AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The rest of the time, it’s people like me.
“I’m not sure if you’re serious or not,” Delilah says as we walk up to the building.
I open the door for her. “The best way to find out the truth is to experience it.”
When we step inside, the low light of the lounge area softens the growing promise of winter outside. It’s unusual for the weather to change this quickly, especially so early in autumn, but I’m used to the cold. I was born in one of the harshest regions of Russia.
Delilah fixes her hair, hesitating to take off her coat until I remove mine.
I lead her over to a booth in the corner near a fireplace. Women are always cold. As a man, I’ll never understand it, but as a gentleman, I will cater to her sensitivity.
As soon as her eyes have adjusted to the low light, her expression changes from hesitation to curiosity. “I didn’t know places like this existed in real life, at least not here. It’s really nice in here,” she says, glancing around at the artwork that lines the walls.
“Yeah, I knew you’d be able to appreciate the finer things. A lot of girls your age just want to go to flashy high-rise bars like the one I own. I sensed something different in you,” I reply.
Her eyes meet mine for the first time all night. “You think I’m different?” she asks.
“Of course, you have so much humility that it caught me off guard the first time we had a conversation. It’s been no secret to you that I have money, even from the beginning, but you’ve never acted entitled towards it or tried to convince me that you deserved it for yourself,” I say, watching her eyes light up.
“I never knew you thought that way about me,” she says, leaning her head on her hand.
“I want to get to know you better. I feel like I don’t really know a lot about you as a person. We need to change that,” I reply just as the owner of the bar approaches to take our drink orders.
I order two glasses of Russian red wine for us, something I’m certain that Delilah has never had the chance to taste. She’s taken back at first, probably that I would have the audacity to order for her, but she settles back down in her seat quickly.
She knows I won’t lead her astray.
“Tell me about yourself,” I say.
“What do you want to know about me?” she asks, likely trying to piece together the perfect story of her life. Most people don’t know where to start when they’re asked to talk about themselves.
“Tell me the main things. We can get to the details another time if that’s easier.”
She pauses for a moment. “Well, I was adopted when I was four. My parents died in a crash, but that’s all I really know, so I try not to think about them. My adoptive parents only adopted me because they thought they couldn’t have kids of their own, but as irony would have it, my mom got pregnant with my sister a year after they adopted me,” she explains, taking a sip of her wine.
“What was it like growing up like that?” I ask. While I am interested in learning more about her, much of my motive is based on trying to find out how much credibility there is to Luka’s claims. So far, they check out.
She doesn’t know her real parents at all.
How convenient.
Delilah takes another sip of her wine before speaking. “I mean, it was weird. My parents tried to act like they loved us both equally, but it was so obvious that that wasn’t the case. They overcompensated a lot, which made it worse. It’s like they thought I was too stupid to see that they were putting on an act.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She leans in, her eyes sparkling with energy despite the depressing nature of her story. “Well, for example, they made sure we were both in after-school sports growing up, but they only ever made time to go to Arielle’s games. Whenever Arielle was even a little bit sick, they would rush her to the emergency room. They waited two days to take me in when I broke my arm. It was stuff like that,” she says, deep in thought at the memories that she hasn’t visited in so long.
“Damn, that sucks. Did that affect how you felt about them?” I ask, finding her origins interesting on a morbidly curious level.
"Yeah, of course. I felt like every sign of affection was forced. At the very best, it was something they had to talk themselves into. I always wondered if they regretted adopting me once Arielle was born,” she continues, taking another deep sip of her wine.
“So, you really know nothing about your birth parents? Nothing at all?” I ask, still holding onto the hope that this is all a misunderstanding.
Just because she’s adopted doesn’t mean she’s Luka’s sister.
“Nope, not a thing. I don’t remember much either, though I had child psychologists tell me that I showed the signs of someone who experienced intense trauma at a young age. After I learned that, I tried not to think about it,” she says as her voice trails off.
She focuses heavily on the flames of the fireplace, and watching the reflection in her eyes is mesmerizing to me.
