Chapter 53 #2
My throat scratches as I take in the woman in the bed—her hair plastered to her forehead, her smile wide and genuine as she stares down at the small ivory wrapped bundle in her arms. Ambrose is there, too, leaning down to press a kiss to her damp head.
It strikes at something in me, and I have to bite my tongue to stop the swelling emotion.
"I was born in the house?" I ask, clearing my throat.
Ambrose nods. "It's how your mother wanted it. She hated hospitals, so I brought the hospital to her."
Sure enough, as I look more closely, I can see the bandage in the crook of my mother's arm and the heart monitor peeking out from behind Ambrose. There's a metal pole with an IV bag next to the bed, too.
Swallowing hard, I flip the page and find two more pictures of me as a baby. I can't be more than a few weeks old. It's hard to tell, but I think I do recognize something of myself in the tiny features.
As I flip through more photos with Ambrose commenting on my age and where they were taken, his staff brings coffee and a platter of baked goods and fruits, but I'm too absorbed in the photos to touch anything.
Ambrose sips his coffee as I turn to the final photo page. I'm older in this one.
Maybe two years old, and there's no denying that it's me. I've seen a handful of photos from after my mother dropped me at that fire station and the girl in those photos is the spitting image of the girl in this one.
Unlike most of the others, this one is posed. In it, I've been put in a pretty white dress, and Ambrose holds me on his lap in an ornate wingback chair. My mother perches on one arm of that chair, gazing down at me with her hands folded in her lap.
She's so beautiful.
"You see, there." Ambrose taps the photo, and I don't realize at first what he's pointing at until I see the necklace. The one my mother is wearing. The exact match for the one currently hanging around my neck.
I lift the album to get a closer look.
"I was always buying her jewelry," Ambrose muses, pouring himself more coffee from a carafe. "Beautiful rings, bracelets, and necklaces…but that simple charm was always her favorite."
He grimaces as he sips more coffee and then sets the cup down to add more sugar.
"You really never found any trace of her?" I ask as I draw the album closed and finally flip my cup upright from its saucer to pour in some coffee.
I'm not asking because I want intel, although I'll take whatever he'll give me.
I genuinely want to know. People don't just vanish without a trace.
And I know that for at least one day, my mother wasn't lost at all.
She didn't look like she was under duress when she dropped me at that fire station.
Upset and in a rush, but it wasn't as though she were being held at gunpoint.
But I know better than most that things are not always how they appear.
There could've been someone else out of frame.
Someone who she might've escaped from and was worried would find her again.
Maybe she hadn't meant to leave me at the Bellerose Fire Station forever.
Maybe she intended to come back when it was safe.
Ambrose sighs heavily and sets down his cup. "There were a few leads," he says. "But nothing that ever led anywhere."
I sip my coffee and sit back in my chair to look out over the sea. It seems endless, making me feel small. I guess all the money in the world isn't enough to be able to find one woman in a haystack of eight billion people spread over countless square kilometers of Earth.
"I can't imagine what she must've gone through," he says, almost to himself.
"Do you think she's…"
"No," he's quick to reply. "No. I think she's alive out there." He inhales shakily. "I would know if she were gone. I'd feel it. I know I would."
I frown, not liking the unexpected little pang of empathy that aches in my chest.
Remember who this man is and what he's done. He doesn't deserve empathy.
Atticus was right. He's good at pretending to be the good guy. Almost too good.
"I'd do anything to see her again." His voice is so soft. "Anything."
He blinks as if remembering I'm here and releases a hollow laugh, rubbing a spot on his short, trimmed beard. "But if I've learned anything, it's that this world is a cruel place and doesn't care for fairness or the things I want."
He shifts in his seat. "Which brings me to the real reason I wanted to speak with you this morning."
His eyes meet mine, shining deep umber in the sunlight.
"I'd like to ask if you might consider staying."
I nearly choke on my mouthful of coffee and have to swallow it down. "Stay in Spain?"
Concern etches the skin around his eyes. "Oh no, not here if that's not what you want. But perhaps you could stay at one of my properties in the US?"
"I have an apartment." The argument sounds weak even to my own ears. "And my classes."
He lifts a croissant from the platter and sets it on the smaller plate in front of him, brushing crumbs from his fingers onto the floor of the terrace with a wince. "That's the problem."
What is the problem?
My skin prickles, and I clasp my hands atop the table to remind myself to stay calm. This is just a conversation.
"I failed protecting your mother," he says, picking at the flaky surface of his croissant. "I don't want to make the same mistakes. I'm not sure why you didn't tell me what happened to your car—"
"It was a stupid college prank," I supply, trying to diffuse the tension flexing in his jaw.
"Perhaps," Ambrose relents. "But I've been made aware of another incident involving the death of two male students at a party. A party I think you attended?"
I'm not supposed to know this, so I paint on a face I hope conveys the correct level of shock. "Was it an overdose?"
He shakes his head. "No, this appears to have been more violent in nature."
I shiver, picturing exactly how violently Atticus and Seven dealt with Bailey and his friend.
"You can go to school anywhere else," Ambrose continues. "There are so many other more prestigious universities. Or better yet, you could accept my offer for private tutelage in any subject you choose."
There's a lump in my throat, and it's hard to swallow.
When Ambrose reaches over to lay his warm hand atop my clasped ones, I don't flinch, but the earnest way he's looking at me makes my chest squeeze.
"You're the only family I have left, Aurora. You can't fault me for wanting to do everything in my power to keep you safe."
I…I don't know what to say. My mind is one giant blank space and I know I need to say something, but I have no idea how to respond to this right now.
He pats my hands. "Think about it. There's no rush. We're here at least a week while things die down."
He lifts his wrist to check his watch and throws his napkin over the uneaten croissant on his plate.
"I'm so sorry," he says, rising from his seat. "I have a few meetings this week, and I'm about to be late for the first one."
"That's okay." I wave off his concern, hoping I don't seem as eager as I feel for him to leave. "I'll find something to do."
"Yes, great. Familiarize yourself with the estate, and Santiago will help you with anything you need."
Like a new adaptor for my laptop charger? I make a note to go and find him as soon as Ambrose leaves.
"Thanks."
"And think about my offer," he repeats again. "We can talk about it some more at dinner."
Can't wait.