Chapter 19 – Genevieve
GENEVIEVE
Iwasn’t going to use it. I got the text, and I knew what it was when I read it.
A peace offering. A way for Rhys to clear his conscience—I suppose it’s good he has one.
Regardless, I didn’t want it. I wanted to do it on my own and was done with people controlling me.
But without a credit card or ID, my options for sleeping inside tonight were limited.
Honestly, I didn’t expect it to work. I expected to get to the hotel and have them ask for ID or laugh at me.
“Of course, Mrs. Murphy. I’m so sorry to hear your wallet was stolen.”
“Yes.”
That’s all I’ve got.
“Your husband called, and everything is in place for you. He wanted us to make sure you were aware that anything you wanted to eat or drink would be charged to your room and he’d take care of it.”
I short-circuit a bit at that. My husband? What the absolute fuckity-fuck? “He did?” The words are a squeak.
“Yes, ma’am,” the desk clerk tells me with an eager smile. “He was worried about you. He told us he wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.”
That motherfucker. What is he doing, and why would he do it? I realize it’s a fake credit card or whatever, and he likely doesn’t pay the bill—thief and all—but still. I wish he hadn’t done this.
“Best husband ever.”
Who will die in cold blood if I ever see him again for messing with me like this.
Except the room he has me in is a suite with a living room and a view of the green area I was sitting at today, and there’s a note on the coffee table that tells me there’s a car service at my disposal, and it’ll take me anywhere, including the festival in two days.
I sit on the sofa with my head in my hands. It would have been so much easier for me if he’d driven off and never looked back. Why did he have to do all this? I pull my phone from my purse, tempted to text him back. To thank him. But I don’t.
Nothing good will come of it.
If he doesn’t reply, I’ll be hurt. If he does, I’ll have stupid hope for something there is no hope for.
I look around the suite and sigh. It’s better than sleeping outside.
But now I’m alone again. It’s quiet when it hadn’t been. I had someone to talk to. Someone to smile at and laugh with. Even when we were silent, it wasn’t ever fully that. I was always aware of him. I can’t go back to nothing, but how do I become something? Or have I been something all this time?
Someone else. Someone who was hidden from me?
I have so many questions.
My eyes close, and I lean back against the sofa. I thought about it all afternoon while I was outside watching children play with other children and hug and kiss their parents. There was no gang warfare. No violence.
Was Rhys right? Did my mother kidnap me? And what if she wasn’t the first to do so?
I hold my phone in my hand and stare at the screen.
Would she even tell me the truth?
As if she knows I’m thinking about her, my phone pings in my hand.
Mother: He’s using you.
That makes me pause. Then gasp. She knows. My heart starts to race, and I flip around the room as if she’s going to materialize from behind the curtains. How? I rub my hand over my mouth and reread her text. How can she know?
Me: Who?
Mother: The man who took you.
I laugh. The man who took me. More like I blackmailed him.
Me: How do you know about him?
Mother: The exit chime. You didn’t think it only alerted you, did you?
Mother: I’ve been worried sick about you and searching everywhere.
I ignore that. It’s not helpful for me, and it only distracts from what I need answers to.
Me: Why did you need the alert? Why were you keeping me there?
My heart slams painfully against my ribs, picking up speed as the dots dance on my screen, indicating she’s typing.
Mother: My girl. It’s as I’ve always said. The world is a dangerous place. You may not see it, but it’s there. You’re at risk. You were taken from me once. I can’t have you taken again.
My eyes close. It is dangerous. My face indicates that, though it’s not that bad. Just the cut and some bruising. It would have been worse if Rhys hadn’t shown up. I know that.
Mother: He’s using you.
He was. I know he was. But I was using him too.
Me: What if he’s not?
I don’t know why I’m bothering. It doesn’t matter.
But how the fuck would she know that, and why is it her automatic assumption?
I had to beg Rhys to kiss me. He wouldn’t touch me even when I was touching myself.
I was a mistake to him. All of it was. I just want someone to care, someone to want me, beyond their ulterior motives. Why does that seem impossible to have?
Mother: He doesn’t care about you. Why would he?
That pisses me off. If he didn’t care at all, he wouldn’t have gotten me this room, the car service, and the food. He’s not here. He left, and it’s better that way. But… part of him had to care a little, even if it was out of guilt.
Me: You don’t know that.
Mother: I do. He doesn’t want you. He wants what he thinks I have. He’s blackmailing me for it with your life as the bounty. He’s dangerous. You have to leave him and come home immediately. I’m serious, Genevieve. Your life is in danger with him.
A picture comes in, and it’s of a text exchange between Rhys and my mother talking about an exchange: me for a tiara.
Rhys: I do have your daughter. I want the tiara back. I know it was you who broke into my house and stole it.
Me: Bring her to me, and we’ll swap.
Rhys: Or proof of life for proof of life. You show me my tiara, and I’ll show you the girl. If you play ball, I won’t hurt or deflower your pretty virgin, and I’ll bring her back to you in one piece. If you don’t, I can’t guarantee either.
Then another picture comes in.
Me: Where are you on getting the tiara from my sister? I want my daughter back.
Rhys: I’m making progress. I’m close to tracking her down. I’m having my associate handle it. If she has the tiara, we have a deal. If she doesn’t, the girl is dead.
My breath lodges and emotion burns my face.
I’m so naive. So gullible. That’s why he kissed me.
Why he got me this room. Probably why he stepped in this morning and bandaged me up.
He’s playing a game, and I’m the pawn. What a son of a bitch.
Then again, he warned me. How many times have I had to remind myself only to forget just as fast?
But what tiara?
Then it hits me like a meteor. Princess Desta. Did she have a tiara? She must have. She’s a princess, right? Why would my mother or her sister I know nothing about—that’s a new one for me—have a tiara if I’m not the princess?
Could I really be her? All this time?
My stomach roils, and I start to sweat. Hot and cold and shivering and flushed. Bile climbs up the back of my throat, and I gag on it as it threatens to spray past my lips. I race for the bathroom and throw up violently into the toilet.
I heave and heave until there’s nothing left of me but retching and tears and fucking misery. Is there no one in my life who hasn’t betrayed me? Why would she tell me about the tiara? Does she think I’m that stupid? That I wouldn’t figure it out?
Does she have any clue what she just did? How foolish that was of her?
But then there’s the fact that Rhys knows my mother.
She has his number, and he knows who she is.
How does that work? Was this a ploy all along?
Did he come to the cottage thinking she had this tiara there the entire time and stumbled upon me?
Is that why he agreed to do this trip? Was he always working for her?
Or was he going to kidnap me as ransom, and I played into his hands?
This was all a setup from the start, and I’m the fool stuck in between.
Where I thought I was free, I’m actually still caged.
My eyes close, and I release a heavy, heartsick breath. All of it was part of his game. His social engineering.
Me: He’s gone. He left me.
Mother: My girl. Of course he did. He realized I didn’t have what he sought, and you were worth nothing to him. Come home. Come home to Mother.
I did learn that hard truth. But I’m learning others along the way, and instead of making me cower, they’re giving me strength. Drive. Determination. And a big dose of fuck you.
Me: I’m not coming home. I’m staying where I am.
Mother: You won’t get far. You have nothing.
Me: Then I’ll have to learn how to make my way in the world. The one you kept me from all these years.
Mother: You’re making a terrible mistake.
Maybe, but I don’t care anymore. She may have been right about a lot of things, but not everything.
I saw it today. I saw it yesterday in the other village.
She was wrong about the world, and she was wrong about me.
Yes, there’s evil. Yes, there are bad people.
The worst of all may be my mother and the guy I willingly ran off with.
But not everyone is that way.
I can’t stay hidden anymore. I can’t live in a bubble with no oxygen.
Fuck it.
I’m going out tonight.