only spoken to once seemed awkward, even if they shared the same DNA.
And now that she thought about, how strange for him to be here. A trickle of unease tickled inside her stomach. “Come into the town house, gentlemen. Let’s get those groceries inside before the shrimp spoils in this heat.”
Eloisa flashed a grateful smile to Jonah. She couldn’t miss the tic in the corner of his eye, but wasn’t sure what put it there.
“Duarte,” she touched her brother’s arm lightly, “welcome. You might as well stay for supper. Unless you’ve already made other plans?”
Once in the kitchenette, Jonah’s somber gaze stopped her midramble. “Your brother said he needs to talk to you.”
“Right, of course. We have a lot to catch up on, I’m sure.” God, this felt so surreal, having her brother here after so many years.
She put away groceries on autopilot. Holding a wrapped and taped bag of shrimp in her hands, shepivoted toward the refrigerator and almost slammed smack into her brother. “Sorry, uhm, not much space.”
“How did you recognize me?” Duarte asked simply, with no preamble.
She looked into dark eyes identical to her own, ones that had also stared back at her from her father’s face during that memorable encounter years ago. “You look just like him.”
“Our father?” Duarte blinked slowly, his eyes more enigmatic than their dad’s. The old king’s eyes had been mostly sad. “You were only seven years old.”
“But Enrique was younger then.” Although in her childish view he’d seem so very ancient. “And my mother kept a picture of him from when they, uh, knew each other. She let me hide it in my sock drawer sometimes. I mixed it in with fan clippings and posters so no one would ever guess. And it’s obvious I’m right.”
She couldn’t bear this standoff positioning. Eloisa strode past to shove the bag of seafood into the refrigerator. She had to be in control of something, even if it was making sure the shrimp didn’t spoil. “Why are you here? Now?” Eloisa froze as a horrible possibility avalanched over her, far more chilling than the blast from the fridge. She spun back around. “Is he dead?”
“He’s alive,” Duarte reassured her quickly, even though his somber face gave her pause. “I’m here because you contacted the lawyer. And we would have been in touch with you soon anyway. Our father is sick, most likely dying. He wants to see his children.”
“How many of us are there?” Damn, where had that cruel response come from? From the deep recesses of her late-night childhood fears and tears, no doubt.
Jonah placed a comforting, steadying hand betweenher shoulder blades, while nudging the refrigerator closed with his foot.
Duarte stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. “Just you, our two brothers and, of course, me.”
“Pardon me if I’m not so sure.” Eloisa breathed deeply to expand the tightness rapidly constricting her rib cage with tension. “I am sorry he’s sick, but I don’t think we have anything to say to one another. Not after so many years.”
She expected an argument, smooth persuasive reasons why she was wrong. But Duarte simply shrugged.
“Okay then. I’ll let him know the message was delivered and you declined. Since you don’t have any questions, I’ve completed my task.”
That was it? He was leaving?
Duarte slid a card onto the sofa end table, simple white vellum with a number printed in raised, black ink. He anchored it with a paperweight. “You can contact me when you decide to see him.”
When?
Another decade or two?
Duarte had simply shown up, rocked her balance until she didn’t know what she thought, and then he was gone again before she could gather her thoughts. He hadn’t come to see her. He’d come to pass along information. God, she was such an idiot, still hiding hopes deep in her heart like those pictures of her biological family tucked under her socks.
She wanted to cry but her eyes were dry after all
And now that she thought about, how strange for him to be here. A trickle of unease tickled inside her stomach. “Come into the town house, gentlemen. Let’s get those groceries inside before the shrimp spoils in this heat.”
Eloisa flashed a grateful smile to Jonah. She couldn’t miss the tic in the corner of his eye, but wasn’t sure what put it there.
“Duarte,” she touched her brother’s arm lightly, “welcome. You might as well stay for supper. Unless you’ve already made other plans?”
Once in the kitchenette, Jonah’s somber gaze stopped her midramble. “Your brother said he needs to talk to you.”
“Right, of course. We have a lot to catch up on, I’m sure.” God, this felt so surreal, having her brother here after so many years.
She put away groceries on autopilot. Holding a wrapped and taped bag of shrimp in her hands, shepivoted toward the refrigerator and almost slammed smack into her brother. “Sorry, uhm, not much space.”
“How did you recognize me?” Duarte asked simply, with no preamble.
She looked into dark eyes identical to her own, ones that had also stared back at her from her father’s face during that memorable encounter years ago. “You look just like him.”
“Our father?” Duarte blinked slowly, his eyes more enigmatic than their dad’s. The old king’s eyes had been mostly sad. “You were only seven years old.”
“But Enrique was younger then.” Although in her childish view he’d seem so very ancient. “And my mother kept a picture of him from when they, uh, knew each other. She let me hide it in my sock drawer sometimes. I mixed it in with fan clippings and posters so no one would ever guess. And it’s obvious I’m right.”
She couldn’t bear this standoff positioning. Eloisa strode past to shove the bag of seafood into the refrigerator. She had to be in control of something, even if it was making sure the shrimp didn’t spoil. “Why are you here? Now?” Eloisa froze as a horrible possibility avalanched over her, far more chilling than the blast from the fridge. She spun back around. “Is he dead?”
“He’s alive,” Duarte reassured her quickly, even though his somber face gave her pause. “I’m here because you contacted the lawyer. And we would have been in touch with you soon anyway. Our father is sick, most likely dying. He wants to see his children.”
“How many of us are there?” Damn, where had that cruel response come from? From the deep recesses of her late-night childhood fears and tears, no doubt.
Jonah placed a comforting, steadying hand betweenher shoulder blades, while nudging the refrigerator closed with his foot.
Duarte stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. “Just you, our two brothers and, of course, me.”
“Pardon me if I’m not so sure.” Eloisa breathed deeply to expand the tightness rapidly constricting her rib cage with tension. “I am sorry he’s sick, but I don’t think we have anything to say to one another. Not after so many years.”
She expected an argument, smooth persuasive reasons why she was wrong. But Duarte simply shrugged.
“Okay then. I’ll let him know the message was delivered and you declined. Since you don’t have any questions, I’ve completed my task.”
That was it? He was leaving?
Duarte slid a card onto the sofa end table, simple white vellum with a number printed in raised, black ink. He anchored it with a paperweight. “You can contact me when you decide to see him.”
When?
Another decade or two?
Duarte had simply shown up, rocked her balance until she didn’t know what she thought, and then he was gone again before she could gather her thoughts. He hadn’t come to see her. He’d come to pass along information. God, she was such an idiot, still hiding hopes deep in her heart like those pictures of her biological family tucked under her socks.
She wanted to cry but her eyes were dry after all
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