Page 5 of Little Twisted Things

“I’m sorry.”

“It went on for a couple of years.” I set my glass down.

“Did your mother know?”

“Eventually, she found out.”

“How? Did he tell her? Did he come home with lipstick on his collar?”

“I never asked.” I shrugged. “One day she just knew.”

“And what happened?” Alex asked.

“She took care of it.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“My father never cheated again.” My brow raised.

“I assume your parents divorced after she found out?”

“They didn’t stay together,” I said, picking up my plate and taking it over to the sink.

“That must have been really hard on you.”

“I was very young. Anyway, both of them are dead now.”

“Wow. I’m sorry, Dahlia. I figured they still lived in Seattle. You didn’t tell me they passed.”

“My father passed away first, and then my mother a few years later.”

“From?” he asked.

“Both had cancer. Same type. Isn’t that strange?” I looked over at him.

“Yeah. That’s really weird.” He brought his plate over to the sink, set it down, and gripped my hips. “Enough talk about parents and the neighbors.” His lips met mine. “How about we take this to the bedroom?”

“I’d love to.” I smiled, hooking my arms around his neck.

3

I stood at the sliding door, staring out at the swaying palms as the coffee grew cold in my hands. Sleep wasn’t my friend last night. I was restless. I promised myself to behave once I landed in Key West. It was supposed to be different here. A new look, a new home, a new life. No more blood. No more lists. For a while, I believed it because I hadn’t felt the desire or the need.

Working at the gallery would take my mind off it. I’d spend my days surrounded by paintings, talking to artists and collectors, and losing myself in the beauty of the art rather than in lies and betrayal. I wished Alex had never told me about Kevin. A man who was a husband, a father, and a respected history professor. A man who looked into his wife’s eyes every morning while carrying on an affair with his assistant down the hall.

The moment Alex told me, something inside me shifted. It was like hearing a familiar song again after years without hearing it. I tried to put it out of my mind as I tried to fall asleep. But the whisper in my head became a conversation, and that conversation became an argument.

“Walk away, Dahlia. You’re not that person anymore.”

“Someone has to stop him.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It became my business the moment I learned the truth,” I spoke through gritted teeth. “Go back to your books.”

“Good morning, beautiful.” Alex smiled as he stepped into the kitchen.

“Morning.” I stared out the window.