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I’m lucky I got away.
Did Tiero know about them? Was that the reason Alonso was there? But he told me I wasn’t in danger.
Fuck.
I trusted him, and he lied to me.
My list of questions grows the longer I contemplate this.
Argh! I need some answers.
What do these people want with me? I’m a nobody.
I don’t understand.
There has to be a reasonable explanation. But I’m too tired to figure it out now… later, I promise myself. I will work all of this out later.
Despite the questions buzzing around in my head, I let myself go back to sleep. It’s the only place where there are no problems staring me in the face.
I want to stay asleep forever.
I’m not sure how long I was out for, but when I look outside, the sun is still high up in the sky.
This siesta has done wonders for my body and mind. I almost feel back to normal.
My stomach grumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten in ages.
Damn, I’m hungry.
The tray Mariella left is still on the table in the sitting area, and I climb off the bed and walk over. The food will be cold but I don’t care. It will fill this hole in my stomach.
I lift the lid off the plate and a perfectly cooked omelet is smiling at me—an omelet with capsicum, parsnip, and kale.
I stare at the food, willing it to give me some answers.
This can’t be a coincidence?
Obviously, omelets are common for breakfast… but with these exact three vegetables? With parsnip? I don’t know of anybody but me and my late father who like parsnip in an omelet.
I sit down in the closest chair and stare at the tray. There’s also a teapot.
Isn’t it strange that there’s tea instead of coffee? Italians love their coffee, and I haven’t come across any tea drinkers in this country yet.
How does Mariella know I’m not a coffee drinker?
I bounce my leg nervously, debating whether to take the plunge and find out what’s in the teapot. With a jittery hand, I reach for the handle and pour myself a cup.
The scent of licorice fills my nostrils.
My stomach churns, and that sinking feeling inside takes over.
Only a few people know what I like to eat for breakfast. The licorice tea, in particular, is too obscure to just guess.
Who knows about my breakfast preferences?
Rhia, her family, and my ex-boyfriends, and Oma, but she wouldn’t remember anymore. In Italy, though, it could only be one person… Tiero.
Surely, it can’t be him!
