Chapter 11
Maya
Do I feel bad I locked Soren outside soaking wet in a snowstorm while I’m in dry clothes, cuddled under two blankets, wearing a new pair of fuzzy socks, and watching Home Alone with Arabella?
No comment.
There’s no room for regret in this game—only forward momentum.
So why is the pit in my stomach suddenly much more painful?
It’s going to be an ulcer soon, but it’s a sacrifice I’ll have to make.
I won’t let him ruin this job for me. The Maya of ten months ago might have instantly believed his story and let him take the painting without a backward glance.
But the girl I am now has been jaded. People suck.
And if you let them, they’ll take all you have.
The sting of Katie’s betrayal still cuts raw and deep, reminding me of her demands.
She’s gone too far this time. Asked for too much.
It’s another no-win situation. But right now I’m more concerned with the thief on the balcony trying to ruin this holiday for Arabella. So why haven’t I called the police?
Besides the fact that I can’t since he stole my phone, and the scrambler is still on. That must be what he has in his ridiculous backpack.
I could go downstairs and ask a neighbor to call, but a small part of me is hesitant.
It’s possible I’m enjoying this game. It’s certainly better than being alone for Christmas.
And I know Soren, whether or not he claims he’s changed.
I can see who he is. He had the typical bad-boy persona in high school, but he was fiercely protective of his little sister.
I’ve seen glimpses of that same protection for both me and Arabella.
He would never harm us on purpose. At least I don’t think so.
And if what he said about the painting is true, then maybe he’s not all bad.
But where do I draw the line?
And when do I let him off the balcony? I want to smack myself, but that would only make my concussion headache worse. I’m a terrible example to Bella.
The movie pauses, and the lights flick on. I open my eyes. When did I close them?
“I’m going to the bathroom,” Bella says.
I wave to her.
After she gets back, I’ll let Soren in. He’ll be so cold he’ll agree to anything to get off the balcony.
I close my eyes… just a few more seconds…
I jolt awake. The lights in the theater are still on, the movie still paused. I drifted off for only a minute, max. But my body is stiff as I heave it off the couch, and I fear it’s been far longer. It’s time to rescue a delinquent from hypothermia.
Surely he couldn’t have died in thirty minutes. Right?
My heart races with increasing worry.
Oh my gosh, what if I killed him?
This whole time I’ve been trying to prevent a crime, not commit one. Is this how all criminals start out? Accidental murder?
Probably not. That would be excessive.
I won’t make it in prison. And there would be no explaining my way out of it because Arabella has had a front-row seat and will have no objections to seeing me behind bars. She would find it endlessly amusing.
Wait… Arabella.
I rush outside the theater and throw open the bathroom door, and, as suspected… no misbehaving child.
What has she done?
I run down the hall, past the library, down the stairs, around the living room, and to the office. The lights are on, and there he is.
“Put the painting down!” I yell.
Soren smiles eerily at me as his clothes drip, drip, drip onto the marble flooring like he’s a creature from the deep in a horror film. “Perfect timing, Penny.”
I cast my eyes around the office, searching for his partner in crime. “Where is Bella?”
“Enjoying the hot tub. I warmed it up for her,” he says, much too pleased with himself.
Ugh. I forgot there’s a hot tub on the balcony. But wait, what did he just say?
“The hot tub?” I screech. “She’s not allowed in there. She’s allergic to chlorine.”
His face pinches. “She didn’t tell me that.”
“She’s a nine-year-old with a severe allergy to swimming pools. Of course she wouldn’t tell you!” I take off at a dead run, and Soren, surprisingly, follows. Painting forgotten.
“To be fair, that’s not on my top list of allergy knowledge,” he says.
The second I hit the balcony, my feet slip out from under me, and I slide into the outdoor sofa. Soren falls somewhere behind me.
Not only is there an inch of snow on the balcony, but there is a lake of bubbles the size of a city bus.
“Arabella!” I scream, peeling myself up and searching the infinite bubbles for her. What if her airway closed and she drowned?
I’m barely to my feet when I see Soren diving into the source of the foam.
Time stands still as I wait. Where is she?
This is taking too long.
Despite all the crap she puts me through, I can’t let her get hurt on my watch.
I jump into the hot tub. I meant to do so gracefully, but I slip below the water, my knee connecting with something hard.
The thing moves and makes a deep grunting sound.
Arms and hands fumble around me—some my own, some not, until I’m shoved upright.
I cough up the water in my lungs, righting my feet beneath me just as Soren pops out of the water, drenched and oddly red.
“I thought you were Bella,” he says, looking around. “She’s not in here.”
I frown at his face. It’s not that hot in here. “Then where is she?”
“Calm down. We’ll—” He stops. “Why is your face red?”
“My face? Look at yours! You’re like a cherry tomato!”
He holds his scarlet hand in front of his face, puzzled, but the pieces click into place perfectly for me.
Bella.
“Hey, guys.”
Think of the monster and she appears, like an angel of mischief. Her eyes roam over us, triumph in her haughty grin.
“Perfect weather for a swim. Uh oh, someone forgot their sunscreen. Tsk tsk.” She tilts her head side to side and pulls out her phone to snap a photo, but Soren turns before she can get his face.
“Don’t play too long; we’ve got to finish our movie!” She turns and skips inside.
“She put dye in the hot tub?” Soren seethes.
This is certainly not how he anticipated tonight going, and that fact alone makes me happy despite the new color of my skin.
“Welcome to the Hartwell’s,” I mutter as I clamber out of the tub onto the slick, soapy, and snowy ground.
My feet immediately slide out from under me, and I land on my tailbone. The pain ricochets up my spine, vibrating my skull, and I groan.
“Are you okay?” Soren asks, climbing out of the water much slower.
“Just peachy,” I grumble, hitting away his outstretched hand and pulling myself up with the edge of the hot tub. I slip twice more on the way to the door. The wind has picked up, and so has the snow. It’s impossible to see anything beyond the balcony.
“At least she didn’t lock us out here,” Soren says.
“Why would someone do that?” I reply sarcastically. Karma makes her thoughts on my recent bad idea known as I slip again.
I flail, bracing for impact, but two large hands encircle my waist, pulling me safely against a chest much too desirable to become so familiar with.
“Seems like that move has been played before.” Soren’s voice tumbles over my skin, warming my neck and down my spine.
My stomach swoops. “When one catches a thief, where else should one keep him?”
I can’t see his amusement, but I can feel it in the pressure of his thumb against my bare skin at my waist and the small shake of his shoulders. “I could think of better places.”
“Would one be jail?”
His fingers tighten around my hips. “Depends on who the warden is.”
Is he flirting with me right now?
He must seem to recognize the mood shift at the same time I do, because he clears his throat. “Would you allow me to use a shower to get this red out before it sinks in, or can I take the painting and go? It seems you have your hands full.”
“And suffer alone? I don’t think so. Congratulations. You’ve just found yourself a very dysfunctional home for Christmas.” I turn my head, my breath catching when I realize just how close we are.
His hold on me stiffens, and his expression is hard to read, but the crinkling of his eyes tells me my words mean something to him.
Hopefully not too much.