Curiosity was not the right word, but it was definitely a part of why we were here now.
When Leo had suggested the trip three days ago, I thought he was nuts. I didn’t see how I could drop everything for several days and go to Aspen for New Years, just two weeks before leaving for the tour. But then he mentioned we’d have to share the house with his sister. Mona.
We’d left New York for Aspen the next day.
Revenge was a construct I used to actively avoid, the idea of it both repulsive and tempting. Repulsive because my parents had raised me better, and tempting because . . . Honestly?
I’d always felt injustice on a visceral level. Fairness was a sore spot, a stumbling block, the wall I banged my head against instead of searching for a door or a window. When I was younger, I’d avoided the temptation of seeking vengeance, made better choices, been a better person, had more restraint and self-control.
Now? Not so much.
So, yeah. I was curious. Given what she’d done to me, what would revenge against Mona DaVinci look like? What could I possibly do to this generation’s Einstein that would be a just settling of accounts between us? Maybe nothing. Maybe she was too frosty and couldn’t be touched. Maybe I didn’t want revenge at all. Maybe I didn’t care.
I was on the fence, committed to nothing, not a place I spent much time.
Presently, Kaitlyn’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You haven’t written new lyrics in over a year.”
I tilted my head to the side, avoiding her searching glare. “All the more reason for me to write now.”
“You’re being quiet,” she accused.
“Am I?”
“Yep. You’ve been quiet since we left New York. And you’ve been pensive. I’m not used to pensive Abram. I’m used to salty, sarcastic Abram. What’s going on? Is your manbun too tight?”
I shrugged, forcing another smirk. “Just tired.”
“Falsehood. Untruth. Lie.” She punctuated the triple accusation with chords, singing the words in a falsetto voice like an opera singer.
My grin this time was genuine. The only thing bigger than Kaitlyn’s talent and her vocabulary was her personality.
“Let it go, Kaitlyn.”
She removed her hands from the instrument, turned at the waist, and leaned away to inspect me. “Are you nervous? Worried? About the tour?”
I shook my head, my eyes dropping to my hands. “No.”