Page 66 of Elf-ish

She steps closer, pointing out her nephews and nieces by name, then her siblings, and finally confirming her aunt and grandmother.

“My grandmother was a quiet woman,” I admit. “My grandfather was stern. A miser, I suppose one would call him.”

A person who hoards wealth and spends as little as possible.

I wouldn’t say I’ve inherited that trait, although I’ve inherited plenty of other things from the patriarchal line of my family.

“I’ve told you that Tucker isn’t really my dad. His father was my father, which made my great-grandfather actually my grandfather.”

Essentially, my dad was my brother, and it was so fucking complicated.

I continue to stare at the image of Angelica’s grandmother. Her smile is warm and kind. Her sister beside her has a glint of mischief in her eyes, like that of her great-niece and several great-nephews.

“What I didn’t mention is how Tucker has brothers, which makes them my brothers.” I turn my head, hands still behind my back to witness the expected shock on Angelica’s face from revealing another secret without an NDA.

Why was I telling this woman everything? The answer comes quickly. Because I’d like to share. I’d like to unburden this load I bear with her.

Angelica doesn’t look shocked, only sad. Sad for me. I could rage at her pity, but instead, I drink it in. While I’ve never wanted anyone to feel sorry for me, ever, no one has had the opportunity because of the secrets I keep deep within me. The ones we’ve never openly shared although Tucker and his brother, Mach, own a business together and refer to one another as brothers all the time.

“My father had a set of male twins a little younger than Tucker with another young woman,” I clarify of the list of bastard children my father bore. “And another child somewhere out there, who is a full-fledged adult by now, who is between them and me. Tucker was his only legitimate son.”

The list of adulterous acts is daunting.

Angelica doesn’t speak. Her head remains tipped against the jamb, arms crossed loosely over her chest.

She’s so beautiful, and if she looks like her mother, which is difficult to tell from this image, I understand her father’s fascination. Angelica is the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.

But I pull my gaze from her and stare, almost blindly, at this wall of photographs.

“I’m sorry you aren’t close to any of them,” Angelica begins. “But there is always time for a relationship, if you want to put in the effort.”

Make amends. It’s on the list, but I don’t think she realizes how difficult that would truly be.

“How are you feeling?” I ask, abruptly changing the subject.

“Would you hate me if I said I’d love a cheeseburger the size of my head?” She chuckles at her admission, and I glance back at her.

“Something tells me I could never hate you,” I admit. Something tells me I could love her, but love is skiing during an avalanche, dangerous and inevitably it could suffocate you.

I shrug. “I could eat a cheeseburger.”

Her gaze blatantly roams up and down my body, before she chuffs. “When have you ever eaten a cheeseburger?”

“Were you just checking me out?” I laugh, turning my body toward her. “Get a good look?”

Her face turns a sweet shade of pink, punctuating those freckles across her cheeks, but the one I concentrate on near the corner of her lip is like the North Star in the sky leading me home.

“Don’t worry,” I add. “I enjoy the view, too.” I keep my eyes on her a second before scanning down her body, letting my gaze trace the outline of her form. Those smaller breasts and wider hips. The curves and dips in all the right places.

“You said you didn’t look earlier.” She straightens from the door jamb.

“I didn’t.” But I cross my fingers behind my back while I speak because I might have gotten a tiny peek. More like an unintentional flash, but I quickly held back from taking a fuller glance. I’ve seen the outline of her body before, in that one-piece bathing suit while we were in the hot tub. It didn’t leave much to the imagination but left enough that I’ve been wondering what she’d look like all laid out and naked on my bed, her alabaster skin contrasting with my dark sheets.

As we continue to stare at one another, blood rushes through my body to places it shouldn’t be rushing. I clear my throat and swipe a hand over my hair to cup the back of my neck.

“So, cheeseburgers?”

“You don’t need to feed me.” She draws a circle with her toe on the rug and lowers her head.