My alpha crashes her lips against mine urgently, as if she’s trying to erase my confession from the world. I let her, moaning as her tongue slides against mine until I’m writhing against her.
“No matter what happens, you have to promise me you’ll fight to stay,” she whispers, kissing me again. “Say it. For me.”
“What if you’re not there to remind me?” I ask, tears escaping my eyes. “I’ve looked at every possibility, even running away with you, and there’s not a single one where I get to keep you. Papa would still find me if I ran.”
“I’m not asking you to run, but instead to fight to stay alive. Never once have I asked you to run.”
“No, but I wish I could run every day.”
My phone buzzes in my bag by my hip, and I suck in oxygen as my head goes fuzzy. The only person who has this number ismy father. Vero has friends, I don’t. She pays for her bills with the inheritance her mother left her, while my father pretends to ignore my spending.
The differences are obvious to me, which means I have to answer this call, no matter how much I don’t want to.
My hand presses against the bark of the tree beside Vero’s body to help ground myself, and I dig my fingers into it, welcoming the splinters to calm my tears.
Digging into my bag with my other hand, I rest my forehead on Vero’s shoulder for a moment before straightening. If I hunch even a little, he’ll be able to tell in my voice. Papa has made it his mission to know my every tell.
At the end of the day, I’m not hiding anything from him, he simply allows me to pretend that I am.
“Hello, Papa.”
“I need you to come home,mia figlia.I know how long it’ll take you. Don’t dawdle. I’m watching your location.”
Even though no one else has this number, I have to keep the phone with me whenever I leave the house so Papa can track me. When I was younger, I used to pretend to forget, but he threatened me with a permanent tracker inserted by his personal physician. After that, I faithfully carried the stupid thing everywhere.
“Yes, Papa. I’m on my way. I need to pick up my blankets from the play.”
He hangs up in reply and I shut my eyes as dizziness consumes me. It’s as if my blood pressure just rocketed up, and my body is trying not to stroke out.
“We have to go,” I rasp. “I’m not sure why, but something’s happening.”
Vero grabs my hand, dragging me alongside her back to our nest of pillows. When I trip twice, she wraps her arm around my waist and practically carries me the rest of the way. It surprisesme enough to shake me out of my stupor, and I help her pack everything up.
The alcohol didn’t last long in my system, leaving me thirsty. I crack open the seal on a bottle of water as we leave Forsyth Park, unable to enjoy its beauty anymore. Vero drives quickly through the streets back home, deeply aware of my stress.
“Don’t come in,” I say, my voice cracking as I grab her hand as she parks.
“Dammit.”
“I mean it, Vero. I don’t know what to expect from him right now. Please?”
“I’ll go visit my grandmother, but it won't be for longer than a couple of hours, Rosa. Just don’t…doanything you can’t take back. Promise me.”
After our conversation in the park, I’ll be lucky if she’s not following me into the bathroom while I shower. I wonder if she understands yet that she’s the person I live for. It’s why I’m asking her not to go inside.
I don’t want him to take her from me in a fit of anger.
“Promise.” Leaning forward, I kiss her cheek before unbuckling my seatbelt.
Vero drives an expensive luxury sedan, one of the only presents my father bought her. She tries not to accept anything from him, ensuring her wardrobe won’t embarrass him and paying for all her expenses outside of food.
I can’t bring myself to tell her it doesn’t matter. Her freedom is still monitored by my father, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a tracker on this vehicle as well.
Giving her a forced smile, I step out of the car and close the door behind me. Maria, our housekeeper, is waiting at the front door as I walk quickly up the white marble stairs. My hands are twisting my hair up in the French pin that I stole from Vero in an attempt to not appear rumpled.
My lips are a lost cause, as they’re swollen with kisses, so I put lip balm on them so I can claim it’s the current fashion. My father always complains about how women are getting Botox and lip plumpers, and no one is natural anymore.
While it’s not a sure thing to escape his wrath, I at least am a bit more put together than I was earlier. My makeup hasn’t run from my tears when I glance in the mirror, and my white sundress is spotless. I even pop a breath mint into my mouth so my father won’t be able to smell the alcohol on my breath.
