CHAPTER FOUR
W ho’s Percy Sterling?
Apprehension and worry spun through my head as I searched on my laptop. His age was listed as thirty, but he appeared older with a bow-tied suit and oiled-back blonde hair. His smile in every picture was like an overexposed lightbulb. Too bright. Too forced. Yet his eyes were vacant, like there was no joy in their depths. Further down the page, a possible reason was given. He lost his wife in childbirth last year. I couldn’t imagine the pain he went through, and empathized. He still had photos of his late wife posed sewing and cooking from scratch on his Fair Foundation website. She even hung clothes on the line. Hmm… okay. Sure. But why use old-fashioned stuff when she doesn’t have to? Or better still, why was he “keen” to marry me? He must have seen the photos of me with Rocco. Heck, Cassidy said the kiss Rocco and I shared at the after-party in Cannes was still trending . A man who prided himself on a traditional wife wouldn’t want to be with someone in a backless gown kissing a man in a club. What was his motive in wanting to marry me?
Or was I taking this change of plans much too seriously? There were already signed contracts. Rocco wouldn’t just walk away from our arranged marriage. Not the man I’d come to know. Yet, I couldn’t remove all doubt from my mind. Or the sinking feeling aching in my stomach at the thought of Rocco leaving me behind. That was my problem—I’d grown attached to him in a way I never should have. Mrs. Belfiore’s right. I’m just as foolish as Mama.
I closed the page, but the search was still there, and a news article in the second row stopped my heart.
Judge Eric Colby issued a temporary order to stop the Fair Foundation lawsuit that would end free meals for the unhoused.
Sweat broke across my body, and nausea burned my throat. Is Judge Colby seriously doing good things for people in need? Impossible. Or he’s getting some kind of benefit from it. My jaw tightened as disbelief filled my brain, and the answer was at my fingertips. All I had to do was open the article. But I can’t.
I blocked my sperm donor from my mind, nor had I seen or searched for him all these years, hoping to forget him. The image I kept was the last one I saw on the night of the attack. He was strung out on drugs. Gangly. Filthy stringy hair, hollow eyes, and burned lips and fingers. He stunk of bleach powder and body odor. Even then, he strutted around with his chest thrust out like a prized rooster. But on that night he was over the top, bragging about a big payday coming. There was only one thing holding him back. Me.
Thud . My hands slammed the laptop shut harder than I intended, but I didn’t stop to check if I’d damaged it. I stood up, and paced, my hands clenched in fists. I didn’t want Colby back in my life, but life was bringing him back anyway. I could lose it and destroy everything I had—just like he would do, or prepare myself.
I took a deep breath, sat down by the desk and centered myself like I’d been taught in therapy. Then, I reopened the laptop. This time, I clicked on the article and looked at him.
Judge Colby had a makeover—a tailored suit on his fuller frame, his brown hair neatly trimmed. He stood posed before a two-story home with a new wife. I gasped. He’s remarried? She was only twenty-three, just a year older than me. Gross . However, she tried to appear older, styling her hair in a tight chignon and a matronly high-collared dress. My eyes darted from image to image. Judge Colby at the Mayor’s home. Judge Colby on a podcast. A new wife, job, and life?! Once again, he failed upward. The universe handed him another chance on a silver platter. It wasn’t fair. I moved to close the page, but something made me hesitate. In every photograph, Judge Colby was facing left. It took five pages of image searches to find a photo of him facing right. And there it was. He had a deep, crooked scar that the hair on his jaw didn’t cover. It looked angry, vicious. It told a different tale of what he was trying to pretend to be, and I knew it was from the chair I hit him with.
Happiness soared inside of me, and I actually let out a fiendish chuckle. After years of his cruelty, he finally got a cut in his heel. That scar made it so that he could never forget what he had done. Why hadn’t he gone for plastic surgery? Or was he already out of money? He hasn’t been out of his halfway rehab place for less than two years, as it says in the gossip mag, but it was clear he was trying to make over his life. However, it wouldn’t be easy with me linked to Rocco, a public figure. What would he do to stop the press from digging? Or us from answering?
Chime . My phone rang, and I crossed the room to pick it up from the side table. It was Rocco. I took a quick breath to calm my pulse that had quickened. Then answered, “Hello.”
“Hello, Adelina. How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice infused with concern.
I leaned against the wall, staring down at my toes pressing into the carpet. “Not bad. I think it’s just a cold. Nothing rest can’t cure.” I cleared my throat.
“True. Depression can make you feel sick.”
I pushed off from the wall and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Yeah. How are you doing?”
“It’s non-stop here. I’m meeting with the board, lawyers, work and making funeral arrangements.”
I frowned. “Hmm, that sounds like a lot.” It’s too much, really.
“It is. My family is leaving it all up to me and my team, like they’d done with Grandpa.” His voice lost steam and my heart constricted. From what I knew about him, he was probably taking on everything, and putting himself last. That was where I came in. He reached for me. Maybe he needs me. But that was what I wanted to believe.
“I’m sorry, Rocco,” I said and I meant it.
“It feels odd not having you next to me. You know I would have given you a private place to stay. Why didn’t you tell me Reginald was coming?” His voice was warm, but I could feel a tinge of disappointment that brought a pang to my chest.
“He told me not to, but I was going to anyway, before I fell asleep. Sorry. I…I didn’t want to upset you. Anyway, you’re busy—”
“Never too busy for you, Bella. Are you okay? I know you were unhappy with your grandparents.”
I hesitated. Should I tell him they may try to marry me off to Percy Sterling? No . Knowing them, they were probably just trying to pressure Rocco.
“No, no. Uhm…it’s the funeral. You know how my grandparents are strict about our marriage.”
He sighed heavily down the line. “Yeah, I do. I told your grandfather that we need to delay the wedding just until we settle things here with my grandfather’s estate. A month or so. It’ll give us all a chance to settle the funeral and reschedule in Italy. But I still want you to come back with me. I’ll fix this as soon as possible. Just a couple of days—”
“It’s fine, Rocco. You do what you need to do,” I croaked and cleared my throat.
“Thank you, Adelina. You should rest. I’ll make it as quick as possible. I miss you.”
“Uhm…I miss you too.” I closed my eyes.
“Talk to you soon.”
We ended the call, and my stomach churned. I tensed. A month or so? There had been a lot of planning for the first one, and he probably wanted it as big as he planned, so I felt frustrated sitting in this space of limbo. At least he sounded genuine. This whole thing was confusing. One moment I was preparing to pledge my whole life to this man, and now, once again, I’m just an incentive. I miss you too, Rocco, and I wish I could be standing by your side right now . But there’s nothing I can do about missing him at the moment.
I left the bedroom and refilled the tub with warmer water and then took a bath. After putting on a nightgown, Patricia came with a bowl of soup that I could eat at the small table in the room, which I preferred instead of listening to more schemes dreamed up by my grandparents. I thanked her, and even though it was aromatic and flavorful, my mind shut off, blocking the taste. It was something I hadn’t done in years. Something I used to do when I lived with my parents. I trained myself to not enjoy food because I never knew if we’d afford that meal again. I’d been happy when I landed that job at the fast food place. We all upgraded to extra-large sizes and paid for small. I had enough food to bring back to Mama. And Judge Colby when he was being extra nice to us.
Stealing wasn’t something I was proud of, and the memories didn’t make me feel better. So, I picked up the funniest romance comedy book to read and settled into bed. It lightened my mood, and I got through a few chapters before I finally drifted to sleep.
The T-shirt slips over my head, falling past my knees when the bathroom door swings open. Judge Colby stands in the gap in his underwear with a shit-eating grin. His dilated pupils scan me slowly.
I wrinkle my nose and quickly turn my head, but can still smell the skunky pot and his sweat.
“You were in there a while. What were you doing?” he asks in a suggestive tone.
“None of your damn business,” I snap, clutching my shirt and leggings I wore to bed in my hand.
“Watch your tone. You’re twelve, not twenty. I won’t be disrespected in my house,” he yells for the hundredth time since we showed up to stay with him.
For three months, life had been better. Mama had been more at peace, and yet, because she “loves him” she invited him back into our lives. Why?
Now we’re in yet another house he didn’t own.
“It’s not yours either,” I chide.
He’s leasing it, and the bill collection letters clog the mailbox just like last time Mama brought us to move in with him.
He snorts. “It’s more than what you and your Mama have. If you don’t like my rules, you can get the hell out.”
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. Now, move out of the way.”
But he stands stiff, blocking the way out. I’ll have to squeeze past him.
I brace myself, moving as fast as I can, but he grabs my waist and buries his head in my hair. “You don’t like boys?”
Nausea rises in my throat, and I gag. “Is your brain farting again, ass wipe?”
My fingers claw him, but he’s not letting go.
I stomp my feet on his as hard as I can.
He yelps. “You stupid little bitch.”
He moves an arm under my chin and I sink my teeth in it with all my strength.
Slam.
His hands ram my head against the door, and my vision goes dizzy….
“No. No. No. Stay conscious. You can’t pass out,” I mumbled.
I stumble to my feet and run down the stairs all the way out the front door.
“Adelina, come back.”
Mama calls from behind me.
I have nothing on but a shirt and underwear.
But I’m running… running away far from here…
And then I stop?
“Because if I leave her, who will look after her wounds when he hurts her again?” I mumbled.
I hate him. I hate him so much for the hellhole we live in because of him.
“I hate her…I hate her too,” I hissed.
My eyes popped open and I sat up with a start.
The pain in my arms finally registered as I looked down and saw the trails from my nails. Just great , I snarked to myself, kicking the covers down my damp legs, my heart pounding hard in my ears. The residue of the nightmare still clung to my mind, thick like the blood that had dried on my hands that night I hit my father with the chair.
Guilt gripped my insides and soured my stomach.
Mama.
I’d forgotten the anger and disgust I felt for Mama those years. I’d forgiven her long ago. He broke her body and spirit. Still, she loved him, but he just never loved her.
I was shaky on my feet as I went to the bathroom and put some cream on my arm. Reluctantly, I returned to the bed and after a while, I must have fallen asleep— thankfully without any more nightmares— because the next thing I knew, the sky had turned bright with the new day.
The side lamp on the table was still lit. I had not only slept all night, but from the screen on my phone I picked up, it was close to nine in the morning.
Knock. Knock.
“Yes?” I called out.
“Adelina?” It was Patricia’s voice.
“Yes, I’m awake,” I called back and sat up.
“Mrs. Belfiore says get dressed. You have a visitor.”