Chapter 33
The following week was a whirlwind of activity, and the entire household welcomed Declan and me with open arms. After two private school tours, we settled on an amazing new school for Declan.
He was settling into having his uncles at his every beck and call, and I loved being able to actually participate in his day-to-day life.
I was walking on cloud nine. Cameron was behind bars and would be for a long while, according to Andrew.
Kinsley and Isabella still hadn’t returned home, but even the little bit of worrying I’d done had been eased by the little bits of information that the men shared.
The best part was that writing had gotten easier.
It was like once I gave myself permission; it flowed.
What could it be?
I collided with him as I stepped into the hall. His grin hit me first. It was wide, unrestrained, and I instantly mirrored it. Before I could say a word, his arms wrapped around me, strong and sure. He spun us both in a dizzy half-turn that stole my breath.
Laughter burst out of me. His energy was contagious, but it always had been. For a heartbeat, I forgot my earlier nerves. He smelled of cinnamon and cedar, his pulse thrumming against my cheek as he drew me close again.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t wait.” He kissed me passionately and then pulled back. “I have a surprise for you and no, it’s not the piano. I heard you loud and clear on it, but just know that I will hear you play if it’s the last thing I ever do.”
“Andrew,” I warned. He wouldn’t relent about having the piano Elenor had delivered here.
“Even if it takes a thousand years. Now come on, my surprise won’t keep forever. You’re going to love this,” he said, his voice low and trembling with excitement.
The way he looked at me made it clear. Whatever this surprise was, it mattered to him that I loved it.
He took my hand and pulled me through the house.
In his haste, he practically dragged me.
He put his finger to his lips and led me toward the slightly open door of one of the front rooms. I could hear voices. Distinct ones, girls.
Isabella and Kinsley? This was the surprise?
My stomach twisted into knots. All of my insecurities rose to the surface. What if they hated me? What if they hated Declan? A thousand questions went through my head.
“It serves them right trying to ‘punish’ us for caring,” one of them said. “It’s not my fault, Sophia insisted we join you two on the trip. I only lamented to my mother about how sad I was and told her to talk to Sophia about Nikolai.”
Andrew shook his head, and a huge grin covered his face. Affection filled his eyes. He whispered in my ear, “That one was Isabella.”
A dramatic groan rose. “Yes, but now Nik is contemplating another punishment for me since, well, his initial one didn’t happen.”
“Kinsley?” I breathed, and he nodded.
I took a deep breath, remembering everything he’d told me about them both. He said Kinsley would like me and that Isabella would take time. The next words and the tone in which Isabella delivered it—took me off guard. The sarcasm was thick.
“I’m sure you’ll manage. Just bring him a flogger or two,” Isabella remarked dryly. “Plus, I’m sure Alek’s going to throw you against the wall the minute he walks through the door, Nik or no Nik. I’m actually surprised they weren’t here waiting to drag you down to hell.”
Kinsley’s voice was sweet, and she exhaled dramatically. “The playroom isn’t hell, silly goose, although we have the most wicked fun in there. Oh, I so hope that’s the plan. Do you think it’s a possibility? Maybe I should peek at the schedule. I’m sure I could convince them—”
“Seriously? It’s not a holiday or Sunday. Can we change the subject?” Isabella said, sounding embarrassed and exasperated.
I raised my eyebrows at Andrew. “It will all become clear soon. Shall we?” he whispered, but then stopped. The two of us stood outside the room, poised and listening.
“Okay, but don’t you think this is strange? Marcel asking us to meet him here. What do you think he wants to talk to us about?” Kinsley asked, a nervous tinge lacing her childlike voice.
“Doesn’t matter. I personally think it’s time for a family meeting. I think they need to put this side of their lives away, pass that mantel on to someone else. It’s getting too dangerous.”
“But they’re doing good work, important work.”
“Oh, now it’s important work. So we’re all on board with Pasha being the Russian and the newest member of the Death Squad?” Isabella hissed.
“Marcel said I have to let go. He needs to grow up now, and I need to stop standing in the way. He’s not a little kid anymore.”
“That man hasn’t been a little kid in a long-ass while, but I’m glad to know you’re coming to terms with things.”
“I’m not fully on board. I was thinking maybe if I commit to dancing more with him, he won’t be as interested in that line of work. Distract him, that’s my plan.”
Isabella scoffed, “Going to go on tour?”
“You know me better than that. I think, though, that the family meeting you want to have is a good idea. If I have to accept that Pasha is a man now and ready, then they need to stop seeing us as delicate little flowers. It’s time there are some female squad members added.
You can start working up some tattoos for us. Let’s talk to Marcel about it, okay?”
“Fat chance that will happen. It won’t work. You’d just distract them.”
“Would not. But I guess that means you’d vote against me? Huh?” Hurt laced her voice, but then she rushed on. “Never mind, don’t answer that question. You’ll only hurt my feelings. I just know it. But speaking of work, that reminds me.” Kinsley paused, her voice lowered.
Andre’s face grew serious, and he leaned in. Were we really going to eavesdrop on their conversation? Looked like we were. I grinned, but followed his lead.
“We’ve been trying to find her for a while now. And I’m going to need you to hear me out…I think we need to do more.”
“More?” Isabella asked, her tone laced with skepticism.
What were they talking about?
“Yes. We’ve been searching, and everything leads to nothing. It’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack. You have to admit; we’re not making any progress on our own.”
“Damn it,” Isabella cursed. “You know how I feel about this. I’m not ready. It hasn’t been that long and maybe—”
“Maybe what? We can’t keep doing the same thing, Bellaruso. Posting ads for a piano teacher got us nowhere. Neither did the one riddle ad mentioning summer and the seahorse. How many hours have we spent scrolling social media, only to come up empty? How many yearbooks—”
Freezing in place, my heart slammed against my ribs, a wild, frantic beating as if it were desperate to break free. All the blood in my veins turned electric, surging hot and fast, making my fingers tingle and my knees weak. The air around me thinned.
They were talking about me. Then Isabella spoke.
“I can’t speak the words.” The confession was whispered sadly and so softly that I almost didn’t catch it. But Andrew did. That and the fear lacing her voice.
“But I could. I’m strong enough. I’ll do the talking at first. I even asked Marcel point-blank last week if I told him something private would he tell anyone and he said by law he can’t. Not to mention he wouldn’t. Let’s start with him today, please.”
I was struggling to come to terms with this turn of events. After all this time, eleven long years of silence—of distance, of thinking they were a memory. And they were looking for me.
A warmth bloomed inside my chest. Not only had they been searching for me, but Kinsley was trying hard to convince Isabella.
A sharp, dizzy wave of emotions hit. Disbelief, hope, fear.
It was too intense, like standing in the sun after being buried in darkness.
My breath came in short, uneven bursts. I couldn’t take another moment, and Andrew propelled me forward.
“Whoa, pump your brakes. Wait…” Isabella said as I pushed through the door.
She jumped up. Her mouth fell open, and I stared at a young woman I thought I’d never see again—to the very girl I was writing to just a little earlier today.
The sharp sting of tears pricked my eyes, and I swallowed hard against the lump forming in my throat.
I’d created this moment, this fantasy, in so many different ways over the years.
But nothing could have prepared me for the raw, aching reality of seeing her.
Autumn, or well…Isabella.
Her voice had cut off mid-sentence as her gazed locked onto mine.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. She wasn’t a child anymore.
The little girl I remembered—broken, silent—was still there, lingering in the shape of her face, in the familiar shade of her striking blue eyes.
Sebastian’s eyes. I had thought they looked familiar.
Time had carved a woman, refining her into something stronger. Her dark hair was pulled up in a bun of sorts; a few strands framed her beautiful face. She was dressed in ripped jeans, well-worn and frayed in places. It was paired with a black printed T-shirt that clung to her.
My eyes darted downward. Her hands. They were charcoal-stained. The sight of them nearly undid me. Emotion swelled thick in my chest, but words wouldn’t form. I stared, drinking her in, as if I could somehow reclaim all the lost years just by memorizing every detail of the woman she had become.
Isabella’s hand shot out, smacking Kinsley on the leg. She was holding her phone and deeply engrossed in whatever was on the screen. Her thumbs moved fast over the keyboard.
Mischa.
I gulped. She looked so much like she had.
It left me disoriented, as if she’d slipped through time.
So small and still so damned delicate, like the porcelain dolls the Mask’s son kept.
But that wasn’t entirely true. She’d grown, filled out.
Her frame was no longer that of a fragile, haunted child but that of a woman who had survived.