A tall man with faded blond hair was lifting a chilled beer bottle to his mouth. After a long swallow, he moved closer to a young girl with hair the same coppery red as Remo’s. You’re right, Faith. I do know the show’s producer.
Faith? I blinked. Remo’s mother, Faith?
The blond man slid a knuckle down her cheek, and she flinched, her high ponytail swinging over her shoulder.
How badly do you want the part?
I . . . I—
Let me rephrase myself. It’s a career-making role. How badly do you want an acting career?
Faith’s tongue darted nervously over her lips. It’s my dream.
The man smirked. Then I’ll make it come true.
Relief wrought with some tension softened her stance. Thank you. Thank you!
She spun to leave when the man’s voice rang out. You’re forgetting something . . . She whirled back around and took in the room before her blue eyes landed on the man again.
The man who was now sitting on the bed, patting it.
The scene flickered then faded, and light flared, illuminating the elevator.
Relief to find Remo standing next to me mingled with confusion. “Was that your mother?”
Remo’s mouth, which had been slightly agape, closed. “My mother?”
One of my eyebrows crept up. “Um. Didn’t you just—Wait. What did you see?”
“Obviously not the same thing you did. So, you saw my mother . . . and what was she doing?”
“She was with this—” My words jammed in my throat as the man’s face flashed behind my lids. There had been something so familiar about the shape of his smirk and the lines of his body. Oh, Skies, had I just gotten a glimpse of Remo’s father? The man no one knew anything about?
Remo dipped his chin into his neck. “With this what?”
Did Remo know how he’d been . . . conceived? In case it was a secret—was it even real?—I countered, “Who did you see?”
“Finish your sentence, and I’ll share what I saw.”
I steeled my lips but then relented. “With a man.”
“Not Silas?”
“No, but she was much . . . younger.”
His eyes seemed to darken even though the light around us was still bright.
“So, what did you—”
Suddenly the elevator jerked, and my back rammed into the wall. Heart in my throat, I braced for the black glass box to shoot up . . . or down.
It descended. Slowly. And then it jerked to a stop. I imagined the doors would reform and release us—probably somewhere awful—but I was wrong. Whatever magic the black glass was imbued with made the air darken again and Faith reappear, older this time. She was crying, both hands clutching the front of Silas’s black uniform. Silas whose downturned face was entirely unlined and whose dark brown locks was untouched by age.
He pushed a piece of red hair off her cheek. Don’t ask me to choose between my duty and my heart, Faith. Don’t.
Ace may not have murdered my mother, but he married Cat, which makes him complicit.
You have to forgive her. Your mother attacked her.
You know what? She released him. You’ve obviously made your choice. She flicked her hand toward the entrance of her apartment. Leave.
Faith . . .
Leave! Her large blue eyes glittered with tears. And don’t bother coming back.
Brightness bled over the dark and whisked away Faith and Silas.
I blinked, found Remo already staring at me. This time, his lips were firmly wedged together, and his jaw ticked as though whatever had played out for him was deeply aggravating.
“You’re seeing my parents, aren’t you?” It wasn’t such a wild guess. If I was witnessing chapters from his life, he must’ve been seeing episodes from mine.
He twitched.
“Tell me what you saw.”
He thrust one hand through his hair, then averted his gaze. The elevator jerked before sliding down. This time, when it stopped, I was ready for my weird little show to begin.
Gregor was there and so was a younger version of Remo. If I had to guess, he was four, maybe five. And they were standing beside a floating crib. I couldn’t see the baby inside, but I could hear it whimpering. Was it Karsyn? No . . . Karsyn was over a decade younger than—
What do you think of your future queen? Gregor asked.
I was in that crib?
She’s a baby, Little Remo responded. Babies can’t be queens.
Babies grow up.
She’s ugly. And her cries hurt my ears.
Gregor guffawed, his thick, age-streaked hair dancing around his mirthful face. Better get used to it, Remo.