Chapter 11
MEET THE PARENT
AURORA
Thank you for your message, the screen says, and it's hard to swallow.
I don't show it, though. Not as I get up, and definitely not as I smile reassuringly at Elijah, trying to dispel the tension in the room—focusing on Ellie because that's easier.
Atticus is back in a few minutes and I sigh with relief as the tension in the room is cut.
"Anything?" he asks, already heading for the monitors, as if we'd get a reply in five minutes flat.
"It's been five minutes," Seven says in a dubious tone, echoing my thoughts.
"So, what now?" I ask.
"We wait," Atticus replies ominously, taking the seat at the monitor to exit the submission screen and bring up my email instead. It's all accessible to him, apparently. Logged in and ready to go. I'll need to remember that.
"I should go put my laundry in."
"I'll help," Sev says, jumping up like an eager golden retriever.
"The hell you will. Someone could see you. Stay put."
Seven glares at Atticus, and I huff a laugh at the murder in his eyes.
"I'll be quick," I promise with a wink in his direction, and then gesture to Elijah with a nod, telling him without words that his brother needs him right now. Ellie's already realized as much and is lying over Elijah's feet.
He's bent over the table against the wall, looking at the documents and files Atticus has spread out there as well as pegged to the corkboard above, but I don't think he's really seeing any of it. He's there so he doesn't have to look at us. Look at me.
"Hey," Atticus calls, and I can't help the frown I feel pulling down at the edges of my mouth as I turn my attention to him. "I ordered food. Should be here any minute, so don't be sketched out if someone comes in to drop it off to you."
I nod and close the office door behind me, heading to the front to grab my hamper from where I tossed it atop a washing machine.
The place is run-down, the machines old, and I realize that I'll need to use the change machine to break a bill into coins just to be able to make them work. No wonder the place is empty.
It looks like it hasn't been touched or updated in fifteen years at least. I make sure to select the delicate cycle, worried about my expensive clothes from Paris getting ruined in the washer's ancient barrel.
As I'm finishing, I see the delivery guy pull up outside and look confusedly at the laundromat exterior. I meet him at the door, so he doesn't leave without dropping off dinner.
"Hi," I say as I push the front door open. "I think that's for me."
He lifts a brow. "Aurora?"
Of course, Atticus put the order in my name. I take the two plastic bags and head back through the laundromat, not going into the back room until the driver has pulled away from the curb.
"Sorry, had to get change," I mutter as I reenter the office. "And the delivery guy almost took off without delivering your order."
My words trail off as I realize everyone is crowded around the monitor, and my throat goes dry.
There's no way we have a reply already, is there?
Ellie whines, sensing the anxiety I'm trying to hide as I lock the door and drop the food on the table.
Atticus shifts his massive, hulking form a bit to the right so I can see the message on the screen. It's a reply from someone called Linette Berkley, executive assistant to Ambrose De La Rosa.
Hello, Miss Bellerose. Thank you for submitting your information through our #FindDelilah form.
Mr. De La Rosa is eager to meet you and has requested that I set up a formal interview at your earliest convenience.
As luck would have it, Mr. De La Rosa is currently on business in the United States, overseeing the grand opening of his casino and hotel in Atlantic City.
Given his busy schedule, he's hopeful you'll be able to conduct the meeting there.
Your expenses will be paid, of course, and I can handle all necessary bookings once I have your dates of availability.
Thank you so much for your time,
Linette Berkley
"Is this normal?" I ask, a flutter in my chest. "You said he doesn't meet the candidates anymore."
There's a beat before Atticus replies. "No. He doesn't."
There's a knot between his brows. "We knew your likeness to his wife and the generated photo of his daughter would help, but—"
"So this isn't normal?"
Atticus shakes his head, still staring at the screen, not looking at me even though right now I want him to. I need to see his eyes, but he won't turn to face me, even as his jaw flexes.
"No. They always meet with someone from his team. An assistant, a lawyer, whatever. They'd conduct the interview on Ambrose's behalf and take the samples for the DNA test. When the tests inevitably came back negative—" He shrugs. "There was no reason to meet them."
Fuck.
"I don't like it," Eli growls. "I don't like it one bit."
Seven stares at the message on the screen like he might be able to decode it with a piercing glance alone.
"But he has paid expenses to facilitate the interviews a handful of times in the past," Atticus adds, and I can tell by the way his tone has changed that he's trying to placate me and the others. "It's your photo," he adds. "It has to be. The resemblance is definitely there."
Seven's tone is low and taut when he speaks. "He is already in the States on business. Maybe that's also part of it?"
I can tell he doesn't fully buy that, which means I don't either.
"Yeah," Atticus agrees, slipping from the seat, but my mind is still reeling from how fast this is all happening. "We should send a reply."
He indicates that I should take his place at the keyboard again. I swallow and sit.
"W-what do I say?"
"I don't want her going to Atlantic City. It's too far," Elijah says. "If something happened—"
"We'd be there, too," Seven cuts him off before he can spiral any further. "We'll drive up, make sure we're within range for a quick extraction if needed."
This time, Atticus doesn't argue.
I understand their caution, but it makes me more nervous than I think I really have to be. This man, for all his depravity, seems to truly want to find his daughter. If he believes I'm her, I doubt I'd be in any danger from him.
…right?
Why would he go to all this trouble to ruin any chance at a relationship with Delilah by doing something malicious?
"When should I say I'm free?" I ask, resolve strengthened, and hit the reply button.
"Next week?" Seven puts in.
"Why next week?" Atticus shoots back. "Why not now?"
"Because we're visiting Julian again tomorrow," Seven says. "Or did you already forget?"
Hell, even I knew that. Elijah told me as much on the phone last night.
His dad is lucid again, and he remembers that Elijah mentioned me.
He asked to see Elijah and for him to 'bring that girl he's seeing'.
If they don't go soon, it'll be too late.
He's only ever lucid for a few days at a time. Sometimes far less.
"Besides, it's Eli's birthday," Seven adds. "We can at least wait until after that."
"It's your birthday?" I ask Elijah with a raised brow. He didn't mention anything to me.
He looks a bit uncomfortable as he scratches the back of his head. "It's this weekend. Sunday."
"Like in a couple days, Sunday?" I confirm.
He nods.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Not really big on birthdays."
As someone who loathes her own supposed birthday, I get that, but also, if anyone deserves to be celebrated, it's Elijah. He needs to remember what it's like to live.
Atticus simmers on this with a drawn-out sigh through his nose. "Can't we go next—"
"No," Sev cuts him off. "We're going to see Jules. We've waited this long, Atticus. Another week won't kill you. Plus, it'll give us time to prepare Ro better and for her to really root her story here. Make friends. All that."
Which reminds me—I really need to text Maisie back.
She wanted to study tonight but I knew I was coming here.
I'll see if she's free at lunch tomorrow.
We need to pick topics for an upcoming essay.
I'm not sure I'd officially call her a 'friend' yet, but I put a lot of weight into that word.
I'd bet she already considers me one of hers.
"Next week, then," Atticus relents. "Make something up about having classwork you need to stay ahead of or some shit."
I don't need to make it up as I type out a quick, noncommittal response explaining that I have a big essay worth thirty percent of my grade due this week, but that I could make time any day the following week, as long as I'm only away one night.
I added that last part for Elijah's sake. I don't want to be gone longer than needed. And if this is just an interview, one day should be more than enough, right?
Will he want to do the DNA test right away, too? How long will it take to get the results?
I bite my lip, wait for Atticus's nod once he's read my reply, and hit send.
There's a beat of silence and then Seven twists, his brows drawn as he sniffs the air. "What is that smell? What did you order?"
Atticus grabs the bags from the table before Seven can tear into them. "Hey, don't get excited. That's not for you."
"Dude, come on, I can smell it."
Atticus gives Seven a warning look to back off and then starts to lift the takeout containers out of the plastic bags.
From the first bag, he pulls out three identical white clamshell containers and pushes two toward Elijah and Seven, who open them as if expecting a prize only to find fool's gold instead.
I'm confused at first, because, like Seven, I can smell the fries. I know that smell. It's Chick-fil-A. Without a doubt.
My mouth waters as Atticus lifts the white bag from the second plastic one, and I see the logo. From the corner of my eye, Seven's throat bobs as he swallows, and Elijah follows suit.
But Atticus doesn't seem to notice as he pulls a drink cup from the bag, too, and then comes around the table and sets both down in front of me.
I look at him. I look at the bag.
And I know I am fucked.