Darknight(16)

I reached out and took the bag. It was very heavy.

“Sorry it isn’t wrapped or anything. The store was out of gift bags because it was busy today.”

“That’s fine,” I said automatically, then reached inside. Something metal, it felt like, wrapped in tissue paper.

I pulled the tissue paper away and pulled the object out of the bag, then gasped. The silver links gleamed in the low light from the bronze and frosted glass fixture overhead, the turquoise nuggets glowing amidst each of those links. It was a concho belt, the sort of thing I’d always coveted but could never really justify the expense.

Apparently misinterpreting my awed silence, Connor said, “I noticed that you seemed to like turquoise jewelry, so I thought you might like the belt. If you don’t — I mean, if you’d rather have something else, I can take it back.”

“Oh, no,” I told him hastily. “It’s perfect. I mean, I’ve always wanted one, and could never afford it. I just — I’m startled, I guess.”

“But you like it.”

“I love it,” I assured him, turning it over in my hands, admiring the workmanship of the stampings, the smooth bevels around the turquoise nuggets. As I did so, I caught the faint markings on the back of each concho: .925. That meant the belt was solid sterling, not the nickel silver I’d assumed it had been made of. Those kinds of belts were expensive enough, but one of solid silver? It had to have cost him at least a thousand dollars, if not more.

How could I accept such a costly gift from him? But I somehow knew if I refused it, he’d be upset. It would be a refusal of him as well. I couldn’t make myself do that. Despite my best efforts to harden myself to him, to not let him wiggle his way into my heart, I had a feeling he was doing that very thing.

“I’m glad,” he said, and went to take a bite of his cake, acting as if it was no big deal that he’d spent more on that one gift for me than anyone had ever spent on me in my entire life.

I murmured, “Thank you,” and followed his lead, picking up my fork and helping myself to the cake, which was rich and moist and velvety. My head was still spinning, though.

What was the catch phrase from that old Star Trek show?

Resistance is futile.

I was beginning to understand that all too well.





4





Home Cooking





After dinner we watched some TV, then went to bed early. Still strange, still so mind-bendingly odd how we could be so casual about saying our goodnights and retiring to our separate rooms. The lock on my door was blasted to hell and back, and yet I knew that really wasn’t going to be a problem. Connor was giving me my space, letting me do with it what I willed.

What that would be, I had no idea. To say I was confused by the situation would be an understatement. He was friendly one moment, completely closed off the next. Not that I had to search too hard for the reason why he’d shut down when he did — no, that was all about his brother. What was going on there, I had no idea. Damon obviously had some strange power over Connor, one that seemed to go far beyond merely being his brother. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it was a kind of mind control, since that one confrontation I’d overheard had told me Connor was willing to stand up to his brother when the occasion called for it. But he also showed no inclination to talk about their relationship…and I had to believe something lay there that would explain everything, if he would only open up about it.

The odds of that seemed roughly on par with the likelihood of Damon showing up at the apartment and announcing that I was free to go back to Jerome. As I lay down to sleep that night, acutely aware of Connor’s presence just across the hall, I wondered what it would take to get him to talk, and whether I even had the ability to pry open that particular oyster to get at the pearl inside. I had to believe I did. The situation couldn’t go on like this indefinitely.

I just didn’t know what I would do when it did finally change.



* * *



The next day went a little more smoothly, mainly because at least I knew what to expect. Connor let me know that he’d be working — “the gallery usually isn’t open on Sundays, but it is this weekend because of the holidays” — and I spent my day being bored out of my mind watching TV. I would rather have read, but he didn’t seem to have many books around except art books and some leftover textbooks, and there was nary an e-reader or tablet in sight. Since he’d left his laptop behind, I supposed I could’ve downloaded an app to access my books, but somehow that seemed too invasive.

I debated emailing Sydney, then decided against it. It just felt too strange to open an ongoing dialogue like that on someone else’s computer, and I didn’t have the faintest idea how I would even begin to explain the situation. Maybe now that my aunt knew I had the avenue of communication open, she’d be checking her email more often, but again, I didn’t even know what to say to her.