Chapter 18

“Christian,” I murmur, leaning forward to peer into his face after we sit in silence for a too-long moment. “Do you…do you not have any hope in this world?”

He scowls a little, turning away from me and looking out at the dark city through the wide expanse of windows. “I don’t even know what that means, Iris,” he murmurs.

“It means…believing that there’s good out in the world. That things, no matter how bad they look right now, are going to turn out for the better.”

I study his profile as he stares away from me, and am struck again at how like and unlike this man is to the boy I knew. So much is the same – but the harsh lines, the rigid clench of his jaw, the way his mouth turns down in the corner…

He is so, so changed.

He sighs, startling me a little, which just makes me realize the intensity with which I was staring. And then he turns his eyes back to me. “If that’s hope, then I guess no, I don’t have a lot of it, Iris. This world is a…dirty, harsh place. After everything I’ve seen, there’s not a lot of space for hope left.”

My face softens as I stare back at my old friend, and to my surprise he starts laughing.

“What?” I say, unable to help myself.

“Stop pitying me, Iris,” he says, shaking his head, still smiling. “You’re my captive, I’m supposed to pity you, if there’s someone here who’s had it rough lately.”

I grin, looking down at my wine glass, shaking my head. “I think you’re wrong, Chris. I think there’s plenty of room for hope in this world – I think you’ve just spent a lot of time in the dark.”

“Ask Frankie and Nico if you don’t believe me,” Christian says, sighing and refilling his glass of wine. “They can tell you some stories that will knock the faith right out of you, too.”

“Speaking of them, and stories,” I say, bending my leg in front of me so that I can wrap an arm around it and rest my chin on my knee, “what am I supposed to tell them about me? And my relationship to you? They were surprised when they figured out that I’m…more than just a stripper to you.”

Christian raises an eyebrow, looking back towards their bedrooms for a moment before turning his face back to me. “You don’t have to tell them anything, Iris. They’re not allowed to ask.”

I laugh a little, and Christian’s brows raise in surprise. “Just because they’re not allowed to ask,” I say, “doesn’t mean they’re not curious, and it doesn’t mean they’re not seeking the information. I want to be prepped. Besides, I live with them – I want to know what story I’m supposed to tell them.”

Christian sighs, looking down into his glass of wine for a moment. I bite my lip, wondering what the hell he’s going to say. Because, honestly, part of me…liked it a little bit when I found out that the boys thought Christian brought me home because he liked my performance so much.

“If it comes up,” Christian says quietly, “tell them that you’re my sister, Iris.”

I scoff just slightly, which draws his eyes up to mine. “Christian, they know I’m not your sister,” I say, my voice rich with doubt. He smiles a little.

“It’s not about whether or not they believe it, or whether or not you’re my biological sister, Iris. It’s about signaling to them precisely how they should treat you. How you stand with me.”

My heart sinks and inwardly I stumble, trying to catch it before it crashes to the ground and smashes into a thousand pieces.

Seriously? A sister?

He views me as his sister?

“Oh,” I hear myself say. “Um, why? What does that mean to them?”

Christian starts reply some nonsense about Mafia families and the rules about how they treat members of their family, but I barely hear him, because I’m too busy scolding myself inwardly. I mean, seriously, what did I think I was ever going to be to him? Of course he only views me in a sisterly light.

Besides, what did I…

…well, what did I want him to say? How do I hope he views me?

“Primarily,” Christian says, drawing my full attention back, “designating you as my sister means hands off,” he says, giving me a significant look. I smile a little, liking to see his protective side.

“Does it also mean I get a share in the Romano fortune?” I ask, dry, and Christian laughs, instantly seeing that I’m kidding. “A time share in any vacation homes? An invitation to the Seven Fishes at Christmas?”

He shakes his head, smiling at me. “No ma’am. Just protection, and great deal of respect. And personal space.”

“Shame,” I murmur, narrowing my eyes a little and taking a sip of my wine. And then I decide to…push. Just a little bit. “And here I was, thinking Frankie was cute.”

Christian narrows his eyes right back at me and something stirs in my stomach. Butterflies? But then he breaks into a smile, leaning forward with a laugh. “You liar,” he says, calling my bluff.

I burst out laughing and lean forward to smack him on the arm. “How did you know!?”

“One,” he says, laughing with me and sitting back, taking a sip of his wine, “years of mafia training to see through lies. And two,” he cocks his head to the side, “Frankie’s not your type.”

“Oh?” I say, sitting up straight now. “And what’s my type?”

“I don’t know for sure,” Christian replies, contemplative, turning his head to study me. “But it’s…not the funny guy. You like Frankie more than Nico, but you see Frank as a friend. Or a pet, something entertaining but not…serious. Which is a mistake on your part, by the way.”

I turn my own head now, curious, inviting him to say more.

“Frankie’s lethal,” Christian says seriously, raising his wine again to his lips. “He won’t hurt you but…you should be glad of your sisterly designation. He can tuck that golden retriever side of his personality away in an instant in order to draw upon a very particular set of skills. It’s why I keep him by my side.”

“Oh,” I say, genuinely surprised, my eyes drifting towards the hallway. Frankie…he really did seem so nice. And then, feeling a little mischievous, I let a little interest show on my face. “Well…” I murmur, still peering down the hall. “That might make him a little cuter, actually…”

Christian bursts out laughing at this, and I turn to smile at him again, pleased. But beneath the pleasure at making him laugh – honestly, I can’t deny it, I have to admit that I’m disappointed.

Which is absolutely ridiculous, I know, because I have been in a relationship with Steven for years and we just “broke up” yesterday – how can my heart be so fickle?

But then again…hasn’t Christian been in my heart all along? Who did I write to almost every night anyway, when Steven didn’t have time for me?

Suddenly quite exhausted by all of the emotional nonsense, I set my shoulders and push it out of my mind, wanting nothing more than to turn my own attention away from myself for a little while.

“So!” I say, making my voice sound perkier than I feel. “I spilled about me. Now your turn.”

But to my surprise, Christian just frowns at me. “I can’t tell you anything, Iris.”

“What?” I say, settling against the couch cushions. “Sure you can, Christian. You know I won’t tell anyone any of your secrets. Or, you don’t have to tell me any of your secrets – just…tell me what your life is like. I’ve missed you.”

“Iris,” he sighs, leaning towards me again, his perfect mouth turning into a frown. And I’m surprised when I see that he’s almost…angry. “I can’t tell you anything, because every little piece of information I give you wraps you up deeper and deeper into my world. And the last thing I want to do is get you more involved in my world than you already are.”

My heart sinks again and I flinch back almost as if I’ve been struck. God, Christian, I think to myself, first you friend-zone a girl, and then tell her you don’t want her to have any place in your world?

Damn, how much harsher can it get?