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"Marco isnota mistake. And maybe, if you'd noticed my mistakes in the past, acknowledged them...didn't pretend I was perfect... I wouldn't have felt so depressed after getting fired."
"You're angry with me for thinking you're perfect? How does that make any sense!"
"Because I'm not perfect!" I snap. The old man and police woman gawk at me. I don't care, I keep yelling. "I never was! Nobody is! But you got in my head and made me feel like I was amazing, and anything less than success was impossible. Any small fuck-up would let you down!"
I'm breathing heavily now. The knots in my belly are untangling as I let the old grudges loose.
He's silent for a few seconds; when he talks, his voice is weak. "You can fix this, Filia. It isn't a mistake until it can't be fixed."
"Dad. Stop. This doesn't need to be fixed. The more I think about it, the more grateful I am that I got fired." I catch my reflection in the window near me. I'm smiling. "If I'd flown back to LA, gone back to my tiny apartment, kept on with my flight crew job, I wouldn't have come to Italy." I pull in a big breath. "I wouldn't have met Marco."
He's silent. I hold my breath, and after a while, I wonder if he hung up the phone.
"Filia," he sighs. "Let me talk to the embassy."
I lift my eyes and lock my gaze on the older man. He sees me give a little wave and heads my way. "My dad," I explain, offering the phone.
The gentleman puts the phone to his ear. "Hello? This is Ancel Rizzoni. Ah, you're her father. I see. Yes. Yes, of course. I'm glad things were cleared up." He glances at me with a half smile. "I'll make sure to update the system. Thank you. Here's your daughter again."
I take the phone as he hands it over. Staring at his back, I ask, "Dad? Did you..."
"It's all set, Filia. The authorities won't bother you anymore."
Tension leaks from my body. "Thank you."
"Promise me that when youdocome home, that you'll call me?"
"Yeah. Of course." I hesitate, weighed down by the awkward conversation from before. "I love you, Dad."
"I love you too. I'll see you soon?"
"Yeah. Yeah, soon." Hanging up the phone, I walk towards the exit. The police woman sees me coming; she stands taller, eyes hard and narrowed. "I'm leaving," I tell her flatly.
Her eyebrows dart downward. "What, don't want a ride back to the bar?"
"No."
"I pissed you off that much?" she snorts.
With a mild smile, I walk by her. "No. I just think it's a beautiful night for a walk."
The truth is, I don't want to walk around in the dark by myself. She was right, I didn't want to ride withher.Unsure if I'll be able to flag down a taxi at this hour, I step into the evening air; it's cold from the nearby ocean. I shiver, hugging myself.
"Cold?"
Jerking around, I gape at Derek. He's leaning on his car, hands deep in his jacket. His eyes are as black as a killer whale on the hunt. "Why are you here?"
His scowl makes me recoil. Then he hangs his head, shoulders tucking to his ears. "Get in the car."
"Why should I?"
His voice drips not with disgust, but regret. "Because we need to talk."
Chapter Eighteen
It's the second time I've been in Derek's car. It's as uncomfortable as the first. Maybe worse, because at least the other trip I was distracted by worrying about Trey and the coup Derek was plotting.
We sit in heavy silence. I reach for the radio; he clicks his tongue, stopping me. My hand drops into my lap where I squeeze it. This tension is making me sweat the longer it stretches on.
