Chapter Sixty
Sin
Curiosity Kills
“Alone at last.” Paloma sits down next to me. One of her expertly arched eyebrows lifted in question, her smile warm and interested.
“At last?” I parrot.
“I think Kwame’s been hiding you from us.”
“Has he?” I ask, still bewildered.
She laughs and leans forward. I’m not sure what to make of her. “Or maybe it’s us he’s hiding.”
I tilt my head, incredulous and skeptical. “You and Kwame are friends?”
She smiles. “We’re more like family, actually. You’re the first woman he’s ever brought here. You must be special.”
She’s smiling so warmly but I get the feeling she’s trying to remind me that I’m an outsider. I smile like I’m not bothered. “I hope so. He’s the love of my life,” I say it before I can catch myself.
It’s true. He is. I just wish I’d said it to him before I blurted it to his friend.
Her eyes widen. “Love? Already?”
I nod and regret speaking so freely. If they were really that close she’d already know. “We met a year ago. Been together almost nine months. How do you know Kwame?” I turn the tables on her.
She nods. “We grew up together. My parents owned the house next door. We went to undergrad together. Separate law schools but graduated the same year.”
I can’t hide my surprise. “Oh wow. What a history.”
She sips from the champagne flute I hadn’t noticed in her hand. “Yeah, he went on to practice, and I’m still a student. I’m working on my PhD at Georgetown.”
“In Law?” I ask.
“Yup. And Politics.”
“Wow, that’s pretty amazing. I barely survived my Master’s program.”
“It was that or practice and I hated practicing law so back to school I went while I figured out what was next.”
“Still, a PhD at Georgetown isn’t exactly a gap year.”
“No and I busted my ass to get in there. Being called a nepo baby for most of my life gave my pride such a battering that part of me just wanted to prove I could do hard things on my own. Being underestimated can be a blessing but I get so fucking sick of having to prove myself. Do you know what I mean?”
It’s such a vulnerable answer and so relatable that my wariness of her wanes. I lean in a bit, nodding. “It’s exhausting. That’s why I’m not doing it anymore.”
Her delicate brow furrows. “What do you mean?”
“I quit my job. Trying to see what life as a freelancer is like.”
Her mouth drops open and she keeps at me like I just told her that I went to the moon. “Wow. Now that’s what I call having the courage of your convictions.”
“Thank you,” I say, realizing how badly I needed to hear someone say that.
“What did your parents say?”
I’m surprised by her question and it must show. “I’m the oldest daughter of immigrants, too,” she says.
I nod in understanding. “So, you get it.”
“Too well.” She grins and we share a commiserating laugh.
I take a long sip of water and use the opportunity to dart a glance in the direction Kwame went. How long has he been gone and why does it feel like hours?
“So, is Sin short for something?” Paloma asks as soon as I put my glass down.
I nod and remind myself that it’s normal for your partners friends to want to get to know you. “It’s short for Arsinoé.”
Her smile widens. “That’s so pretty. What does it mean?”
“It’s Egyptian but derived from ancient Greek words that mean a woman with an uplifted mind.”
“That’s cool.” She leans back in her chair, still eying me. “So, you don’t have a day name like Kwame?”
I check my impulse to bristle at the question. “Every Akan has a day name, whether we use it or not.” I explain then frown. “How did you know I was from Ghana?”
“Kwame told me, silly. He’s told me all about you.”
That makes one of us.
I flash a smile in acknowledgement and take another long sip of my drink.
She’s been nice but something in her demeanor is tap dancing on my nerves. Maybe it’s because I know she’s involved with Oz.
“So nice to talk, Sin.” She looks at something behind me and waves at someone.
“You too,” I return. “I am glad to finally meet you.”
She meets my eye again. “I’m glad this wasn’t weird.”
I blink in surprise. “Why would you think that?” I ask, unpacking her sentence.
She grimaces. “Well… given what happened the first time we met I wasn’t sure you wouldn’t want to scratch my eyes when I came over.”
“We’ve never met before.”
She giggles and covers her mouth with her hand. “Maybe meet is the wrong word. We didn’t actually speak.”
“Okay, you still haven’t told me where and when this happened.” The way her smile sharpens makes my throat go dry and sip my water.
“It was at Kwame’s. I was on my knees with his dick my mouth. And you watched.”
“What?” I blurt and choke mid swallow. I’m consumed by a fit of coughing.
“Oh my goodness,” she exclaims loud enough for the occupants of our table to hear her before she moves to stand over me, whacking my back harder than necessary in her pretense of helping me.
She leans down, presses her lips to my ear. “The second time was when you broke into Oz’s apartment.” Her voice is a whisper, but it booms in my ear.
If I hadn’t been sitting down my knees would have failed me. I look up at her sharply and meet her square in the eye and cut straight to the chase. “What do you want?”
Her beautiful mouth curves into a smile. “I don’t know what you’re really after, and I don’t care. Just don’t cross me, and I’ll let you keep your secrets…and Kwame.”
She presses a kiss to my cheek and straightens. It takes all my self-control not to grab her by the hair and drag her back.
She’s not the person I’m really angry at, anyway.
I get up and go in search of Kwame.
I’m reeling as I walk out of the ballroom.
Paloma Persaud is some sort of secret villain?
And she’s been watching me. I can’t even imagine how she and Kwame are friends. How close can they be if he’s never mentioned her?
Does he know about her and Oz?
Did he bring me here to help me or distract me?
The thought makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry.
I’ve trusted him with everything. Why couldn’t he trust me?
Distraught, I abandon my original mission and go in search of fresh air.
I need to think.
I open one of the sliding doors that line the back of the house and step out onto the stone terrace.
I walk to the ledge and lean into the slight breeze.
The dark hides the ever-present Potomac River but the loud rush of it reminds me that no matter what’s happening inside that weird party, I’m still standing on solid earth.
One week of living in Kwame’s world has been enough to last me a lifetime. No wonder he left.
Restless and desperate to put distance between myself and this house, I take the short flight of steps and follow the labyrinth-like walkway that leads around the pool area and ends where it meets seemingly endless lawn.
In the distance, I see the windowless white clapboard building they call the lodge. It doesn’t look like it’s under construction.
I look around to make sure I’m alone, slip off my heels, and head for the structure I was told is off limits.
Closer inspection reveals it to be repurposed shipping containers stacked two high. I approach the door and press my ear to it. I don’t hear a thing.
I try the handle and almost squeal when it disengages. I open it and wince at the white light that pours out. I step inside and pull the door closed behind me and turn in a circle to take in the space.
White paneled walls are lined with tribal masks, iron tipped spears, gold adorned carvings of gleaming mahogany, and large ivory tusks. I recognize several pieces from the stolen artifacts database. The length of the room is columned by enormous floor-to-ceiling shelving.
Before I can process that fully, a young dark-skinned woman with waist-length goddess braids dressed in a black jeans and white tank top steps out from behind a row of shelves.
“What are you doing here?”
I stop dead. Shocked to see Violet staring at me, her eyes are wide with terror. She looks to the door and then back at me. “Are you alone?”
“Yes.” I put my hands up. “What are you doing here?” My heart is beating so fast, I’m lightheaded. “Are you with Oz again?”
“You can’t be in here. You’re going to get in trouble. You should leave.”
“Come with me.”
She shakes her head violently. “You need to leave.” She points at the door. “And then forget you ever came here. Go. Before someone realizes you’re here.” Her eyes are stark and wild.
“If you’re in trouble, I can help.”
The question seems to propel her backward and something that looks like panic is building in her eyes. “What?” She takes another step back. “No. I’m not in trouble. But if you don’t leave, I will be.”
I want to press her on it but can see that it would be futile. And it’s not important.
“Let me call for help.” I look at my screen and curse under my breath. “There’s no reception down here. We should go outside.”
“No. I can’t. Why are you even here?” she wails and waves a hand up and down her body.
“These things are stolen. Are you helping him?”
“No, I’m just trying to get what I’m owed. Get out of here.”
“Fine, I’ll go and call 9-1-1. They should know—”
Her eyes go wide. “Don’t call the police. They work for him.”
“Who is him? Ozwald or Al Palmer?”
She shakes her head, her eyes shuttering. “You should just leave.”
My heart skips a beat. I nod. “I’ll be right back.
Wait here for me, please,” I say and step outside into the dark copse of trees surrounding the lodge.
I fumble with my phone and text Kwame to tell him where I am.
I hit send and then wonder if I should have.
I hit unsend and put my phone’s flashlight on and head back to the main house.
I haven't taken two steps when a man's shadow crosses in front of me and then suddenly he's standing there. Oz, staring down at me looking every bit the villain that I now know he is. “What are you doing here?”