Page 32 of Claimed By my Father's Enemies
I release her, take a breath and I look at the middle distance for a moment instead of at her because I need a second to find the right register for this.
The problem is that when I look back she is watching me with those big brown eyes.
A strand of hair has come loose from the ponytail, sitting against her jaw, and there is no justifiable reason for my attention to snag on that specific thing.
I look back at the middle distance.
"It seems my sister maintained a friendship with you." I coach myself to be nice. "Against my—" I stop. Adjust. "Despite what I asked—"
She opens her mouth.
I hold up a hand to stop her. I need to say this.
"I'm glad she has someone she trusts. Someone to call when things go wrong." I say it because I mean it, even though it stings, so I add, “Even if that someone is not me”
“She only did that to protect you. She knows you had your fair share of bad news and she didn’t want you to hear it from someone “official”.”
I understand that. But, understanding doesn't take away the hurt or make it easier to accept.
"The thing is—" I start and stop. Try again. "When you came back into her life. At fifteen. She was—" I'm struggling to find the right words. "Charlotte has always been shy. She's not someone who makes friends easily. And you came back and she was happy." A beat. "And then you kept cancelling on her. Wouldn't show up. She'd call and you didn’t answer. More than once."
Sienna stands still, but I can see that her breathing turned shallow..
"And it gutted her." The words come rough and bitter. "Every time. So I told her to stay away from you."
Sienna's eyes are shining with tears.
"My sister is a good person," I say, quieter. "You can't blame me for being protective of her."
She looks at me for a moment. "Yeah," she says. "Charlie is pretty awesome."
The simplest possible answer, and somehow the one I didn't expect.
I look at her. The tears in her eyes, the even set of her voice and the fact that she didn't argue a single piece of what I said, just stood there and took it. I don't know what to do with that.
I extend my hand.
"Truce?"
She looks at it. Then at me. Then she takes it.
Her hand is small. Warm. She shakes once, firm, the shake of someone who means it.
I don't let go.
I'm aware that I'm not letting go. She goes slightly still. Her eyes come up to mine.
Deep brown with long lashes. I’m trapped in her eyes.
The elevator chimes and the sound makes me let go of her hand.
She steps in. Other people move around her. She turns when she's inside and her eyes find mine without effort, like she didn't have to look for them.
The doors start to close.
She holds my gaze until they do.
The metal closes. The mechanism hums. The corridor is the same corridor, same overhead light, same floor cleaner smell.
