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"I'm not talking about that.”
Guilt washes over his face. He tugs at his collar, his mind silently formulating the next untruth.
"Don't lie to me," I bluff. "I've seen the tapes."
His reaction is small. But it’s there. The slightest flash of worry darkens his eyes before he masks it again.
“Isa, I do not know what you are speaking of.”
"Yes, you do. He was tortured. Because of you. You took him from one hell and sent him to another. He loved you. How could you do that to him?"
"I had no choice. Isa, you don't understand."
"I understand that you betrayed him. All those years, you told me I could never meet him. That he was dangerous. But in reality, he was only the monster you created."
"I was following orders," he says. "You don't understand how the agency works. If I had not followed those orders, I would be dead. And then what would become of you?"
"Then I would have at least known that my father was an honorable man."
My words cut him, and I can't hold back the emotion in my voice. The shame. The anger. The grief.
I want to take the words back as soon as I say them. I hate this. I hate being so conflicted. Living between love and hate. First with Javi. And now with my father.
"Isa," he pleads. "Forgive me. I'm so sorry."
He pulls me into his arms, and I don't fight this time. It hurts so much. I want to forgive him, but I don't know how I can. How can I when I still don't know the truth about Javi's death.
"Have you heard anything more about River?" I ask.
My father’s arms stiffen around me, and I pull away.
"Tell me," I demand. "You have to tell me."
"Let me come inside," he implores.
I let him into the parlor and shut the door behind him. He gestures to the kitchen, and we take a seat at the counter. I don't offer him a drink. The time for pleasantries is over.
"There is much more to River than I knew," my father begins.
"Javi trusted him," I say. "He trusted him with his life. With my life. He thought he was his friend."
"I trusted him too," my father answers. "I didn't realize how deep this went."
"What do you mean?"
"River is employed by the agency."
I shake my head. That can't be right. Javi would have known.
"They've known each other since the sanitarium," I argue.
"I know," my father replies. "That's why his cover worked so well. He is a handler of sorts. That was his role all along. He was inserted into Javi's life at a young age to build a relationship of trust."
"But why?" I ask. "Why would they do that?"
"Because Javi was a valuable asset," he answers. "One that, in the right hands, could have been a dangerous weapon. If he ever decided to act on his own, to work for another agency, it could have devastated the entire house of cards."
"So, you're telling me the agency is behind his death? That doesn’t make sense. Why would they hurt him?"
"I don't know.”
I want to believe him, but I don’t know that I can.
"I know River cared for him," my father tells me. "That wasn't a lie. I know he cared for him."
His words make no difference now. What does it matter if he cared when he disappeared without an explanation?
"I'm tired," I say. "I think I'm going to rest now."
He shakes his head, his eyes pleading with me.
"You can't stay here, Isa. It isn't safe. Not until we know what's going on."
"Nowhere is safe," I reply. "Not when I have no idea who to trust. What difference does it make if I'm here or at home? At least here, nobody can get in from the outside. Not unless I let them."
"You don't know that," my father argues.
"I'm not leaving. This is my home now. Where Javi lived. That's where I will live too."
He still wants to argue. But he doesn't. And I know my father well enough to know that he will probably have at least a few armed guards surrounding the place when he leaves here tonight.
"Just think about it, Isa," he says. "Think about coming home."
I walk him to the door.
"The funeral is on Friday," I tell him. "If you want to come."
CHAPTER FORTY
I THOUGHT that maybe this would help. Maybe it would give me some closure to bury Javi. To lay my torment to rest. But the only thing I have learned from this gloomy day is that nothing can lay those feelings to rest.
He is so alone in this cemetery. And I worry that I am doing the wrong thing. Perhaps he should have remained at Moldavia instead.
Only my father has come. Not even River made an appearance. This place feels so cold. So desolate.
At the last minute, I lunge forward, desperate to stop them from laying dirt over him. Over my heart. My father halts me.
"You are doing the right thing, Isa.”
It doesn't feel that way. It feels like he is dying all over again. But I don't move. I don't fight. I remain paralyzed. Long after they have finished. Long after night has settled over the earth and into my bones.
"Let me take you home," my father says.
He means his home. But that isn't home to me anymore.
"Take me to Moldavia," I tell him.
He doesn't like it. But he does it anyway.
AUTUMN CREEPS IN SLOWLY, and then all at once. It seems that overnight, everything has gone crisp.
I have a routine now. The same routine every day. I work on the nursery. I write my music. I record. And I visit the cemetery.
Each day, I lay a red rose on Javi's stone. And each day my belly grows. With it, my strength does too.
I can feel him.
I can feel him with me. In the air around me. In the scent of the wild roses that now bloom in the conservatory again. Moldavia is full of his energy. But oddly enough, this place isn't. And yet I come here every day. I read him my lyrics. And today is the last song that I have to read him.
When I close the pages of the journal, I know that it is time. I am ready. I drive into the city. Straight to Luke's office. I know he's here because the stench of his alcohol hits me before I even step foot inside. I knock twice, and he answers, more haggard than I've ever seen him.
"You," he growls. "What do you want?"
"I'm ready to come back," I tell him.
He laughs. Shakes his head. And tries to shut the door in my face. I use my foot to intercept him.
"Your contract has been paid off." He makes a wild gesture with his hands. "It’s over. You’re finished."
"Paid off?"
He looks at me like I'm an idiot, and then his eyes wander to my belly.
"Yes, paid off. By your psychotic boyfriend. You're out. Done. I don't want anything else to do with you."
"Javi?" I whisper.
"Yes, Javi." He scowls and rubs his shoulder as though he's recalling a painful memory.
"He paid you off?"
"Yes." He blinks. "Are you hard of hearing, Isabella? I fucking said that already."
"That's why you didn't come looking for me."
He makes another gesture with his hand. "I'm done with you.”
And it's obvious he really is. Whatever happened between him and Javi has left a sour taste in his mouth. There isn't an ounce of desire in his eyes when he looks at me now. But that only strengthens my resolve. I didn't want to play that card with Luke. I didn't want him to think that things would ever be the same between us. That we could go back to the way things were with me as his willing puppet and him pulling the strings.
There is one other thing that Luke loves though. One other thing I know I can use to my advantage. So before he slams the door in my face a second time, I stop him with one simple question.
"What if I said I could make you a lot of money?"
He narrows his eyes at me. Laughs and shakes his head.
"And how exactly do you think you're going to do that, princess?"
"One final show," I pro
pose. "You can have it all. The rights to the music. Just give me ten percent of the profits."
He laughs again.
"Oh, Isabella. You poor, naïve little country bumpkin. Don't you realize that the world has moved on? There were twenty pop princesses ready to take your place the day you walked out."
He's lying, and I know he's lying. Because I can see the fire in his eyes. He's already thinking about how he can spin this.
"Everyone loves a comeback," I tell him.
"Do they?" he smirks. "I don't know if you could call it a comeback when you never really got started in the first place."
I don't take part in his verbal jousting. This is just the way Luke is. And I know how to push his buttons, just as well as he knows how to push mine. He's all about the dramatic effects.
I pull my foot from the door and meet his eyes.
"Fine. I'll go somewhere else, then. I'm sure there are plenty of others who would be interested in what I'm offering."
I turn to leave, and he grabs me by the arm.
"What exactly are you offering?"
He hates himself right now. Serves him right for putting me through hell.
He doesn't want to need me. But I know as well as he does that his career is in the tank after canceling my tour and then losing Megan to another label.
"One show," I tell him. "My way. No fireworks. No smoke. No backup dancers. Nothing but my music, my way."
"So you want a day at the nursing home then?" he scoffs.
I try to yank my arm away, and he stops me again.
"Fine, fine," he grumbles. "I'm listening."
