I’m observant. I noticed the fake name he used and how we never frequented the same hotel twice. He carried multiple phones. And he did it all with an air of confidence that discouraged questions and encouraged compliance.
Lev wouldn’t stand in the middle of a bustling train station. Between my stillness and the cream-colored evening gown that resembles a wedding dress, I’m someone strangers will remember seeing.
I stride toward a convenience store located off the main train hall with renewed purpose. It’s small, the elderly man behind the register preoccupied with the newspaper. The sight reminds me of Isabella and how she’d peer over the crossword in the kitchen each morning. I hope she’s okay. She did nothing to help me escape; she left before I did. But the timing of our conversation is suspicious, and I’m sure she’ll be questioned as part of the search for me.
If—when—I make it somewhere safe, I’ll mail a letter and hope it reaches her. She wrote her family frequently; I have her home address memorized.
The store is small, but it has the essentials I’m looking for. A hoodie and sweatpants clearly targeted at tourists, basic toiletries, and a bottle of water. I grab a few snacks and a canvas backpack too.
In an effort to preserve my limited amount of cash, I use the credit card again. They’ll figure out I came here anyway. The charge goes through, so the card hasn’t been locked. I’m a little offended they think it’ll be so simple to track me down. At least being underestimated is something I can use to my advantage.
I carry my purchases into the nearest restroom, finally changing out of the wrinkled dress I wore overnight. I toss the fancy gown in the trash can, smiling for the first time since I arrived in Italy at the sight of the pristine silk mixed in with crumpled paper towels.
I transfer everything else I bought into the backpack, slipping the drive into the front pouch of the Eiffel Tower sweatshirt until I can find a safer spot to stash it. If I’m found, it’s the only bargaining power I have.
I fight the urge to look around as I exit the restroom, envisioning a horde of men descending on me. Would they do that? Grab me in public? Probably. Who would stop them?
Despite the heat, I fight a shiver as I step outside. Now I know why these clothes were discounted. How many tourists buy warm clothing at the start of summer? I start walking, stuck with my heels for the time being, wishing I’d noted when the train after mine left Milan. It would be nice to know how much of a head start I have.
It’s probably more important I figure out where I’m going.
This visit couldn’t be more different from my last trip here. No accommodation booked, no phone to call a rideshare, no one to contact for help.
A blister forming on the back of my heel makes the first stop obvious. I step into the first clothing store I come across, purchasing the cheapest pair of sneakers and socks I can find. I also buy a T-shirt, changing in another restroom, then tying the sweatshirt around my waist. There’s a bus stop down the street. I pay the fare to climb aboard, relaxing a little when the bus begins moving and the train station is out of sight.
I ride the bus until the route ends and I’m forced back out into the blaze of heat. Unintentionally, I’ve wound up near the iconic landmark printed on my new sweatshirt. Its distinctive shape sends a wistful pang through me. I loved my semester here. It felt like the same fresh start that college had been, except I was older and able to take better advantage of it. I wish those fond memories weren’t getting muddled by this nightmare.
I walk toward the crowds swarming the base of the monument, feeling sweat trickle down the column of my spine. Even outdoors, a cacophony of noise swirls around, overlapping languages and random conversations a constant soundtrack.
I find a free bench that’s partially shaded—although the temperature feels the same—and take a seat. Pull out the water and a snack from my backpack, trying not to panic at the prospect of my next meal or the approaching evening. I touch mynew necklace and try to summon some strength from it. I can be fierce. Right now, there’s no acceptable alternative.
Farther down the busy path, a man is playing a violin. I don’t recognize the song, but seeing and hearing the familiar slide of the bow across strings is soothing.
I listen until the song ends, then stand and keep moving.
FAMILY FIRST
Seven Years Earlier
“What about Paris?”
“I’ve been.”
Carina dips a fry in ketchup and then pops it into her mouth, waiting for me to elaborate.
I don’t. She knows I won’t, yet she seems to enjoy forgetting.
She chews, swallows, and rolls her eyes. “How many times have you been?”
I think. “Six.”
“Did you go to the Louvre? The Arc de Triomphe? Climb the Eiffel Tower? Walk around Versailles? Or tour Notre-Dame?—”
“They were work trips,” I interrupt.
She sighs, dusting the salt off her fingers. “That doesn’t mean you have to work the entire time.”
It essentially does, but I don’t say so.
