Chapter 17
MOLLY
It's Monday morning and the cold rain hitting the windows casts a dour mood on the day.
The children pile inside with puffy coats, wet hats and gloves and boots which leave dangerous wet trails on the floor. I take their lunch boxes and help them out of their coats, as much as I can.
I could do with being an octopus.
All weekend I kept thinking of Enzo. Despite proving to him that I never meant for Kiki to see the video clips, let alone upload them, the damage is still done.
He believes me. I could see it in his expression, but it doesn’t change anything. His mother is being hassled, and his family must resent this intrusion as much as Enzo does.
But we’re supposed to be working together.
I wish Miss T hadn’t given this to me. Having more contact with him will be torture because I fear he hasn’t forgiven me. I doubt he ever will.
I haven't been watching the news, and I don't go on social media much. I've been more determined than ever to stay away because I don’t want to find more clips about me and Enzo in Venice.
Like a child, I've adopted the ridiculous notion that if I don't see it, it doesn't exist. The media isn't interested in a masked ball anymore; they're digging into Enzo's family.
I also start to wonder if people will be able to identify me. I’m not visible in any of the clips I sent, but I can be heard talking, because I was doing a running commentary. Panic marches up my throat and sets up home there.
What if someone somehow figures out that it’s me?
I’m not famous or anything, or in the public eye, but what if someone did?
What’s to stop them from coming after me?
During lunchtime I head into the teachers’ lounge to mark the spelling.
I sit at one of the empty tables in the corner and pull out a bunch of books to mark.
I glance up to find Kiki walking in carrying a plastic coffee holder with two cups, and a magazine.
It's a celebrity magazine. She loves reading those.
I look away quickly and focus on marking my spelling tests.
“Molly.”
I pretend to ignore her, and I wish she'd get the message and leave me alone for a while. She refused to take the videos down, and yet she expects me to be as friendly and as forgiving as ever.
“I bought you your favorite hot chocolate with chocolate sprinkles and extra cream.”
I look up. “I don't want it. Thank you, though.”
She’s been trying hard to make it up to me. Checking in on me after school, wandering into my classroom and asking how I am. Now she looks at me, shocked. “What am I supposed to do with this?”
I continue with my marking. “Offer it to one of the others.”
Kiki sets down the hot chocolate, but I refuse to take it.
She slides over a magazine. “You're going to want to look at this.”
When she says it like that, with that tone, I know I need to listen. I read the headline:
WHAT HAPPENED TO AURORA KNIGHT?
I immediately drop my pen, grab the magazine, and start reading feverishly. There's a photograph of Enzo and his brothers and his father. They’re a big family, but there’s no mother figure in here.
No woman.
And who is Aurora Knight?
“You never said he was a billionaire,” Kiki whispers. “Not that I’m surprised.”
What I’m surprised about, but grateful for, is that Miss T hasn’t said anything.
“Have you seen him again?” Kiki asks. “Did you two … you know …” She fixes me with a pointed stare.
“No. Nothing like that.”
But my eyes are still on the magazine and I devour every word hungrily. This article has gone beyond the masked ball in Venice. Now they're profiling Enzo and Knight Enterprises, the name of the company his family own.
My eyes re-read a line a few times:
For years, the Knight family has declined to discuss the circumstances surrounding Aurora Knight’s death …
And another line further down.
The renewed attention has raised questions about the timeline of Paul Knight’s relationship with Isabella Santoro.
The timeline? What timeline? Why? The article is surprisingly detailed for a celebrity magazine. I hold my breath as I read it, worry worming its way under my skin because I’ve unleashed something terrible, and it’s not about Enzo or the masked ball.
It goes deeper, to his family.
No wonder this story isn’t going away. People are digging up the past.
I feel worse than ever.
“I'm sorry,” Kiki says. For once, she looks sorry. “I didn't think it would get to this.”
I refuse to look at her. “You didn’t think.”
“I'm worried about you.”
“You’re worried about me?” I snap. “Enzo Knight is who I’m worried about. I asked you to take it down.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s a little too late for that.”
The bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. I gather my belongings, and head back into the classroom. For a brief second I consider texting Enzo. We haven't texted at all, which is strange, because I thought we might after we’d exchanged numbers, but what do we even have to say to one another?
I type Sorry, then immediately delete it.
That's all I ever seem to say to him. But I can’t let it go. I start typing again:
I saw the Aurora Knight story. Are you okay?
I quickly send the text before I talk myself out of it.