“It’s an honest answer,” I counter. “Your father is complicated. He’s capable of loving you and using you at the same time. Most people in our world are.”
“Are you?” Emma asks, and the question catches me completely off guard.
“Am I what?”
“Complicated,” she clarifies, and now she’sdefinitelysmiling. “Capable of feeling multiple things at once?”
I should make a joke or deflect or change the subject. I should do anythingexceptengage with this line of questioning that feels increasingly like flirting.
“Very complicated,” I hear myself say instead. “I’m feeling at least seven different things right now, and they’re all contradictory.”
“Only seven?” Emma’s eyebrow raises—a gesture she’s picked up from me, I realize with warmth. “I’m feeling at least ten.”
I roll my eyes. “Overachiever,” I accuse, and her smile widens.
“Slacker,” she shoots back.
We’re grinning at each other like idiots,flirting. Emma Brennan, the woman I kidnapped nearly three weeks ago, isflirtingwith me in my library while making jokes.
And I’m flirting back.
This is such a colossally bad idea.
“I should,” I start, gesturing vaguely toward the door, needing to leave before I say or do something fucking dumb. But before Ican do that, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to find a text from Valentina.
I’m at the gate. Let me in or I’m breaking down the door.
Fuck.
“Everything okay?” Emma asks, her features drawn together in concern. I must have unconsciously made a face.
“My sister’s here.” I’m already dreading the next hour of my life. “Unannounced. This should be interesting.”
“Your sister?” Emma sits up straighter, and I can see her mentally preparing herself. “The one who had the panic attacks?”
I’m surprised she remembers that detail from when I helped her through her own panic attack. “Valentina, yeah. Fair warning—she’s not going to be as understanding as my mother was.”
“Your mother wasn’t that understanding,” Emma points out. “She told me I had fire then left me completely confused.”
“That’s Mamma being understanding,” I reply dryly before deciding to be honest with what Emma is going to hear. “Valentina’s going to be worse. She blames your father for Gabriel’s death, which means she’s probably going to blame you by extension.”
Emma’s expression hardens slightly and she tilts her chin up stubbornly. “Then she and I are going to have words,” she says shortly.
Goddamn, this is going to be a sight. Emma Brennan isn’t afraid of my sister, nor is she going to back down or apologize forexisting. Of course she isn’t. She’s been confounding me since I first brought her here. Valentina doesn’t stand a chance.
“Try not to kill each other,” I say, heading for the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes with her.”
“No promises,” Emma calls after me, and I’m smiling as I leave the library to go collect my sister.
This isdefinitelygoing to be a disaster.
My sister is already out of her car by the time I get to the front entrance, and she looks ready for war. Valentina’s dark hair falls in glossy waves past her shoulders. She has the same dark eyes as me and our mother, and sharp cheekbones and full lips set in an expression that promises violence. She’s wearing tailored black pants and a deep burgundy silk blouse, her heels clicking against the stone as she stalks toward me.
“You’re an idiot,” she announces before I can say a word.
“Good to see you too, Val,” I reply dryly, bracing myself. “Come in, make yourself at home and insult me some more.”
“Oh, I plan to.” Valentina brushes past me into the house with the kind of aggressive energy that makes me nervous. “Where is she?”