Page 87 of Sin of Love
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We’reon a train in Italy when Gideon gets the call.
“Slow down, Finn, I can’t hear you. What? When? Okay. Let me talk to Deirdre and I’ll call you right back.”
His tone tells me nothing’s wrong.
His eyes tell me otherwise.
“What happened?” I ask.
“My father died last night. I have to go back to Los Angeles.”
I grab his hand, stilling its subtle tremor. “Then we’ll go.”
Gideon looks at me, eyes a bit lost as his understanding of the world slips and shifts.
“It was cancer. I think he tried to tell me earlier this year, but I wasn’t… my frame of mind wasn’t—” He clears his throat. “I told him to get lost.”
I squeeze his hand tighter, saying nothing. No Hallmark sentiment is going to blunt the knives of guilt. I should know. Instead, I do the only thing I can—the only thing that actually helps—and share this jagged moment, this burden, so he knows he isn’t alone.
Eventually, he lifts my hand, pressing a kiss against it before cradling my palm against his cheek.
“Shouldn’t take too long to handle things with the lawyers. We can pack up the house while we’re there, get it ready to list. Sell the cars, too. And I have to figure out what to do with the Seven Sins series.”
“There’s no rush. Let’s take things a day at a time. It’s worked so far, right?”
The tightness around his eyes eases. “Right. I love you, mon bijou. To the end of forever.”
“Same. Now call Finn back and tell him we’ll be there ASAP.”
He smirks. “Excited to see Finn, are we?”
A visceral memory rises, and heat surges into my face. Gideon’s smile widens.
“Shut up,” I snap, “that’s not—”
“I’m teasing.” He punches redial and puts the phone to his ear. “If you’re good, maybe I’ll give him to you for your birthday. In five years.”
I punch his arm. He laughs.
* * *
Eighteen hours of travel later,Gideon unlocks the front door of his Pacific Palisades home. Walking inside is like stepping through a portal to a parallel dimension. So much has happened since I was last here, I feel like a stranger to its walls.
Gideon seems to feel the same way, frowning as he flips on lights. I follow him into the living room, where he pauses to stare at the mostly bare walls and empty bookshelves.
“I can’t believe I lived here for so long and never actually lived here.”
“It was the same for me at my condo. But at least I hired someone to make it look lived-in.”
He gives an exaggerated shudder. “Fake art and fake plants. I’d rather live in a white box.”
“You did,” I deadpan, glancing around meaningfully.
He smirks. “I want to say something over-the-top romantic about not living in color until I met you, but you’d never go for that sappy shit.”
“You’d have to be pretty convincing,” I agree, then head for kitchen. “We’ll order Thai like old times and maybe I’ll let you kiss me tonight.”
