Chapter 53
ORANGE BLOSSOMS WITH A SIDE OF PARANOIA
AURORA
My body feels so heavy when I wake up that if it weren't for the dryness in my throat, there's no way I could've dragged myself out of the luxurious orange blossom-scented covers.
I rub the sleep from my eyes, hissing as my feet connect with cold mosaic tile, and I pad over to the glass carafe of water with the cup next to it and pour myself a drink.
I'm about to chug it when I realize I'm not sure if that's wise.
My throat bobs as I look into the pitcher and then the cup, sniffing the water for traces of anything that doesn't belong.
My throat scratches, begging for moisture, and even though I don't think there's anything wrong with this water, I know the guys would want me to be more cautious. There's no such thing as being too careful, right?
I pour the water from the cup back into the pitcher and take it to the bathroom where I fill it with cold water from the tap and hope it's potable enough to drink as I drain the contents and sigh at the sweet relief.
I'm dying for a shower, but there's something I need to do first. Back in the bedroom, I go to where I've plugged my laptop in beside the little wooden desk near the windows.
I draw back the curtains and find it's still mostly dark outside, save for a little glow of dawn light coming from below the horizon.
They wanted me to order Ellie a new chicken toy, but since I know it's not actually lost, I have to assume they wanted me to use the computer.
I'm no tech expert, but I bet it's to track my IP address through the cloning software since my tracker is missing. I would've done it last night, but the laptop was dead, even though I swear it had a charge on it the last time I put it away.
I hold the power button, sighing with relief when the screen flares to life, but just as quickly, it cuts to black again.
"No, shit."
I try again, checking the connection with the power cord and then the plug itself. Is the adaptor faulty? Or is it this outlet?
Carrying the laptop around the room, I try three more outlets, waiting a few minutes at each to see if the laptop will charge, but the little light beneath the power button never turns on.
"Fuck."
It's got to be the adaptor.
I'll get someone on Ambrose's staff to get me another one. They probably have a bunch around, right?
I rack my brain for other options. I'm still hopeful Atticus can somehow track my cellphone, but if he could, he wouldn't have needed me to use the laptop.
I chew my lip, rushing to the Louis Vuitton bag in the corner when I remember.
My boots. My boot had a tracker sewn in near the buckle. As long as I have them, we should be good, right?
Laying the case flat on the floor, I unzip it and rifle through the heaps of new clothing and toiletries, searching for any trace of my original clothes or boots, but even after pulling every single item from the case, there's no trace of them.
"What the hell?"
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I grab my phone and dial the number Linette gave me. She said I should call her if I needed anything. I have no idea what time it is back in the States, but I don't really care if this call wakes her up.
She answers on the third ring, as chipper as always, if a little strained. "This is Linette."
"Linette, hi, it's Aurora."
"Oh. What can I do for you, Aurora?"
I chew my lip, eyeing the heap of designer clothes on the floor in case I missed them.
"I was looking for my old clothes," I say. "They don't seem to be in my bag."
"Oh, no, they wouldn't be. They needed to be laundered, so I sent them through hotel laundry, but don't worry, they're safe and sound, and I'll personally make sure you get them back when you return."
"Oh, thanks," I force out, not sure if I should press about my boots, but she didn't mention them, and they can't exactly be laundered.
"Was that all?"
"Oh, actually," I say, trying to make it sound like I just realized. "I don't see my boots here, either."
"Boots?"
"Yeah. I had a pair of leather boots. They were what I had on when I arrived for the press meeting, remember? I asked you to bring them up to the suite for me?"
A pause. "Oh, right. You know, I bet those got left behind when I packed up for you. They were so dirty, I think I put them in a bag to protect your new clothes, but maybe the bag never made it into the suitcase.”
My stomach squeezes.
Why the fuck did I let her pack my shit for me?
Stupid.
"Tell you what, I'll personally call the hotel and see if they found them. With any luck, they set them aside somewhere. If not, then I'd be happy to replace them."
"That's okay, um, thanks again."
"Anytime! Enjoy the sunshine!"
The call disconnects, and I squeeze my phone in my palm.
They don't know where I am.
I can only imagine how badly they're freaking out right now.
I need to get those photos for Céline before they do something stupid and ruin the whole plan.
Right now, though, the best thing I can do is reassure them I'm okay. That should hold them off.
I flick to the texts with Céline and type out a simple message.
Aurora
Morning! My laptop is dead, and the adaptor I brought doesn't seem to be working to charge it. As soon as I can get it up and running, I'll order that new toy. Hope Ellie is doing okay. Give her a big hug for me!
There.
That should tide them over until I can get the new adaptor and photos. A quick shower to wash off the travel and wake myself up, and then I'll go get both.
Everything is fine.
After my insanely amazing shower, I find the least offensive outfit from the heap of clothes on the floor: a pair of jeans and a soft, wine-red shirt. Then I'm peering out into the hall, finding it completely vacant, save for the growing light coming from the terrace at the very end.
Slipping out of the room, I quietly shut the door behind myself, not wanting to draw any attention to the fact that I'm awake yet.
I should go straight to the terrace and take those photos, but my steps falter when I reach the first door.
Ambrose said these were my mother's rooms.
I hesitate for another few seconds before deciding to have a really quick look. My throat is dry again as I twist the handle and push the door open. It creaks loudly, and I wince, pushing it fast and just enough so that I can slip through to avoid too much noise.
The fact that it creaks at all makes me think no one goes into these rooms much.
My suspicion is confirmed when I find a fine layer of dust over everything in what I guess would've been her own sitting room.
There's a settee in front of a cold hearth, with a wall of bookshelves behind it.
Next to the window is a little table and chair, I could imagine her sitting in to look out over the landscape.
It's brighter out now and from this vantage point, I can see more of the rocky coastline.
Perfect.
Leaning over the table, I snap a couple photos of the view. It would probably help more if there were a house or a landmark, but as far as I can see in this direction down the coast, there's nothing but trees and white rock.
Spinning a circle, I take in the room, looking for any real signs of her. Of Diana De La Rosa. A photo, maybe. I've only seen the handful Ambrose has posted of her in his pursuit of trying to find her all those years. Maybe there are some of us together.
My chest pangs as I search, but don't find anything on the walls or surfaces. There is a nail over the mantle, though, and I think maybe a photo might've hung there once. Maybe Ambrose couldn't stand to look at it anymore.
I check every room in this wing of the mansion, finding nothing but pretty spaces covered in dust. No photos.
No real evidence of her at all, except a closet full of her clothes and a vanity stocked with old pots of cream and bottles of Jasmine-scented perfume that smells even better when I apply it to my wrists.
My disappointment in not finding what I was hoping to fades as I exit the last room and am swallowed up by amber sunlight.
It paints the alabaster terrace in shades of gold and when I step into the light, it's so fucking warm I take a second to just feel it.
The breeze brings the scent of the sea up the cliffside and I remember what Atticus said.
When this is over, I can pick a place, anywhere I want, and we'll go there.
I imagine being somewhere like this, with the sun and the sea, and the guys with me. Seven playing fetch with Ellie. Elijah carving through the waves. Atticus running along the beach.
Soon, I tell myself.
"Good morning."
I spin, my heart in my throat.
"Apologies," Ambrose says. "I didn't mean to startle you."
My heart is still racing, face hot, as I shake my head. "That's okay."
He nods at the view. "Beautiful morning, isn't it?"
"Very," I agree, noting the large book he has under his arm.
He sees that I've noticed it and holds it out to me. It's not a book, though, it's a photo album. "I thought you might like to see some old family photos."
My chest aches at the way he says it. Family.
This is my family. He is.
His brow furrows, and he starts to pull the album back. "Unless you'd rather—"
"No." I take it from him, hands stinging where they touch the canvas fabric. "Thank you."
He extends an arm toward the terrace, and the round wrought iron table pushed off to one side of it. I notice how it looks to be already clean, and there are white cloth napkins with heavy glass tumblers holding them in place against the breeze.
"Shall we?" he asks. "I've asked for them to bring breakfast to us here on the terrace."
I take the seat he pulls out for me and set the photo album on the surface of the table.
Ambrose moves his chair, dragging it closer to sit next to me as I open the cover.
The very first photo is one taken in a room I was in earlier. Her personal bedroom. I recognize the thick mahogany columns on the four-poster bed. But that's not where my attention snags.