The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,186

mother disappeared, Mrs. Wilde is back. And she’s alone.

“I thought you were going to find the young people.” Her cool silky words coil around me and my breathing constricts.

She’s up to something.

“Where’s my mother?” I watch the door for a glimpse of her dark head.

“She’ll be along in a minute. I think she’s using the powder room.” She waves in the general direction of the hallway.

The unease in my stomach intensifies and I start to walk away. “I’ll go find her.”

“My goodness, you two are attached at the hip,” she purrs as she gives me a once over.

“You do look lovely tonight. I see why he likes you.” Her cold appraisal makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

“I’m going to look for my mother.” I start to back away.

She grabs my arm. “Come, let me show you to the young people’s room. Let your mother enjoy a night with her colleagues and neighbors.”

She steers me into a long corridor and then up the stairs. She takes her hand off my back, but her presence behind me is heavy and menacing. We reach the top of the stairs and stand at the mouth of a long, wide corridor.

The light gray walls are bare save for a huge painting of a woman caught in the middle of a sweeping leap on the wall. Her body is wrapped in a white cloth, her arms are raised over her head and her eyes are closed in an expression of bliss. It’s arresting and as I stare at it, I realize the beauty captured in the painting is none other than Tina Wilde.

“Oh, wow. Is that you?” I ask in wonder. I turn around to find her watching me, much the way I’d been staring at her painting.

“Yes. I used to be a dancer and my late husband had it commissioned before he died. Do you like it?” she asks conversationally.

“Very much. You were so beautiful. I mean you still are, but this could be in a museum somewhere.”

“Hmm, thank you. It feels like a lifetime ago,” she says absently.

“I’ve always wished I could paint, capture things like this. Never had the chance to take lessons.”

“Maybe one day,” she says in a non-committal way before her smile brightens. “Anyway, just go to the end of the hall, it’s the last door on the left. Have fun.” She stands there, waiting for me to go. I glance down the hall and I gather my courage.

“What are you waiting for? All of your friends are there.”

“Okay. Thanks,” I mumble to myself and start down the hall. I rub my bare arms as I walk. It’s cool in the house but these goose bumps and the pangs of dread in my gut, I just can’t shake.

I walk down the corridor and see all of the family pictures I didn’t see downstairs. There are pictures of Remi with his siblings from when he was a toddler until what looks like a very recent picture. His twin sister looks nothing like him. She’s just as striking as he is. With the same hazelnut skin, dark loosely curled hair and keen eyes—but their faces are completely different. Tyson and Remi look more like twins than he and Regan.

I keep moving, admiring the pictures and then I get to the last one before the doors to the bedroom start. It’s their whole family. I gasp at the resemblance he bears to his father. He told me he was Irish. The only difference in their appearance is that Remi’s skin is darker and his eyes are not that startling blue. It’s like seeing what Remi will look like when he’s in his thirties.

Then, I hear Remi’s voice and stop cold. My heart plummets to my toes. I listen again, and I know my ears aren’t playing tricks on me. It’s coming from behind the door, but I would know that voice anywhere. He’s laughing, it’s loud and raucous.

Blood rushes in my ears and my eyes fill with tears. My whole body flashes hot and the cold. I wipe the tears that are flowing down my cheeks away and try to find something to hold on to. But I can’t and I lean against the wall across from the door. Remi’s voice, mingled with what sounds like dozens of others, taunts me.

I turn to look back down the long brightly lit hallway. Mrs. Wilde is still there. Smiling.

The horrible truth becomes clear.

This is why she invited us. She knows that