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Oriana
My new engagement ring feels heavy on my finger. Wrong. Oliver gave it to me on the driver over here, just took it out of his pocket and slipped it onto my finger with a smile that I’m sure was supposed to be charming but just looked creepy. The diamond is large and gaudy, and the inside of the platinum band has O.P carved into it, Oliver’s initials. “So that everyone can see you’re mine,” he said, winking. I would have puked, but my mind was still in that grey, joyless place. It still is. So I just gave him a fake smile and thanked him while my father looked on with cool eyes.
After Oliver left last night, my father asked me who took me. I played dumb, said my kidnapper wore a mask. That I managed to slip out through a window. He let me go to bed, and it seemed like he believed me. I don’t think it would ever occur to him that his obedient daughter might lie to him. In the morning, the police came by and questioned me. Again, I stuck to my story and again, it seemed like they believed me. Before they left, they assured me they’d do everything in their power to find who took me, but I could tell they weren’t hopeful. If I hadn’t still felt so numb, I would have been glad.
Numb. I feel so damn numb. I can’t taste the food. I can’t even follow Oliver and my father’s conversation. Not that they care. It wouldn’t occur to either of them that I could have something to contribute.
I lift my glass of water to my lips, wishing it was alcohol. Alcohol would push me further into that unfeeling shadow realm where nothing hurts but nothing brings me joy, either. I’m about to take a sip when something jostles my arm, making me spill the liquid over my dress.
“Oh no, I’m so sorry,” a sweet-faced young woman says, her hazel eyes wide. “Here.” She wraps slender fingers around my arm. “Let me help you clean up.”
“Watch where you’re going, stupid girl,” my father snarls, and the young woman flinches.
“It’s fine,” I say, standing up. “At least it’s only water. I’ll be right back.” The woman leads me to the bathroom and I follow her wordlessly, glad for the reprieve she’s offered me. When the door swings shut behind us, she lets go of my arm and faces me.
“I’m Emma,” she says, with an excited smile. “I’m Damon’s sister.”
I blink, not fully comprehending what’s happening.
“Flint sent me,” she continues, and her words slice through the numbness, making hope and despair surge.
“Flint sent you?” I ask, needing to know I heard her right.
She nods, her smile growing. “He’s outside, waiting. If you want to come back.”
My heart leaps with joy. Flint is here. He came for me, even though I ran like an idiot. Tears sting my eyes, but a smile blooms on my face. “Take me to him. Please, take me to him.”
“There’s a side door we can slip out of. We’ll have to get past your father and the other guy, though. But their backs will be turned to us, so we should be okay,” she says, nervously sucking her lip between her teeth. Then she pulls her phone out of a pocket. “I’ll let them know we’re about to come out.” She presses a few buttons on the screen and holds the phone to her ear. “We’re coming.”
A deep voice answers, and even though I can barely hear it, I know it’s Flint. My chest tightens at the sound.
Emma hands me the phone, her hazel eyes bright. “He wants to talk to you.”
“Flint?” I say, pressing the phone to my ear.
“I’m right here, sweetheart.”
Tears threaten to choke my voice, but I manage, “I’m so sorry, Flint. I shouldn’t have run, I shouldn’t have—”
“I’m sorry too. I should’ve prepared you better. Hell, I should’ve been honest from the start. But I promised your mom she’d be the one to explain everything. But we can talk about all that later. Just come back to me, okay?”
“I will.” I take in a shuddering breath, blinking furiously. “I love you, Flint.”
“I love you too, sweetheart,” he says, his voice hitching. “And I can’t wait to hold you in my arms again.”
“I’ll see you soon,” I say, already imagining being held by him.
I hand the phone back to Emma, feeling stronger now that I’ve heard Flint’s voice. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
She lets out a bright, pearlescent laugh. “Let’s.”
We walk down the hallway where the bathroom is located and into the restaurant’s main dining room. My father and Oliver are still deep in conversation.
Emma shoots me a questioning look, and I nod, taking in a deep breath. Now. We’ll go now. We start to walk, trying to look inconspicuous while sticking as close to the wall as possible. When we pass only six feet from my father’s table, my heart threatens to beat out of my chest, but neither man looks up. The door is twenty feet away. Fifteen. Ten. Then—
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
My stomach turns to acid when I turn and see my father mere feet from us, his expression displeased. Oliver is right behind him, looking more puzzled than angry. I freeze, unable to do or say anything.
