Jade was going to be a fucking nightmare.
With that alarming premonition, I unlocked my front door and immediately slumped onto my couch, withdrawing Jade’s phone from my pocket.
57 missed calls.
Jaaaaaaaaaaade OMG WHERE R YOU?!!?
CALL ME RIGHTTT NOW!
THAT’S IT IMA CALLING THE COPS JADE PLEAS FUCK ANSER!!!
JADE!!! I CANT CALL YOUR DAD HE WILL FUCING MURDERE US PLEASE GIRL SAY SOMETHING!
Text after panicked text from what I gathered were her friends. I scrolled through all the notification previews until my eye caught another message.
If you just give me a chance to talk it over, mon ange.
The number wasn’t saved in her phone.
I promise it will be different.
It’s been long enough.
We will figure this out.
I scrolled slowly, picking up on the way the sentiment changed with every text.
Your dad agrees we should talk.
I’ll make you mine, again. Just like I promised.
You won’t run away next time, Jade.
It continued on and on, every text filled with veiled threats and desperate pleas. It seemed that Jade was in the middle of a bad breakup.
Fuckinggreat.
"You brought coffee? You planning to make her breakfast too? What the fuck are you doing?" I questioned Andrei as soon as I caught sight of a coffee tray with three cups in his hands. It was ten in the morning, and we’d just arrived at the little beach house.
"Let's try to be normal, okay?” He checked his phone, on dad duty as always. “Do you want her to go on some hunger strike because we're assholes and then this whole thing turns into a bloodbath? I have Nikita's soccer game at noon, let's just get thisover with. Come on." He turned and knocked, waiting for our captive to open the door like we were there for a light brunch.
A few minutes passed in silence. Phenomenal. She was makinguswait. I knocked louder and harder, my knuckles tapping the door with all my impatience.
Finally, the door slightly opened and there she was. Jade Bianca Moretti—five foot seven, twenty-six years old, and an unhinged brat who bit people. At the sight of Andrei, her shoulders sagged, and as if conceding, she stepped back, letting us in.
I looked her over, noticing that morning Jade didn’t resemble the hellfire Jade from last night. She moved slowly, almost dragging her feet to the couch, where she slumped down in defeat, ready for anything.
I took a seat in an armchair opposite, observing Miss Moretti—spitter, perfectly tanned, daughter of my biggest enemy. The smudged mascara and eyeliner from last night were washed off, and the no-makeup look suited her much better.
A pure angel sat in front of us in white linen pajamas. I wondered where that golden abomination of a dress was. Maybe haphazardly thrown on the floor. Or draped over a chair. Or on the bathroom vanity. The image of her in that dress had settled into my brain like a pesterous tenant, beginning its life there rent-free.
"Good morning." Andrei cleared his throat and took the armchair next to me. Jade said nothing, just stared me down, ignoring Andrei.
"Good morning. Did you sleep well afterkidnappinga person? How’s the bite? Did you take care of your boo-boo?”
Ah, there she was again—the brat was back.
"I did. Slept like a baby," I lied, keeping my eyes on her. Her nostrils flared and red blotches appeared on her long neck, her anger manifesting in her body.
