Chapter 71
Isabella
Welcome To The Family
When we pulled up to the summer house, my heart felt full of trepidation. All of a sudden, I was wavering in my resolve. I’d stood on the outside of the room, listening in to the men I had come to call brothers as they declared their love for Mischa. Floored would be an understatement.
Part of me didn’t want to speak, so I waited, and when Alek presented his gift to her, I knew.
The way her sobs pierced me as she clung to the Vincent van Gogh bear, I knew it represented me.
I knew from the moment she pulled the fox out.
I may not have known the story behind them either, but I didn’t need to.
Having locked myself in my room those first few days after seeing her again, every fear I could imagine had me painting from sunup to sundown. I’d turned my phone off, refused to see any of the guys, and only allowed my mother and father in.
A little over twenty-four hours ago, I’d flipped the page to the last in my sketchbook and began a new drawing. I sketched furiously for hours, completely disconnected from anything other than the pencil in my hand and the scratching sounds on the paper. It alone was enough to put me in a zone.
“Isabella, dear,” my mother had called. It took me several minutes to float away from the dreamlike state I’d put myself in.
I glanced down at the drawing and realized it was one of Mischa, or well, Kinsley, when she was Spring.
I’d drawn this one before, only one other time.
It was the first time I’d seen her outside the initial meeting in the hallway.
She was standing at a ballet barre that was part of her dressing room area.
She looked so small even then. I remembered thinking to myself: she didn’t look over eight years old.
Her hair was in a bun, and she had on a black leotard with sheer pink tights and her pink ballet slippers. Her head was turned away from my sight, and her hand was resting on her shoulder, blocking most of her face. That was how I drew her then and how I’d drawn her now.
My mother had looked worried. I supposed it was to be expected.
I’d caused quite an uproar by regressing, and I sighed as Bash’s words came back to me.
I was holding them back. She’d never say it, but it was our reality.
We should have been with the guys and the Kings, celebrating the end of summer.
Yet here we were, my mother and father a mess, and me sketching until my fingers ached.
I’d come to the conclusion that Kinsley must not have said anything, which made my curiosity as to why even greater.
Sitting in the dark, unaware, had gnawed at me like I didn’t think it would.
The desire to connect with her grew stronger with each passing day until it got to be all-consuming.
If I wasn’t drawing her, I was dreaming about her.
It was the uncertainty, a burning need to talk to her.
Never mind, she could out me, blow the lid on my secret and lies I’d told everyone for years.
I wished I would have stayed so that, if nothing else, I could get answers, maybe even closure.
To ensure my past remained hidden. It was a risk, one I’d wrestled with for the last few days, until I slammed the book shut and shook my head.
“Mama, could we still go?” I had asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“To the beach?”
At my nod, she’d rushed over, and I fell apart in her arms.
And now I stood in the doorway, face-to-face with the only people in the world who meant anything to me.
Sebastian stood with his mouth damn near on the ground, while expressions of shock and delight filled the other men’s faces.
Kinsley’s head was bowed, her hands folded in her lap, and her knuckles were white.
I took several deep breaths to calm my nerves.
The seconds ticked by, and my stomach churned.
A part of me wanted to chicken out and run.
Then I reminded myself, how many years had I dreamed about them?
How many secret paintings and sketches did I have in my sketchbook, locked in the safe Aleksandr had purchased for me when I told him I needed one?
How many did I have of her right now in my sketchbook? That I’d drawn this past Spring. I had years’ worth of drawings. I even purchased several age-progression software programs so I could continue to draw them as the years passed.
I’d created lives for them, families. Portfolios and portfolios of images, and I’d be damned if the ones I had of her didn’t match her, down to her size. The only thing I couldn’t have foreseen was her being involved with the Kings.
Swallowing my fear, I approached them. With a deep breath and my voice shaking, I asked, “I think I owe you an apology. I was hoping we could talk…alone.”
Her head snapped up, grayish-blue eyes widened with surprise. Her gaze shifted between me and Marcel. Her uncertainty mirrored mine, but she stood and stumbled a little before Ivan steadied her.
“I’d like that,” she said, her voice velvety soft.
Silence rang through the room as I walked over to the large folding window wall and pushed it open enough so we could climb out onto the deck. I knew the perfect place we could go without prying eyes.
I ignored the stares from the men and saw my parents greeting Sophia and Christopher, who seemed thrilled to have them show up.
Kinsley followed me. Sophia and my mom immediately began talking, and from the pointed looks they gave us, they were curious about seeing me leading Kinsley in the opposite direction.
We walked quietly for half a mile, where the private beach veered off into an alcove. It was as if the entire past eleven years’ worth of emotions came tumbling out of me. I fell onto the sand and broke.
She sank down beside me and then lifted her voice and began singing “Amazing Grace.”
It was still as sweet as I remembered, more mature and filled with an emotional undertone that she and I alone understood.
Goose bumps broke out across my arms as I listened to her.
I closed my eyes as every emotional moment of those two years we spent together poured over me, filling in the holes of my very existence.
All the empty places, the dark places, the hurting places, filled with a cleansing water, warm and pure. She was here. I could see her, touch her, hear her. My sister, a part of me. She finished the song and then stuck out her hand, which was still so tiny.
“All those years ago, I tried to tell you my name, although I knew you knew it. So let me try again. Hi, my name is Kinsley.” Her voice shook.
“Isabella Caruso,” I whispered, and looked around.
I grabbed her in a hug, and we cried in each other’s arms for several long minutes. When we finally calmed down, we just stared at each other.
“This is insanity. I never in a million years thought I would ever see you again. What are the chances? I mean, of all the billions of people on the planet, you’re here, you’re really here, and I can talk to you, and no one will beat me.
” She started speaking a mile a minute. “Now, I’ve been told you don’t like to talk.
I promise I love to talk. I can talk and talk and talk.
You don’t have to say anything at all. But I need you to know something. ”
She and I both tensed up.
“I didn’t tell Marcel about any of you. It wasn’t my place, not my story to tell.”
Relief washed over me, and I sobbed once more while she hugged me.
“I get the feeling I did the right thing, thank god. Just so you know, I made up an entire story, said it was me and, well, X. I had to. Dr. Marcel is a very persistent man. He’s tenacious, but very good. You know? Well, sure you do, you’ve known him forever.”
I took a deep breath. Boy, she was not lying. She could talk.
“Slow down,” I breathed.
“Oh, sorry. I’m overwhelming, aren’t I? Pasha used to tell me that all the time. Like, all the time. Alek says my mouth gets me into trouble. He’s not wrong. I think I’m trying to make—”
I reached out and put my hand over her mouth. Her face fell, and I laughed. After several long minutes, I asked, “Who’s Pasha?”
“My dance partner.”
She held her breath. She was struggling, wanting to say more. I smiled. Somehow, she was exactly as I imagined she would be.
“So, you still dance?” I asked.
“Not on stage or professionally. I couldn’t ever do that.” She became haunted, and that deep connection we had that had been cemented years ago hit me.
“Same. I only paint and draw for me.”
“Oh, do you know what this means?”
“Um, not really?” And I didn’t; honestly, I was confused because the look on her face had gone from solemn to excited in two seconds.
“You can meet my Pasha. He is going to take a job at the London School of Ballet.”
“Oh, yeah, sounds great.” It really didn’t, but I didn’t want to crush her hopes.
Then, lightning fast, she once more grew solemn. “What do we do now?” she asked, frightened, as if I had answers.
Her question hung in the air between us. What did we do now? How did we move forward? In my heart, I knew I wanted to get to know her. I just wasn’t ready for everything to come out. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be, and all I could do was hope she’d understand.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t want my brother or the other guys to know that I…that…we—”
“Don’t you worry about a thing. I promise, like solemnly swear before God and man, that I’ll never tell a single soul about anything. I’ll die before I tell, if that’s what you need.”
Relief coursed through me at her words. I believed her, and it opened up a whole new world for me. I was so curious about her and what happened to her during our time apart.
“Can I ask what happened to you after?”
“Owen, the guy who rescued us, he raised me. He died a few years back. I’d been on my own for a while.” She pulled her knees up like she used to do all those years ago.
“And you?”