67. Petra
PETRA
In a matter of hours, my parents have gone from two people who never gave me much thought to the strangers now preparing dinner for a family meal. I’m a little bit in shock.
I put on some nice clothes that won’t emphasize my baby bump—no need for awkward conversations over dinner—and head downstairs. The smell of home-cooked food wafts through the air, and I’m immediately salivating.
When was the last time my mom actually cooked? I can’t even remember. Not only did she make the effort tonight, but she made my favorite comfort food: mashed potatoes with gravy and steak.
The baby seems to approve, too, tapping lightly against my stomach as my hunger grows into something ravenous.
Eager to dig in, I take a seat at the table. But just as my mom starts plating the food, the doorbell rings.
I frown. “Are we expecting someone?” I ask.
Both my mom and dad look confused. They shake their heads.
“I’ll get it,” I mumble, getting up to answer the door—only to be greeted by the last person I wanted to see today: Sin.
He’s smiling like nothing at all has happened. In his hands, he has a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, stunned.
“I thought I’d come over and meet your parents,” he says, all casual.
“What?” I demand. “How do you even know they’re home?”
“I saw their cars in the driveway,” he replies with a shrug.
Before I can say anything—or send him packing—he steps right inside, bypassing me completely and heading straight for the dining room.
“Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Valentine,” he greets them cheerfully.
My parents are staring at him, mouths agape.
I close the door quickly and rush in after him.
“This is for you, Mrs. Valentine.” Sin hands her the bouquet. “And this is for you,” he adds, offering my father the wine. “It’s a vintage from the 1980s. I thought you might enjoy it.”
“Oh, that’s a lovely gift,” my mom murmurs, still clearly shocked.
Then Sin moves to my side, slipping his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close.
“I’m Sin Arnoult, Petra’s boyfriend and the father of her baby,” he says blithely.
We all freeze.
“What are you doing?” I hiss at him in a shushed voice.
“This was bound to happen, Petra. Better now than later,” he whispers back.
“You’re Petra’s boyfriend?” my mother whispers, still trying to process the situation.
“Yes. We go to school together,” Sin answers smoothly. “Isn’t that right, Petra? We’re in the same grade, so there’s no awkward age difference. We’re both seniors in high school.”
“Oh, that’s good to know,” my mother says, her voice hesitant.
“I’ve been thinking about coming to meet you for a while now,” Sin continues. “But as you can imagine, it’s been rather hard to get a hold of you.”
I stare at him. The dig is unmistakable. My parents catch it, too.
“But now that we’re all here,” Sin adds, “I’m overjoyed to finally meet you. I’ve told Petra many times that now that we’ll be a family, I wanted to meet her parents.”
No one says a word, so he keeps going.
“And in case you were worried, I just wanted to make sure you know how much I love your daughter and that I’ll be there for her every step of the way. We’re even planning to get married.”
He looks at me. “Isn’t that right, Petra? After high school?”
We never spoke about that.
I stare at him, trying to keep my face neutral.
But inside, my thoughts are spinning.
“Um,” I stammer, not knowing exactly what to say.
He’s still smiling at me with that charming smile I’ve come to expect from him. And to my utter shock, my parents seem to be buying this good-boy persona he’s putting on.
“That’s very nice of you to take accountability,” my mother says. “I must confess, we were shocked when we found out Petra was pregnant, and we had no idea if the father would be involved. But now, meeting you, I can say with absolute certainty that you’ve put our minds at ease.”
“Arnoult, you said?” my father asks. “From the Arnoult family of Radcliffe?”
“Yes, sir,” Sin immediately replies.
“Good family. Good stock.” My father nods. “We haven’t interacted much with them, but we’ve heard a lot, especially about your father’s acumen in business. Your mother, too, she’s involved in fashion, isn’t she?”
“Yes, she’s a fashion designer,” Sin replies.
“And you’ve spoken with your parents about this?” my father asks.
“Of course, sir. I wouldn’t have come here without talking to my parents and knowing I had their full support.”
“And they’re happy about the pregnancy? I mean, you are both so young,” my mother gushes.
“They were, like you, a little concerned at first, but they’ve taken the news in stride. They’re very happy. They’ve already met Petra, and they’ve both fallen in love with her. They think she’s absolutely perfect for me.”
“Is that so?” my mother asks, her voice tinged with suspicion.
“Of course. They think she’s a charming young lady. They know how well she does in school and that she has big dreams for herself. They think we’re the perfect match. Naturally, every parent worries when their child has children too early, but they believe we’ll do just fine.”
“Oh, I must say that’s a relief,” my mother adds. “Isn’t that so, dear?”
“Yes. Yes, thank you for coming to meet us,” my father tells him.
“Of course. Come join us for dinner,” my mom offers. “Petra, why don’t you put another serving on the table?”
I’m still staring between the three of them, shocked by the direction this evening has taken. Somehow, I feel like I’m living in an alternate reality. What is going on? When did Sin even talk to his parents? He’s never mentioned them to me before.
And the marriage? That’s . . . We’ve never spoken about that. Never. How could he bring that up so casually when it’s a complete lie?
Still, I keep my thoughts to myself as I head to the kitchen counter, grab an extra plate, and start putting together some food for Sin.
My mother is bustling around the kitchen, while my father sits at the table with Sin.
From what I can hear, they’re currently discussing sports—NFL, NHL, I don’t even know.
Sports aren’t my strong suit, but I know my dad is a big fan.
Knowing that Sin plays on the school team and is a great athlete must make him very happy.
Seeing my mom nearby, I move slowly toward her, trying to see if maybe—just maybe—meeting Sin has jogged her memory a little.
“So, what do you think of him, Mom?” I ask in a low voice, careful that they don’t hear me.
“Sin? Oh, Petra. He’s wonderful. You should have told us earlier. Not only now, with this situation, but I do understand that teenagers like to have their privacy.”
“I’m glad you like him,” I say dryly. “But he doesn’t remind you of anyone else?”
“Who would he remind me of?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you think you’ve seen him before? Doesn’t he look like that sponsor you talked about, Kimaris?”
“Oh, but that was so long ago. I don’t quite remember what he looked like,” she says, frowning slightly. “But I think I would have remembered. Why? Is there a connection between the two?”
“Uh, perhaps . . . Kimaris is a family member of the Arnoult clan,” I add under my breath.
“Oh, I see! That makes this even more exciting. I’m so happy for you. And he seems like such a good boy. From the way he looks at you, I can tell he loves you a lot.”
“Yeah, he does,” I say quietly.
But inside, all I can think is: He loves me enough to wait for me for over a hundred years, track down my parents, make sure he was at my birth, name me so that I would share the name with my past-life self .
. . then he made sure my parents became rich enough to move to Radcliffe so I could attend St. Anselm Hall—all so I could meet him again, as the golden boy of Radcliffe: Sinclair Arnoult.
Which is probably not even his real name.
And let’s not forget the most important detail: He’s probably also a murderer. Maybe even in cahoots with the devil. Though I’m still not sure how that particular detail fits into the whole picture.
And now that I think about it . . . how do his parents fit into this? If he’s some immortal creature, then how did he convince two seemingly normal people to play along with this charade?
Are they being mind-controlled? Does he have that power?
Am I being mind-controlled?
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Tonight is going to be tough.
But I have to get through it—without signaling any suspicion.
We all sit down to eat, and my father is still deep in conversation with Sin.
My mother, clearly excited and eager to know more about the father of her future grandchild, asks, “So, Sin, tell me—do you have any hobbies?”
“Yes,” he answers. “I play sports in my spare time, but to be perfectly honest, the thing I love to do the most is spend time with Petra.”
“Oh,” my mother murmurs.
I glance at him. What is he trying to do?
“And do you have any plans for the future? For college? A career?” she asks.
“Taking care of Petra, of course. We’re going to get married, and we’re going to have our kid. I want nothing more than to be there for them—to spoil them and make sure they are the happiest two people in the entire universe.”
“So, you don’t want to pursue sports at a professional level or something like that?” my father asks.
“No, it’s fine as a hobby. But playing professionally would mean taking time away from Petra, and I would never want to do that.
But don’t worry about it; I have a very sizable trust fund that will last lifetimes.
For Petra and me, for our child—or children—and for our children’s children.
So money won’t be a problem. All I want is to be there for them and ensure Petra can pursue her career in art. ”
“You want her to pursue her career, but you don’t want to pursue yours?” my father presses.
“She’s such a talented artist. I would never want to see her talent go to waste. In fact, I’m willing to be a stay-at-home dad if it means she can achieve all her dreams.”
My parents seem very pleased with these answers, even if they’re a little shocked by the vehemence behind them. I mean, to every single question they’re asking, his answer is—Petra.
And I’m just staring at him like, What the hell is going on?
Hobbies? “Petra.”
Plans for the future? “Petra.”
I’m surprised they haven’t asked his favorite color, because he’d probably say “Petra.”
I give him a side-eye, and he notices but only smiles in return. He grabs my hand and places it on the table in full view of everyone.
“I really want nothing else than to love her and be there for her as she deserves. You have a great daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Valentine, and I am the luckiest man in the entire world that I stumbled upon her—and that she decided to give me a chance.”
“Oh, she gave you a chance? Doesn’t that mean you were the one to pursue her?” my father asks with a raised brow.
My mother chimes in, “Oh, yes!”
“I’ve had a crush on her forever,” Sin admits, “but you know Petra; she’s in her own world. It took me a long time to build the courage to speak to her, and even more time to prove to her that I’m earnest.”
“Yeah, that would be Petra,” my mother chuckles, while my father nods in agreement.
The entire sickeningly sweet exchange makes me so mad, I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my poker face for much longer.
In a tense voice, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom, pocketing my phone on the way.
Closing the door behind me, I quickly pull up the messaging app and text Amelia.
Ames, help.
It only takes a few seconds for her to reply.
What’s up?
I quickly give her the rundown of what’s happening.
What do I do, Ames? This is insane.
That boyfriend of yours sounds hella devoted to you.
Don’t you find everything a little too . . . much?
Girl! That sounds so romantic.
I’m not sure we have the same definitions of romantic . . .
As if you weren’t the one who preferred Spike over Angel.
That’s fictional. We’re talking about real life here. And this guy just told my parents he wants to marry me!!! We never spoke about it!
So you . . . don’t want to?
That’s not the issue. But he never spoke to me about it. It feels like an ambush.
You’re making him sound like a diabolical mastermind
I think he is . . .
He’s your boyfriend! Why are you with him if you think that of him?
I’m not sure what to think anymore. I love him, but something is off about him, and I don’t know why.
I haven’t told her yet about all the connections I’ve found about present-day Sin and past-life Sin or the fact that he might be immortal. Not that anyone would believe me about that—not even Ames.
Answer me this then: Do you feel unsafe with him?
I stare at the message and take a moment to think about it. Do I? Do I feel unsafe with him?
No . . .
That’s your answer then.
But what if he’s a murderer? I want to yell.
A knock at the door startles me.
“Are you all right, Petra?” Sin asks.
I clear my throat and flush the toilet before placing my phone in my pocket.
“I’m good,” I say with a smile as I get out.
He pulls me to his side and leads me back to the dinner table.
The conversation continues with Sin saying all the right things and impressing my parents to the point that they look at him as some god walking among mere mortals.
We’re about to be finished with the meal when he suddenly asks my parents, “Mr. and Mrs. Valentine, may I stay over?”
Silence ensues as my parents stare at him.
“Stay over . . . ?” my mother whispers.
Sin places his arm over my shoulders. “In other circumstances, I realize this would not be appropriate, but there isn’t anything that could happen between us that hasn’t already,” he says smoothly.
My mother turns to my father, and they share a look.
“Please? I cannot bear the thought of being away from Petra and the baby,” Sin continues.
“I suppose that is all right,” my mother eventually says.
All the while, I’m still stunned by the entire exchange.
The shock doesn’t wear off while we wash the dishes or while Sin offers to clean the dinner table.
It doesn’t wear off as he leads me to my bedroom and rummages through my closet to find something comfortable for me to sleep in.
It doesn’t wear off even as he pulls me into bed, holding me from behind, my back flush against his front.
This strange reality only registers when he leans in to kiss my neck, his warm breath fanning against my skin.
“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispers.
I hold myself still, eyes wide awake even as the minutes trickle down, turning into hours as sleep eludes me.
Good Lord, I am trapped.