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Zoe grins and raises an eyebrow. “Were you a little terror as a child?”
I scoff. “I was an angel. Don’t listen to anything that comes out of her mouth. I was the perfect child. Nobody could have asked for a better child.”
Right now, this conversation is safe. As long as we talk about being kids and growing up together, we won’t get into anything too deep.
There are things that Zoe doesn’t need to know. Things I don’t want to bring up with Camila either.
Our childhood wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows.
How can it be when you’re raised as children of a cartel leader? There are expectations to be kept and a brutal life to be lived.
It’s not a part of my life that I want to sit here and talk about.
“I have a hard time believing you were an angel.” Zoe looks to Camila for confirmation.
Camila nods. “He was a little shit as a child. Mom used to say that he was always into everything. If he could cause trouble, he did.”
Zoe’s smile widens, making a rush of warmth spread through my body.
I hate the way I feel when she turns that beautiful smile on me. It makes me feel horrible for what I’m doing to her, even though I know I have no other option.
I do have another option. I could find the rest of the bastards trying to ruin my life. I could commit more time to hunting them down and killing them.
Except I can’t. Not now that Zoe is in my life, and I have to worry about her father coming after her.
“You’re going to have to tell me more stories.” Zoe takes a sip of her wine, glancing at me before turning her attention back to Camila. “If I’m part of the family now, I should know what I’m getting myself into.”
Even though she tries to sound confident, her voice wavers just enough that I notice.
Sadness shines in her eyes while Camila launches into a story from our childhood.
The longer Camila talks, the more upset Zoe looks, and the more I hate myself for dragging her into this.
10
ZOE
For the last week, I’ve done nothing but spend my time wandering around the house and getting to know every corner while Christian goes to work.
I’ve been writing a couple songs, but most of them aren’t anything I would ever want to record.
Even now, my guitar sits in the corner of my bedroom, mocking me.
God, I’m never going to be able to write a good song again. I’m going to be trapped in this house, and I won’t be able to get my career off the ground.
I’m going to spend the rest of my life as nothing but a housewife.
I should have listened to my family. I should have had a backup plan in place or given up on music entirely.
My chest constricts as I look at the guitar, knowing that songwriting is the least of my problems.
I’m trapped in a house and unable to leave unless I have a performance. Which I haven’t had in the last week.
Joe’s bar flooded which means I got a call telling me that the bar would be closed for a couple of weeks, leaving me without anything to do.
I sigh and stare up at the ceiling, wondering if today is going to be the same as all the others.
The early morning sunlight streams through the gauzy curtains, reminding me that there is an entire world out there that I don’t get to experience right now.
