Sway With Me(15)

Viola smirked with her ‘I know something you don’t know’ look. “You may be more closely related than you think.”



She wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin, wondering if her sister could read her innermost thoughts. “What do you mean?”

Viola leaned across the table of their booth and rested on her elbows, a mischievous grin on her face. She’d pierced her ear again. That brought the number up to six on the right. Her pink hair hid the left, but if Portia was a betting gal, she’d wager there were six or more on that side, too.

“Apparently, Alexander was quite the player back in the day. Supposedly, he remained faithful to his wives, but some have speculated that he continued to sow his wild oats even after he bought the farm.”

Her sister habitually mixed up her clichés. Whether she did it on purpose, Portia had never determined.

She pushed her dinner to the side and took a gulp of water to buy the time to figure out what the heck her sister was saying. It didn’t help. “What are you talking about?”



“He stepped out on her. Played the field. Milked the—”



“Okay, I get it. He cheated. What does that have to do with me?”

A couple of men stopped by their booth. “Hey, Lola. Can we buy you two another drink?”

If she wasn’t already preoccupied with Ryan, she may have found them attractive, even with the multiple tattoos running down their arms.

“Hey, guys. Come back later tonight and I’ll give you a show. Right now I’m with my sis, you dig? Keep on steppin’.” The men didn’t seem bothered by her sister’s rejection. They laughed and left. “Did you ever wonder why we weren’t close to our aunt and her new family?”

Portia shrugged. “Not really. Mom wasn’t into anyone who tried to keep her rooted to one spot, and I figured she avoided her sister so she wouldn’t get lectured.”



“Or, maybe Mom fooled around with a Stavros and voilà . . .” She waved her hand dramatically in front of Portia’s face.

The walls started to close in on her and her throat grew dry. She took another gulp of her water, wishing it was alcohol. “That’s an awfully big leap to make.”

“Then why would Alexander leave a mansion to you, a non-blood relative, who he’d only met once? Unless you were really his . . . daughter.” She flung back in her seat and dramatically slapped the table with her hands.

A shiver passed through Portia, raising the hairs on her arms and giving her goose bumps. The idea that she could be the love child of Reina and Alexander was ridiculous, yet she couldn’t deny her sister had raised a valid point. It didn’t make sense to leave such valuable property to a niece he’d had no relationship with except through marriage to her aunt. So she was the eldest girl in the family? Maybe he couldn’t die with it on his conscience and this was his way of providing for her.

Her stomach churned with knots the size of Manhattan and she started to hyperventilate.



Viola stared at her as she toyed with her straw. She lifted it from her beer and chewed on the end, probably missing the cigarettes she no longer smoked. Her face scrunched for a moment and then her eyes widened and a grin spread. “You do like him.”

“Didn’t I already say that?”

“No, I mean you really like him. Like ‘Portia and Ryan sitting in a tree’ like him.”

While her sister giggled, Portia’s cheeks burned and she knew she was turning red. Why, oh why, couldn’t she have been born with Viola and Reina’s perpetually tan skin? No, her skin was so pale, she didn’t need makeup to dress-up as a vampire on Halloween. Her Mom claimed Portia had gotten her complexion from her father.



“Wait, Mom implied my father was English or Irish or from some country like that. Alexander was Greek. He can’t be my father.” She sighed in relief and relaxed in her seat.

Smiling at her, Viola stuck her straw back in the beer and swirled it. “All righty. Then there’s nothing to keep you from taking a ride on his pogo stick.”

She wrinkled her nose and grimaced. “God, you’re crude.”

“And you’re a prude,” Viola responded, pointing a finger at her. “Ooh! I could totally turn that into a song.” She grabbed her neon green purse from beside her, plopped it on the table, and rummaged through, coming up with a small Hello Kitty notebook and matching pen. “Just give me a second to write that down before I forget.” She scribbled away, her face scrunched in concentration.

How did the words ‘crude’ and ‘prude’ inspire her to write a song? Portia shook her head and laughed to herself. Sometimes she wondered if her sister would benefit from taking medication for Attention Deficit Disorder. She had a terrible time staying focused and bounced from one topic to the next in the same manner she lived her life. Moving from place to place and never making a permanent connection. Their mother saw nothing wrong with how she lived, and chalked it up to Viola being a free spirit who “needed to ride the magic carpet whenever the Western Winds blew.” Of course their mother didn’t believe in medication unless it was a matter of life and death, arguing pills plugged the chakras and stifled creativity.