A Long Story
I’m trembling.
It’s subtle, mostly in my hands, the way my fingers twist together in my lap like they’re trying to braid my nerves into something useful instead of completely destructive.
I can feel my nerves everywhere. In the pit of my stomach. In the tightness in my chest. Even my heartbeat feels wrong, like it’s trying to outrun this moment.
The sitting room is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Like from a movie. If I thought Jake was rich, this is a whole new awakening.
Tall ceilings. Gilded crown molding. Paintings on every wall, some classic, some modern, all expensive. Everything smells like lilies and lemon polish. Like wealth.
I sigh, dropping my eyes to the woman sitting in front of me.
Elena Hanson. My aunt.
She sits across from me in an armchair that probably costs more than everything I’ve ever owned in my entire life. She’s dressed in a cream silk blouse and navy trousers, her heels tucked neatly under her chair. Her dark hair is swept back, not a strand out of place, and her lipstick is the exact same shade of mauve that used to stain the edges of my grandmother’s teacups in the only photo I have of her.
She looks like someone important.
And she looks like him.
Her cheekbones, the slope of her nose, the almond shape of her eyes, my eyes. Every little detail makes my heart ache.
She smiles, soft and almost wistful. “You look just like your grandmother when she was younger. I have some pictures I can show you.”
I blink. Swallow hard. My mouth moves before my fear can catch it. “Why have I never met you before?”
Her expression falls just enough to show the pain behind it. She sighs and smooths her hands over her knees. “Because I was a coward. Young, but still a coward.”
My breath catches.
“I’m obviously younger than your father,” she says quietly. “His little sister. I adored him. Still do.” Her lips tremble for half a second, but she catches herself.
I bite down on my cheek so I don’t cry myself.
“When he married your mother, Diana, our parents, they didn’t take it well. Old money. Old minds. They’d chosen someone for him, someone they thought would elevate our name, secure alliances, whatever nonsense they cared about.”
She pauses, glancing toward one of the paintings on the far wall.
“They disowned him,” she continues. “Told him he could stay in the family or stay with her. He chose her.”
Shock spreads through me. “What?”
She smiles, her voice soft. “Of course he chose her. He loved her so much.”
My mind spins, my confusion spreading. “He never mentioned that. He told us his parents died a long time ago.”
She grimaces. “I don’t blame him. They were terrible to him.”
I press my lips together, the sharp sting behind my eyes threatening to spill over.
“I didn’t know how to stand up to them. I was too young, too afraid of losing everything.” She gives a shaky laugh. “So I let them send me to England for school. I disappeared.”
I nod, but I don’t feel like I’m taking everything in. I’m numb.
“And when I found out about the accident, I called Diana, but she wouldn’t talk to me. She wouldn’t give me anything. Not a funeral date, not anything.”
I look down at my hands. My knuckles are white from how hard I’m squeezing them.
“That’s terrible,” I whisper.
Elena leans forward and reaches for me. Her hand is warm, her grip gentle. Her eyes shine, glassy and earnest.
“I’m so happy you’re here,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “That we can finally be a family, even if it’s just the two of us.”
I smile, a little shy, a little stunned. “Are you, are you married? Do you have kids?”
She laughs, wiping her cheek with a perfectly manicured finger. “No, not yet. My boyfriend’s taking forever to propose, probably because he knows I’d say no.”
She grins, and it’s so contagious that I mirror her.
“I like things the way they are. I want kids eventually, but I haven’t quite landed in that place yet.”
I nod. “What do you do? For work?”
“I’m a private art curator,” she says, eyes lighting up with something fierce and proud. “I work with collectors and galleries around the world. Helps that I can work remotely most of the time, but I travel often.”
“Art. Like dad.”
She smiles widely. “Yeah, it runs in the family.”
I smile again, more relaxed this time. Her eyes drift past me and land on someone behind me. Her lips curve into a knowing smile.
“Is that your boyfriend?” she asks lightly.
My cheeks go hot in a second. I glance over my shoulder.
Zaid is in the foyer, pacing. He’s wearing one of his nicer button-downs, but his hands are stuffed awkwardly in his pockets and he keeps glancing at the ceiling like he’s trying to calm himself down.
His hair’s messy in a way that looks almost intentional. He’s not trying to be hot. He just is.
I look back at Elena. “No.”
She arches a brow, following the blush that creeps up my neck. “But you want him to be, don’t you?”
I sigh, dropping my gaze again. “It’s a long story.”
“Well,” she says, pushing up from her chair with a graceful stretch, “it’s a good thing we have the rest of our lives to talk about it.”
She walks to the doorway and turns back to me with a twinkle in her eye.
“Now, introduce me properly, will you?”
I stand like a newborn deer, trembling like a leaf. Zaid tenses when he sees us approach, his eyes immediately finding mine.
“Hey, I just want you to officially introduce you to my aunt,” I whisper as I stand beside him.
He nods, offering Elena a sweet smile before extending his hand.
They don’t talk much, so we’re out of the house quick.
The moment the front door closes behind us, I let out a long, shaky breath.
Zaid is quiet as he unlocks the car and climbs into the driver’s seat. The engine hums to life, but he doesn’t shift out of park right away.
I glance at him, the side of his jaw tight, his hands gripping the wheel.
“Thank you for coming with me.” I say softly, turning toward him.
He doesn’t look at me yet. Just stares straight ahead.
“I was nervous. Scared, honestly. I don’t think I could’ve walked in there alone.”
Zaid finally turns his head, and his gaze catches mine. There’s so much tension in his eyes.
He nods once. Still doesn’t speak.
“Are you okay?” I ask, even softer now.
He nods again.
Then, quietly, he reaches across the center console and takes my hand.
My heart stutters.
I don’t say anything. Just watch as his fingers thread between mine like they belong there. His grip is warm. A little rough. Familiar.
I lean back in my seat, trying to calm the pounding in my chest. I rest our joined hands gently in my lap, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, but he’s already pulling out of the driveway, jaw still tight, eyes fixed on the road.
So I don’t push.
I just hold on tighter, smiling despite the ache in my chest, despite the confusion swimming in my gut.
And I don’t stop smiling the whole way home.
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
