Desire & Blood - The Thorne Siblings

23. Sweater

When I woke up the next day, the first thing I did was listen for any signs of my unbidden guest. But everything was quiet.

The night had been much too short. Even though I had switched off the alarm, the first stirrings of the city had ended my slumber. As they did every morning.

I rose and tiptoed into the living room. Last night, I had given Theresa an arm full of blankets, and she had arranged them in a multilayered cover to burrow under. Now, the only visible part of her was a nest of black, tangled hair.

My stomach was growling for sustenance, but preparing breakfast was bound to wake her up. And I wasn't eager for her company.

So, instead of eating in peace, I went to the bathroom, washed, put on my running gear, and let myself out. A jog along the beach might help me to find my feet and my senses. And, with a bit of luck, she'd have left when I returned.

The morning was gray and windy. A steady breeze from the sea turned the water's surface dull and crested the waves with caps of foam. Seagulls rode the stormy air and screeched their misgivings at the mess this world was in.

The regular thumping of my feet on the beachwalk's boards helped to get a grip on reality.

My mother had cancer. And she hadn't even told me about it until we met by accident. I'd need to call her. Later—once I'd have Theresa conveyed out of my apartment and out of my life.

Theresa Thorne—asleep on my sofa. One of the birds outside laughed at the weirdness of this thought.

And a strange person she was. About my age, but she behaved like a teenager. Was this the result of living the pampered life of a rich man's daughter?

Not that I cared, of course.

I passed Royal Sandwiches. It was closed up and deserted. My official duties there wouldn't start for another three hours. I sprinted past the building.

Had Thierry Thorne really killed his father? My skin still remembered the hot touch of his fingers on my face, the day I had been in his office.

The man was a predator. Physically. And emotionally. And none of his riches would ever justify his deeds. Deeds that demanded justice. And Theresa might be the key to bring that justice upon him.

And my mother was dying of cancer.

I ran faster.

~~~

It was past 8 a.m. when I returned to my apartment, hot from the exertion in spite of the morning's chill.

The nest of hair was still on my sofa.

Sleeping late, probably yet another consequence of not having to work.

I entered the bathroom to take a shower. That was bound to put an end to her slumber. And I wasn't trying to be quiet. It was about time she left. I had had my share of Thornes, for now, and for the rest of my life. A life I wanted to rebuild, far away from TCorp and these people.

After showering, I returned to the living room, dressed in a towel.

Theresa was still under the covers, but her face was turned towards me now, eyes glittering in the listless light entering through the window.

"Good morning," I said.

She made a moaning sound, tugged at a quilt, and covered her face.

I went to my bedroom to dress. When I returned, she had sat up, the quilt now wrapped around her. I had bought the garish piece of fabric at a flea market. It had been love at first sight, even though—or because—its stitched-together squares were all clashing colors of vivid red, pale pink, neon orange, and sickly aubergine. It covered Theresa from her neck to her ankles. Her unkempt hair hid one half of her pale face and flowed into the quilt's colored patches, as if rooted there. She held her lower lip between her teeth while her eyes—at least the one that wasn't lurking behind a veil of hair—followed me.