Myths, Murder & Love

Chapter 3

Thallia wandered toward the windows and stopped beside a half-finished burgundy dress. She brushed her fingers over the edge of its worktable, careful not to disturb Jenna's neatly arranged pieces.

Thallia stared down at the fabric. "I keep trying to figure out which part I'm supposed to be upset about."

Jenna stayed near the table. "You don't have to pick one."

Thallia picked at a loose thread near the hem. "Every time I think I've figured out what hurts the most, something else takes its place."

She looked back at Jenna. "I should be furious."

Thallia's gaze dropped. "So why do I mostly feel stupid?"

Jenna’s brows drew together. "Because you're blaming the only person in this mess who didn't know what was happening."

Thallia looked away.

Jenna waited a moment before continuing. "Don't take responsibility for somebody else's lie."

Thallia let out a slow breath.

That sounded simple when Jenna said it.

It didn't feel simple.

Thallia rubbed her hands over her arms. "I even brought him lunch."

Jenna stared at her. "That's how you caught them?"

"He'd canceled on me twice this week, and I thought surprising him would be nice." Thallia's arms tightened around herself. "I was carrying his favorite sandwich when I walked in on them."

Jenna's eyes narrowed. "Please tell me you threw it at him."

Thallia's mouth twitched. "The bag broke before I got the chance."

Jenna sighed dramatically. "Pity."

A laugh escaped before Thallia could stop it.

It wasn't much of one, but it loosened something in her chest.

Jenna's mouth curved. "That's a terrible waste of a perfectly good sandwich."

Thallia gave her a tired look, but another smile threatened.

The quiet settled again.

Thallia's gaze traveled around the loft. Sketches covered one wall near Jenna's work area, while fabric and thread occupied nearly every available surface.

Her attention returned to the burgundy dress she'd noticed earlier.

Thallia nodded toward it. "Is that mine?"

Jenna followed her gaze. "Unless you've changed sizes since Tuesday."

Thallia smiled faintly. "Still an eighteen."

Jenna nodded toward the dress. "Good. I already cut the bodice."

Thallia studied the sweep of the skirt. Jenna had been designing clothes for her since they were teenagers. She never designed around Thallia's size. She designed for her shape.

Thallia appreciated that about Jenna. She'd never believed her curves were something a dress needed to hide.

For fifteen years, Thallia had watched Jenna deal with difficult days by putting her hands to work. She would sketch, sew, rearrange a hem or tear apart something that wasn't working and begin again. Creating something gave Jenna a place to put whatever she couldn't fix.

Thallia's attention drifted back to the newspaper on the worktable.

Her phone vibrated inside her purse.

Her shoulders tightened before she remembered Trevor couldn't call anymore. She'd blocked him.

The screen showed a calendar reminder.

MONTHLY DINNER. SIX THIRTY.

Thallia groaned and tipped her head back.

Jenna glanced over. "What's wrong?"

Thallia held up the phone.

Jenna read the reminder. "Your parents' dinner is tonight?"

Thallia checked the time. "In a little over an hour."

Jenna studied her. "You could cancel."

The idea was tempting.

Thallia hadn't missed one of her parents' monthly dinners in nearly two years. Her mother scheduled them three months at a time, treating dinner with her only daughter with roughly the same attention she gave her surgical rotation.

Canceling would generate questions.

Going would generate questions too, especially once her mother saw her face.

At least those questions would happen over food.

Thallia slipped the phone back into her purse. "I'll go."

Jenna studied her. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Thallia gave her a tired smile. "Not even a little."

She checked the time again. She needed to leave soon.

Jenna watched her for a moment, concern warming her expression. "You don't have to prove anything tonight."

Thallia shook her head. "This isn't about proving anything. I'm just not ready to go home."

Jenna understood without asking.

Dealing with Trevor's lingering presence in the apartment could wait a few more hours.

Jenna's gaze moved over Thallia's rumpled clothes and stopped on her tear-streaked face. "You're not going to dinner like that."

Thallia glanced down at herself. "Is it really that bad?"

Jenna was already heading toward the garment closet. "Before you leave, try something on for me."

Thallia glanced at the time. "Right now?"

"It'll only take five minutes." Jenna opened the closet and pulled out a clear garment bag.

Jenna returned carrying a deep apricot dress.

Thallia forgot about the time.

The shirred bodice gave way to two soft, overlapping ruffles that fell to the knee. Short tulip sleeves curved over the shoulders, and the lightweight fabric moved when Jenna lifted it from the hanger.

It wasn't a runway gown or something designed for a red carpet.

It was simply a beautiful dress.

The kind a woman could wear to dinner, a summer wedding or anywhere she wanted to feel pretty without looking as though she'd spent three hours trying.

Thallia smiled at the dress. "You finished the sample."

Jenna held it out to her. "I finished it yesterday, and lucky for you, it's a size eighteen."

Thallia took the dress. "Your timing is suspiciously convenient."

Jenna grinned. "One of the benefits of having a best friend who wears my sample size."

Jenna pointed toward the bedroom. "Go put it on."

A few minutes later, Thallia stood in front of the full-length mirror near the elevator.

The dress fit as she'd expected. Jenna knew her measurements by heart, and the shirred bodice and falling skirt settled naturally over her curves.

Her long brown hair fell almost to her waist, a little mussed from the afternoon, and her dark eyes were still slightly red from crying. The warm apricot against her olive complexion helped more than it had any right to.

She looked like herself again.

Maybe a battered version, but herself.

Jenna stepped behind her and adjusted one of the tulip sleeves. "Keep the dress."

Thallia met her eyes in the mirror. "This is a finished sample."

Jenna gave her a pointed look. "That's exactly why I'm giving it to you."

"Which means you could sell it." Thallia ran her hands over the skirt.

Jenna smoothed the sleeve into place. "I can make another one."

It felt good to wear something Trevor had never seen.

That thought surprised her.

Then she decided she liked it.

Thallia touched the soft fabric at her waist. "Thank you."

Jenna gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You're welcome."

Thallia reached for her messenger bag, then turned and hugged her best friend.

Jenna hugged her back.

Jenna walked her to the elevator and pulled open the old metal gate. "Call me when dinner's over."

Thallia stepped inside. "I'll call you."

Jenna rested one hand on the gate. "And if you're still not ready to go home afterward, come back here."

Thallia looked at her friend, grateful that Jenna never made her explain what she needed before offering it.

Jenna glanced at the time. "You'd better get moving. You're going to be late."

Thallia pulled the gate closed.

Jenna remained on the other side until the elevator began to descend.

Thallia leaned back against the wall.

She'd made it through the afternoon with Trevor and Bianca.

Dinner with her parents should have been the easy part.

Tonight, Thallia was looking forward to easy and predictable.

Thallia arrived at her parents' Lincoln Park brownstone eleven minutes late. Her mother noticed.

Susan Laskari opened the door, glanced toward the clock in the entry hall, then stepped aside.

"I assume traffic held you up?"

Thallia adjusted the strap of her messenger bag higher on her shoulder. "Something like that."

Susan gave her daughter a brief once-over before turning toward the dining room. "Dinner's ready."

Thallia followed her inside and dropped her messenger bag in its usual spot beside the stairs. Monthly Dinner had started at six thirty for nearly two years. Her mother scheduled the dates three months at a time, as carefully planned as anything on her surgical calendar.

Normally, Thallia found the predictability comforting. Tonight, the familiar routine felt strangely disconnected from the day she'd just had.

Susan led the way toward the dining room without asking why her daughter looked as though she'd spent part of the afternoon crying.

Thallia couldn't decide whether that was a relief or a disappointment.

As they entered the dining room, Susan's attention dropped briefly to the apricot dress.

She gave a small nod. "That's nice."

Thallia glanced down at herself. "Jenna made it."

Coming from her mother, the small nod already qualified as enthusiastic approval. "It suits you."

She glanced around her childhood home. The brownstone looked exactly as it had the last time she'd been there. Her father’s tech books shared the built-in shelves with her mother’s medical journals.

The landscape painting above the fireplace hadn't moved since Thallia was in high school, and the grandfather clock near the stairs was still seven minutes slow because David Laskari insisted correcting it would require dismantling a perfectly functional mechanism.

Her father was already seated when they entered the dining room.

He looked up from the tablet beside his plate and removed his glasses.

"You're late."

Thallia pulled out her chair. "So I've been told."

David gave her a small nod. "Hello, Thallia."

"Hello, Dad."

He returned his attention to his plate while Thallia took her seat.

That was affection in the Laskari family.

Reliable and undramatic. Usually brief enough not to interfere with dinner.

Susan placed a bowl of roasted vegetables on the table and sat across from her daughter. "You look tired."

Thallia reached for the serving spoon. "I've had a day."

Susan reached for her water glass. "You've been working too much."

It wasn't a question.

Thallia spooned vegetables onto her plate. "That may not be a problem anymore."

Susan paused with her water glass halfway to her mouth.

David looked up from his plate.

Thallia immediately regretted saying it.

Her father set down his fork. "Did you lose a contract?"

Thallia kept her attention on her plate. "Not exactly."

Susan studied her for a moment. "Then what happened?"

Thallia's stomach tightened. With surgical precision, her mother had found the one subject she'd told herself she would avoid.

On the ride over she had promised herself she wasn't going to say anything. She would eat dinner, ask her mother about the hospital, listen to whatever new technology had consumed her father's attention this month, and leave before either of them noticed anything was wrong.

She'd made it less than five minutes. "Trevor and I aren't seeing each other anymore."