Chapter 21 – Thiago
Twenty-One
Thiago
Remi Isabel Cain is a liar.
Forty-five minutes ago, she looked me dead in the eyes and told me she doesn’t share food unless she really likes someone. Now we’re sitting on opposite ends of her couch, two pizza boxes open between us, and she’s sliding a slice of hers onto my plate.
“Try it.”
I look down at the spicy pepperoni covered in hot honey, then back at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Her eyes narrow. “Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’m not looking at you like anything.”
“Yes, you are.”
I pick up the slice before she can change her mind. “You said I should try it.”
“I did.”
“So I’m trying it.”
She watches me take a bite, suspicious as hell, as I fight the urge to remind her of what she said in the kitchen.
I have to really like you to share my food.
There are some victories a smart man knows better than to celebrate out loud, especially when the woman sitting across from him probably has weapons hidden throughout her apartment.
“Good?” she asks.
I chew slowly, mostly because I know it’ll annoy her, just like it did that day at the restaurant.
“Braga.”
“It’s all right.”
Her mouth falls open. “All right?”
I barely get the words out before she reaches for the slice. I lift it out of range, and she immediately climbs across the cushion after it.
“Give it back, asshole.”
“Nope. You gave it to me.”
“Because I thought you deserved nice things. I was clearly wrong. First my chilaquiles and now my favorite pizza? You’re insufferable, Braga, and your taste buds suck.”
I laugh as she reaches across me again, one knee sinking into the couch beside my thigh. There’s something strangely normal about sitting here with her after the night we’ve had, arguing over pizza while music plays behind us.
This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. I followed her to the tattoo shop because getting closer to Remi is exactly what Elena expects of me, and sitting in her home while she willingly tells me about herself should feel like progress.
But it doesn’t.
The woman trying to steal a slice of pizza from my hand no longer feels like an assignment, and every minute I spend with her makes it harder to remember that I’m supposed to treat her as one.
“If I take it back, can I finish my pizza in peace?”
She pauses, as if realizing how far she’s intruded into my space. “Fine.” She eases back onto her side of the couch. “But you have one more chance to prove yourself. Diss my lollipop, and it’s over.”
“Noted.”
She casts me one last glance before we settle into a comfortable silence and finish our dinner. I watch her when she doesn’t think I’m looking, catching her humming along to a song I don’t recognize.
“So how are you liking Philly?”
I hear the question, but I’m too distracted by the movement of her lips to answer in time.
“Braga? You awake?”
“Yeah.” I drag my attention back to her eyes. “I mean, it’s great. I’m settled and getting my way around.”
She lifts an eyebrow but doesn’t look my way, suddenly fascinated by the rim of her glass of water.
“You’ve been going out, meeting people? Desiree shoot your other arm yet?”
“Really?” I laugh and sit up straighter. “What are you actually asking me?”
Remi sets her glass on the side table, then turns to me. “You think I don’t know what I mean?”
“I think you know exactly what you mean. Maybe I just want to hear you say it.”
She’s the one laughing now. “If you think it’s anything but morbid curiosity, you’re delusional.”
“And yet, I still haven’t heard you ask the question.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Have you been seeing anyone since you moved here?”
“There it is.”
“Don’t make me regret asking.”
I grin. “No. I haven’t.”
Her expression barely changes, but there’s a hint of satisfaction she doesn’t hide quickly enough, and I file it away for later.
“And you? Are you seeing anyone?”
She shakes her head, smiling at first, but it fades a moment later as something heavier takes its place.
“Was there someone?”
Remi looks away. She draws one knee to her chest, wraps an arm around it, and rests her chin on top.
I’ve only seen her like this once before, at the cemetery, when grief had stripped away so much of the woman she usually shows the world.
Only this time, I don’t know if she’s mourning a person or what they had together.
“There was. He was…special.”
“Did you love him?”
She twists to face me. “He was murdered in front of me four years ago.”
Fuck. This isn’t where I wanted the conversation to go. Not because I don’t want to know everything about her, but because I’d rather see her giving me shit over a slice of pizza than see her look the way she does right now.
I could tell her I’m sorry and let us sit here awkwardly until the subject changes, but I have a feeling she’s heard those words enough. So I give her something else instead.
“Tell me about him.”
Her eyes stay fixed on mine, narrowing briefly as if she can’t believe what I’m asking. Then her features soften, and the faintest smile touches her lips.
“His name was Ryuji Kuroda. To many people, he probably looked a little scary,” she says with a small chuckle. “But with me, he was different. He listened. He never judged me or underestimated me.”
I’m starting to understand how much that matters to her. She doesn’t want to be judged by what people see on the outside or reduced to whatever they’ve already decided she should be.
“You asked me once about my car. Why I chose Katsura orange.”
I nod.
“He once shared a story with me, one his grandmother used to tell him about two lovers whose souls were intertwined so tightly that even death couldn’t fully separate them.
When one of them died, a Katsura tree bloomed from the grave.
Every autumn, its leaves turned gold and orange before falling, and their scent carried on the wind to wherever the other lover was. ”
Her voice falters on the last few words.
Looking down, she blinks rapidly and rubs her thumb against something hidden in her palm. The smile she wore seconds ago vanishes as she tries to pull herself back together.
“His grandmother told him it was the soul’s way of saying, ‘I was here. I loved you. And some part of me always will be.’”
The final word breaks slightly.
Remi presses her lips together and turns her face away, but not fast enough. A tear slips down her cheek, and she wipes it with the heel of her hand almost angrily.
“Fuck.” A shaky laugh escapes her as she looks up at the ceiling. “I haven’t talked about this in a long time.”
I don’t interrupt her or tell her she doesn’t have to continue. After a moment, she looks back at me.
“That’s why you chose the orange,” I say.
She nods, another tear gathering along her lashes.
“After Ryuji died, everyone remembered how he died. I did too.” She pauses, struggling with the next words.
“For a while, that was all I could remember. All I could see.” Her fingers tighten around whatever she’s holding.
“But I loved him before I lost him.” This time when her voice cracks, she doesn’t try to hide it.
“I needed something that reminded me of that.”
My chest tightens as she wipes another tear away.
“So when I bought the car, I had it painted Katsura orange.” She gives me a watery smile. “It was my way of keeping the beautiful part.”
I move closer and brush away the tear beneath her eye with my thumb. She doesn’t pull away, even as my gaze drops to the fist curled tightly in her lap. The same one I’ve watched her fidget with more times than I can count. I rest my hand over it and wait until her eyes meet mine.
“This,” I say. “Can you tell me about this?”
For a few seconds, she doesn’t move. Then her fingers slowly uncurl beneath mine, revealing a dark signet ring in the center of her palm.
I’ve seen expensive jewelry on Remi before, but this is different. The metal is worn in places from years of being handled.
“It’s my father’s,” she says. “It was my father’s.”
My attention shifts to the emblem engraved into the face of the ring, and recognition comes immediately.
It belongs to Ares.
I’ve seen the symbol enough times in files to know exactly what I’m looking at.
“He gave it to me years ago.” Lifting the ring from her palm, she places it in mine, closing my fingers around it. “We all have a story, Thiago. Sometimes it’s ugly and tainted, but without it, we wouldn’t be who we are.”
I’m not prepared for how deeply I feel her words, but even after everything she just said, it’s the sound of my name on her lips that stays with me.
She didn’t call me Officer Braga or even Braga this time. She called me Thiago, and I fucking like how it sounds coming from her.
I turn the ring between my fingers once before giving it back. “Thank you for telling me.”
She closes her hand around it and stares at me for a heartbeat. “Okay, that’s enough feelings.”
A laugh catches in my throat. “Enough feelings?”
“Yes. You’re making this weird.” Reaching for the bowl on the coffee table, she grabs a lollipop. “It’s time for your final test.”
“Wait, were you serious about that?”
“Deadly.” She unwraps it and holds it out to me.
“And what happens if I hate it?” I ask, taking it from her.
“You leave.”
“You’d kick me out over a lollipop?”
“I have standards.”
I suppress a laugh and pop it into my mouth as she watches me with such intense focus that it feels like an actual evaluation.
“Well?”
I roll it over my tongue, pretending to consider my answer.
Her eyes narrow. “You better choose your next words very carefully.”
“Watermelon. It’s sweet.”
“That’s generally how candy works.”
I grin around the stick. “I like it.”
Her shoulders relax dramatically. “Congratulations. You can stay.”
“Does that mean we’re friends?”
The question hangs between us as Remi holds my gaze before reaching for another slice of pizza.
“Don’t push your luck, Braga.”
My phone vibrates against the table. I pick it up and glance at the screen.
ELENA: REPORT
Well, it was great while it lasted.