Page 4 of Lust

“Because it’s not always about materialistic good. Even Asmodeus, the demon of lust, understood that.”

Did it make me worse than a demon that I didn’t care how I achieved it, as long as I fulfilled my Dad’s lifelong dreams?

Instead of telling Michael so, I gave him my practiced smile. “Will keep that in mind. Hey, man, listen. I have to get going for a family dinner. Uhm, thanks for the extra time and the… story.”

I rose to my feet, but Michael stopped me with another question. “In your dream, did you give that voice an answer?”

“Yes.”

Michael’s head was turned toward the window, his intense gaze staring out as he awaited my response.

The insinuation was clear. Michael told me this story because he didn’t want me to be so quick in giving up things that were real. Unfortunately for his efforts, “I chose lust.”

Perhaps it was a figment of my imagination, but Michael closed his eyes in a motion that could only be described as… pity.

* * *

“Tris!” Mary exclaimed. “You’re home.”

A suffocating feeling had followed me out of Michael’s office and all the way home. I managed a curt nod, not in the mood for chit-chat.

“Right on time. Ragu’s making his famous stew, and Sara is in the kitchen being his little helper.” She glanced at me nervously. “I hope you remembered about dinner tonight.”

I had shown little interest in meeting Raguel’s daughter though Mary desperately wanted us to get along. That was the point of tonight’s dinner.

With a shoulder lift and a muffled,yeah, I followed her to the kitchen. I made a beeline for my usual seat at the table. Except, a four-feet monstrosity already occupied it, and I used that word in kind.

A five-year-old kid in a multicolored tulle dress sat crossed-legged on the cushioned chair.

Mycushioned chair.

A halo crown—meant to be part of an angel costume—was stuck on top of the curly mounds of hair on her head. And she wore a heap of makeup that made her look utterly ridiculous.

Did that thing just escape a mental asylum?

“Tristan, you’re home.” Raguel slapped me on the back. “You finally get to meet my daughter. This is Sara.”

The little shit occupying my chair looked up. And I took a sharp inhale at the piercing silver-gray eyes to stare back.

Didn’t Michael mention that Asmodeus’ Sarah also had gray eyes?

It was eerie. Gray was an uncommon shade of eye color, and hers looked even rarer when contrasting against her beige complexion and shining like crystals in the dim light.

“Sara, come say hi to Tristan,” Raguel instructed.

Sara huffed as if uncrossing her legs and descending from the chair required the exertion of all her energy. “Hi!”

I nodded politely in turn.

Raguel appeared apologetic. “Sorry, she dressed herself today, then got into Mary’s makeup.”

Clearly.

“Mary let me play with her makeup,” Sara added, inspecting me as suspiciously as I studied her.

“I see.”

“We put makeup on my doll, too.” Sara held up a doll that held a striking resemblance to her. “It’s an American Girl doll and looks just like me. See?”