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“Mik,” he places his hand on mine, the warmth permeating me, bringing me comfort.
There are flashes outside the car, press settled in front of the building.
Another fucking publicity stunt.
“You don’t have to say anything, baby.” He turns my face to meet his with the tips of his fingers. His other hand still rests on mine.
Another flash.
They’re taking photos of us through the windshield of the Mercedes.
“You just have to walk in with me, stay close to me.” He looks down at me, his hand rises to rest on my cheek.
“It’s a show.” I mouth. I can feel the tears welling in my eyes.
“Trust me.” He says again. Those words seem to leave his lips a lot lately. He looks serious as he reaches forward, swiping away a stray tear.
Flash.
The cameras catch his comforting motions. “You can do this, Mik.” We’re not far from the entrance, only a few steps I think. I steel my spine and ready myself. Noah jumps from the car, running around from my side to open the door and help me out.
Flash.
He wraps an arm around me, trying to shield me from the cameras and we rush to the entrance. I can feel their eyes on me and I wonder what they’re thinking.
A victim with a murderer?
If I wasn’t me, if I was on the outside watching this I think I would judge me too. I would shout out to this girl, asking her why she’s with the man who killed her sister? Why is she letting him touch her, protect her?
Why does she trust him?
On the surface it may be that simple, but it’s really more complex than that. Deep layers, history that interconnect us.
I wish I could write off Noah Bancroft, but the truth is, I really do trust him.
David, the same lawyer from the press conference, is waiting for us when we enter. His eyes drift to me first, looking over my appearance, checking to make sure I fit the image.
David himself looks perfectly made in a tailored navy blue suit with a white shirt and a silky silver tie. He reminds me of the lawyer you see in movies, hair slicked back, suit wrinkle-free. His voice floats from his lips in a deep tenor and he speaks like he knows everything.
He looks pleased as he moves his gaze to Noah, extending his hand for a quick shake. “Good,” he says. “They’re upstairs.”
“Who?” I blurt out the question, more to Noah than David but both sets of eyes look to me.
“Trust me, remember?” Noah says, his eyebrow raising in a questioning manner.
I inhale deeply and try to calm my fried nerves. I trust him. I repeat the words in my head over and over again, begging myself to believe them but it's hard to trust him when I don’t know what the plan is.
We’re playing a game and it feels like everyone else knows the rules but me.
David leads us to the elevator, hitting the button for the 17th floor and taking us up. “It’s a deposition.” Noah tells me once the elevator is steadily rising.
A deposition. The word spins in my head, not quite sure what he means.
David must spot my confusion. “Part of the pre-trial discovery,” he murmurs.
It clicks.
I knew he was flaunting me around as a publicity stunt, but this is gold. Having me on his arm as he enters his pre-trial hearings is a show of my support.
