Love Like Her (Against All Odds #3) - Claudia Y. Burgoa Page 0,4
serious. My sister would like a word with you.”
She walks outside the bathroom and glares at me, then at the phone. “Why would she want to talk to me?”
I shrug.
“Is she your partner? I thought psychopaths worked alone.”
“We usually do, but at this time of the year it’s easier with a helper. We learned it from Santa.” I wink at her.
“That’s not funny, Eros!” Nyx yells. “You can be so dense.”
Olivia grins and takes the phone.
“Hi.” She nods, shakes her head, and gives me a curious look. “I can see the resemblance. Well, my parents drilled the stranger danger motto at a young age. It’s harder for serial killers like him to get me alone. Obviously, if you say he’s safe, I should believe you. Because what are the chances that you are his accomplice.”
Olivia presses her lips together. “I can do that. Thank you and have a nice flight.”
She hands over my phone.
“What did she want?” I ask curiously.
“You know, the usual,” she explains, waving her hand. “Call nine-one-one, kick him in the nuts, don’t feed him after midnight or he turns into a monster.”
“Nyx wouldn’t say that,” I claim.
She frowns. “I talked to Persephone.”
“Huh?” I scratch my temple. “I was on the phone with Nyx.”
“So, what’s with the Greek mythology names?”
I grin. “My parents are fans. Our youngest sister is Calliope.”
She nods a couple of times. “That’s a lot better than Olivia Evelyn. My parents named me after my grandmothers. I adored the ladies, but I would’ve liked to have something a little more original and a lot less old lady.”
“You don’t know what you wish for. Try living with the name Eros Zephyrus,” I argue.
She laughs. “That’s—it’s a joke, right?”
I shake my head. “Nope. My parents are… different. What did my sisters want?”
“Persephone said the puppy face is real. You wouldn’t kill a fly or an insect—or you’ll get in trouble with your parents.”
“Persy talks fast. I’m sure there was more,” I say, staring at her.
She shrugs one shoulder. “Maybe, and I can’t tell you because it’s a secret. It’s the only way to stay alive until I have to board my plane to San Francisco.”
“Are you having fun?”
“Slightly. I can’t believe you had your sisters call me.”
“It wasn’t exactly like that. They called and I asked them what to do.”
“Because you’re afraid of the storm?”
“Honestly, it’s unsettling to think of what could happen to you.”
“The inside of the airport is safe,” she mumbles.
“That movie, The Terminal, was fantasy. I prefer to know that you’re safe. If I have to stay with you, that’s fine.” I tilt my head toward the waiting area. “Why don’t we take a seat?”
She follows me, sits on a chair, and sets her luggage on each side of her seat. I guess I’m not allowed to sit next to her.
I take a seat across from her and pull out a couple of granola bars from my backpack and offer them to her. “Have you eaten?”
“Thank you,” she takes both, places one inside her backpack, and opens the other one. “What is it like to have three sisters?”
“That’s a strange question. Nyx and Persy are my best friends,” I inform her. “We traveled with our parents to archeological sites. We were our only constant. Sometimes I played dolls with them. Other days, we would be climbing trees, throwing the ball, or we hung out with my parents.”
“So that’s why you traveled a lot? Your parents are archeologists?”
I nod and tell her more about our trips. The ones I remember the most, the food we ate, the languages we know, and the people we’ve met. She stops me to ask questions and hangs onto every word I tell her. As I relive the memories, it feels as if she’s holding my hand and experiencing them with me.
“How about you? Any siblings?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’m an only child. My parents divorced when I was young.”
“That sucks. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. They divorced years ago. If you think about it, divorce children are more typical than children from lengthy and happy marriages.” She smiles. “I’m the norm. You’re an almost extinct species.”
“You like to tweak things around, don’t you?”
She takes a bite of her granola bar and then looks at me. “It’s a coping mechanism. Divorced parents, remember?”
“So, you’re Canadian, but your Dad currently lives in San Francisco because…”
She narrows her eyes. “There you go again, trying to fetch information.”
“I just told you my entire life, and you can’t even answer a question?”