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“Hi, Ophelia. Welcome home, Ophelia. It’s good to see you too, Ophelia. I missed you, Ophie.” She clucks her tongue. “God. And here I thought maybe we could start there instead of you bitching me out.” She scowls. “You’ve been gone for ten years. You don’t get to show up and start acting like the big sister out of nowhere.”
Brutal.
A beeswax candle to the eye would’ve hurt less.
Guilt knifes through me, but it’s not enough to dampen my rising temper.
“Look, Ros... I’m not trying to be the big sister and chew you out. I’m not here to assert authority or whatever you’re thinking. I’m just trying to figure out what’s going on with you. Our mom issick.This might be the last time we get to spend with her, and—when was the last time you even went to see her?
She looks away, her eyes going dark with irritation.
“Ros, don’t lie to me. The staff said I was the only visitor all week.”
Whirling around, Ros glares, her green eyes glassy and glazed with hurt.
“Don’t you lecture me! You think Iwantto see her like that? You think I’m not hurting? Jesus, Ophelia. I can’t look at her like that when that’s... that’s not Mom in that bed.” She pauses, chewing her lip before she continues. “That’s a memory. A memory I don’t want after she’s gone. You think she’d want us to remember her like that? No. No, I’m doing the next best thing. I’m protecting her legacy. I’m taking care of the shop because she wouldn’t want it closing down just because she’s too sick to work. What do you know about any of that?”
My lips thin. I stare at her, trying to soften the blow.
“I know about Aleksander,” I say point-blank. “Is he one of your distractions, too? Does shacking up with one of the nastiest playboys in town make it easier—all so you don’t have to think about Mom?”
Ros’ eyes bug out and she sucks in a harsh breath.
“How’d you—” She groans. “Grant. Oh my God, that snake.”
“He only told me because he’s worried. Just like I am,” I retort. “Honestly, I don’t blame him one bit. Ros, what kind of lifestyle does Aleksander Arrendell want you to share? Look at you...”
“Atwhat?” She props her hands on her hips, throwing a snapping look at me. “What’re you saying? That I look like a whore? Just because I’m enjoying myself for once and finding something to be happy about?”
“You look sick,” I point out softly. “You don’t look well. That’s what I was going to say.”
I try stepping closer.
Seriously, I can’t stand this, fighting with my sister when all I want to do is hug her and help her. I need to know what’s really behind that foggy look in her eyes. Then maybe I can pull her back from the brink before it’s too late.
Good thing there are no customers, or else we’d be the talk of the town for the next two weeks.
The Sanderson sisters bickering in broad daylight while their mother lies dying in her hospital bed.
Ha.
But before I can reach her, the door behind the counter to the back stock room pops open.
Oh, good, here comes the man of the hour, oozing out like a stack of slime.
Aleksander Arrendell.
Tall, lithe, his longish hair spilling down and framing a face so angelic it could only be part demon.
The man does not look human.
More like Lucifer’s nephew embodied in the flesh. A fallen angel who decided to make tortured Redhaven his personal playground.
He’s wearing a pair of designer jeans and an oversized linen blouse that probably costs more than my nursing degree. The blouse is half-buttoned and the wide lapels pulled back like he’s trying to flaunt the lipstick imprinted on his collar.
On his throat.
On his lips, still a little smeared around his wide, carnivorous mouth.
