute, she clapped her hands and bounced up and down excitedly.
“Ooooh, I’m a fucking magician,” she preened, shoving my ass toward the mirror on the back of my bathroom door.
I had to admit that I did look a lot better than I could have managed.
With her smile wide, she grabbed her old-school Polaroid camera and squeezed me around the shoulders. Her grin was that of a devil. I looked at her, and her genuine happiness allowed me to smile for real as theclickblinded us.
The photo spat out from the bottom of the camera, and she blew on it while walking into my bathroom and fanning the little portrait until the image showed me and my sister clear as day. Happy, vibrant, and alive. A moment in time captured of true happiness shining in our matching blue-gray eyes.
* * *
I smoothed the dress out as best as I could as I walked into the incredibly white and quiet room. There was the weird abstract art I had pictured in my head. The scrawls looked like a child had done them, yet they were selling for millions.
I walked up to a strange painting of a girl in a corner, her back against a copied image of herself. The image made me feel scared and uneasy. It was black and grey with streaks of red strewn around it. The whole thing made me feel really uncomfortable. Cringing, I turned to leave and ran right into a suited gentleman, spilling what remained of my drink on him.
“Sorry,” I apologized awkwardly, wiping off his suit jacket. He stared at me, and when I realized I was wiping at absolutely nothing but my own shame, I dropped my hand.
He peeked at his suit jacket and smirked at me.
“Enjoying the view?” he drawled, his voice a husky rasp that made me shiver. He looked familiar, but I doubted I knew someone this good-looking.
“It’s interesting,” I said, looking over at the creepy canvas.
He chuckled, the sound rumbling and musical.
Where the fuck did I know this guy from?
“My favorite is definitely ‘The Streams of Red’ portrait. I rather enjoy the mixing of white and red,” he continued a curious glint in his eyes. “Sometimes black and red make the best combination.”
I raised my eyebrow, not understanding his joke about himself.
Whatever.
“Well…have a good night,” I said and started to turn away. He caught my arm, staring into my eyes with lustful promise. “You too. I’ll catch you later.”
Shivers ran down my spine as the gorgeous man walked out, his black curly hair giving a tip to a Middle Eastern heritage.
“Hey! You’re Carrie’s sister, right?” I blinked, pulling my gaze from the stranger and instead meeting the stare of Pedro Maltiez.
He was handsome as far as ruthless killers went. He had nice features, and he weirdly seemed nice, with warmness in his gaze. It could be a ruse.
“Hi, yes. I’m Ella Forest. Nice to meet you…Pedro?”
I had changed my last name to Forest just in case he had decided to do any digging. The last thing I needed was him snooping around and finding out I was actually a doctor of psychology for the Rochester Police Department.
“I’ve heard a lot about you. We have a lot of mutual interests,” he said, grabbing my arm and leading me to the back wall of artistry.
“Oh yeah? Like what?” I said, genuinely curious. Cassie had told me the basics of what she’d said to these guys, but I wouldn’t have guessed that what she’d said to him was remotely similar.
“We both have dramatic siblings, for one.” He laughed, and I joined him.
“Yeah, you could say that for sure. Carrie is a mess.” I’d agreed to use Cassie’s alias.
