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“Way to set an example for your children, hon.”
“Did he?” he asks me.
“It was the other way around, and I’m mad at Nikolai for that.”
“Well, didn’t Lan beat up Kill once?” Mum asks.
“That’s my boy.” Dad nods in approval and Mum rolls her eyes.
“Still, he shouldn’t have done it. I begged him not to and he didn’t seem to care.” I release a long sigh. “Anyway, I’m going to be fine.”
“It’s okay if you aren’t.” Dad slaps me affectionately on the back.
Mum hugs me and kisses the top of my head. Her smell and warmth engulf me as she whispers, “I’m proud of you, hon. I love you just the way you are.”
I wrap my arm around her even as I think.
I wish you didn’t.
Now that this admission is out in the open. I know it’s only a matter of time before the rest bulldozes through my weakened defenses.
And when that happens, I doubt I’ll be able to hug her again.
* * *
The following morning,after I come back from my run, I shower and go to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for my parents.
It’s the least I can do after the love and understanding they showered me with last night. They’re the reason I’ve been hanging on to that thread of hope for years. If they weren’t in my life…I don’t even want to think about it.
Even though Mum is on a deadline, we sure as hell went to the home cinema and watched my favoritePoirotepisode, “The Murder of Roger Ackroyd”.
Dad dozed off halfway through and Mum talked me into painting his face—something we always used to do whenever he fell asleep around us. The four of us. Dad had no chance of winning with four chaotic artists in the family.
Though only Glyn takes after Mum in being a chaotic creative. Lan and I are too consumed with perfection. Too methodical. Too…focused.
I’d actually never thought about that. Lan is a sculptor and I’m a painter, but we share the same creative energy.
Guess we’ve always had similar traits, no matter how much I’ve tried to ignore it.
Anyway, breakfast.
Dad will be up soon and Mum spent an all-nighter in the studio. I know how important this exhibition is for her. She’s been working for two years on her next big thing and I want to be there for her every step of the way.
I will not, under any circumstances, distract her.
Which means I should probably go back to uni soon.
I puff out a breath of air, dread, and another queasy feeling enveloping me at the thought of what waits for me on the island.
Our butler, Nolan, walks inside, all dressed in his impeccable suit and the slightly crooked bow tie.
“I’ve got this, Nolan. Thanks,” I tell him as I fetch eggs from the fridge.
“Sir, that’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
“You have a peculiar visitor.”
