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My presence makes them stop talking and Salvatore looks at me with an uneasy expression.
“I was about to head out. See you in the morning, Vin,” he says and glances at me as he walks past.
I look back to Vincent feeling his glare on me.
“What?” he demands.
“I’m sorry,” I say, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough.
“I’m tired of you people and your sorrys.”
“I know, and I have no excuse for being in your room, touching your things. I am sorry. Um… my first love in life was dancing. My… mother, she used to do ballet.” God, that’s the first time since the incident that I’ve actually told anyone that. Not even Holly knows. Saying it, though, has broken down something that I held in place to keep those precious memories. “I was a dancer, and I had… an accident that meant I couldn’t dance anymore. That was when I started writing.”
It’s best to put it that way and call it an accident. It wasn’t though, not the way I made it sound. The whole incident was life changing enough and comparable to an accident that takes everything away.
I pull in a breath and keep talking. “The ballerinas just reminded me of when I used to dance. They reminded me of happier times. Maybe they can remind you of happy times too.”
He doesn’t say anything, but then I didn't expect him to. Something changes in his eyes though, in the way he looks back at me.
That’s all I have to say, and I hope it’s enough.
It’s all I can offer. I turn and walk back to my room.
I didn’t apologize so that he would forgive me and treat me… well, treat me a little better than a whore. The apology actually came from my heart.
* * *
I resume my usual stare out the window the next day. Marguerite came in earlier with a tray of pastries and hot chocolate.
The assortment was most likely designed to entice me to eat, but I was so hungry I would have eaten dirt. Hunger propelled me to her, and all she did was shake her head at me. Within seconds, I devoured the food and took the hot chocolate to the window.
I might as well worry about Dad and drink something that will calm me at the same time.
I’ve barely finished it when the door opens and in comes Vincent.
He looks better than yesterday, although I did not mind the rugged look he sported with a fuller beard. It’s completely gone today. He looks younger.
He’s wearing a suit again, and I assume he’s going to work.
I don’t know what version I’m going to get of him today, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s still pissed at me.
I stand when he approaches.
“Here, you have five minutes with him,” he says, and my heart stills in anticipation. I could cry when he takes out his phone and clicks a button.
A tear runs down my cheek when he hands it to me. I recognize the number he’s calling straightaway. Dad…
“Dad,” I gasp when he answers.
“Hi, sweet girl,” Dad says, and that’s when the tears come.
I’m glad when Vincent leaves, giving me the privacy I need, but I doubt he’s gone far.
“Please don’t cry, my darling,” Dad says. “Please don’t.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just so good to hear your voice. I thought you were dead.” I really did think that. What else was I supposed to think?
“I know. I’m so sorry, Ava. Please tell me you’re safe. He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”
