Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
My heart thuds against my chest at this sudden change of topic. I’m taken aback, and from the look on his face, it shows.
“When you were just shy of fifteen. You disappeared from school. Disappeared from the world. No charity events. No family photos. Nothing. Then you reappeared a little over a year later, slipping back into your life as if nothing had happened at all.”
I’m not sure how to react. What to say or not say. Why it matters.
“Where were you?”
I touch my forehead. I feel a headache coming on. But then I think of something. “What day is it?” I ask, suddenly not sure how long I’ve slept. If it was for hours or days.
“Thursday.”
“We’re supposed to get Emma.” I’m doing the math. It’s almost ten o’clock here, which means it’s four in the afternoon there. Did he change his mind? Is this another trick?
“Tell me about that year, Vittoria,” he asks calmly.
I push my chair back.
“Stay,” he says.
I stop. “You said we’d fly to New York.”
“It’s being handled.”
“Handled?”
“Tell me about the year, and I’ll tell you about Emma.”
At that, my gaze jumps to his, and he must see my panic because before I can say anything, he speaks.
“Relax.” He pours more wine, but I don’t touch it. Does he really think I’ll sit here and drink wine now? “Nothing bad has happened.”
“You said—”
He gestures to the wine as he corks the bottle and sets it aside. “Drink.”
I drink a loud gulp, the food I ate feeling too heavy in my stomach.
“Tell me about the missing year, Vittoria, and I’ll tell you about Emma,” he repeats.
“You will use a little girl to get what you want.”
“I will.” He says it without any shame or emotion at all. I think this is the most frightening thing about this man. The ability to switch off his emotions so completely.
“I wasn’t well,” I say, but I’m not sure why. The words sound almost robotic even to me. I try to think. “It was around the time my mom got pregnant with Emma. My dad… He took me to a specialist. That’s all. Please tell me about Emma. Please, Amadeo. I am begging.”
“Which specialist?”
“I don’t remember his name.” I rack my brain, but that year is truly a blur for me. I don’t remember much of it at all. “Tilbury. Dr. Tilbury.” It comes from nowhere, and I’m not even sure it’s right.
“What’s Dr. Tilbury’s first name?” I shake my head, shrug my shoulders. “Man, woman? Location of the clinic because I’m assuming it was a private clinic?”
“Why does it matter?”
“Call me curious.”
“Dr. Tilbury was a man. And somewhere in Upstate New York. That’s all I can remember, I swear. And there’s nothing more to it. I just... I don’t know. I wasn’t well.”
He studies me as if he’s trying to see if I’m lying or leaving anything out. I’m not.
“Are you going back on your word to bring her?” I ask, my heart falling because he can. He can do anything he wants.
He shakes his head. “You asked where Bastian was. He’s in New York. Left yesterday.”
“Bastian is going to get Emma alone? He can’t! He’s out of control!”
“Only when it comes to you, Dandelion.”
“But—”
“You’ll talk to Emma as soon as he has her secured on the plane back.”
“Secured. Kidnapped, you mean. She’s going to be terrified.”
“She’ll get over it, and she’ll be with you. Endgame, Vittoria. Remember it.”
“What’s your endgame, Amadeo?” I don’t know why I ask because I don’t want to know. His eyes hold mine captive, and I feel the inequity between us again. That imbalance of power. He has it all.
“Does he have her already?”
“Not yet. It’ll happen in a few hours, though. At her appointment.”
“How?”
“It’s handled. Nothing to discuss.”
While I’m not thrilled about this because she will be terrified, he’s right about the result. I have to remember that. She will be safer here with me. That is a fact. And this is the price she and I will both pay.
“I’ll need to FaceTime her. Not just a call. She’ll need to see my face, and I need to see hers.”
“Why?”
“Emma was traumatized. It’s like you don’t get it. At all.” I pick up my wineglass, stand, and walk to the counter. I tilt the glass into the sink to empty it, then fill it with water from the faucet. It turns pink from the little bit of wine left inside. I take a sip, then set it down. Keeping my back to him, I push the heels of my hands into my eyes to stop the warm flush of tears. I hear him push his chair back, and moments later, he’s behind me, hands on my shoulders to turn me. He takes my wrists and pulls my hands from my face. I look up at him, tears flowing freely now.