AllFreeNovel
Share Us
So to see Cecily texting me after I thought I’d lost her for good wrenches those buried emotions to the surface.
Annika:I’m doing okay. How about you?
Cecily:Same old. We miss you.
I choke on my own breaths as that familiar sting burns my eyes.
Annika:I miss you guys, too. So much.
Cecily:Can we meet?
Annika:I don’t think that’s possible. Not sure if you heard, but I’m no longer on Brighton Island.
Cecily:Oh, I know. I’m in New York City.
Annika:What? You are?
Cecily:Currently roaming in Central Park in pure touristy fashion, haha.
Annika:Send me a location. I’m coming right over.
It isn’t until I slide my phone into my pocket that I find both Mom and Yan watching me expectantly.
Mom’s expression softens. “Good news?”
“Uh, yeah. Remember my friend, Ces? Cecily? She’s come to visit.”
“Invite her over,” Mom suggests. “I’ll make us lunch and she can stay with you.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring her into our house that’s so full of guards and security. She wouldn’t be able to handle this whole atmosphere and would be super uncomfortable. It’s better that I go meet her.”
“I’m coming with you,” Yan announces.
“No, Yan. I’m just meeting my friend and you’ll intimidate her.”
“Boss will have my balls on a stick if I let you go alone.”
“Please, Yan.” I grab his arm and bat my lashes. “I just want to feel normal for a little while. Besides, Papa has been giving me more freedom.”
“Not when it comes to those fucking English kids,” Yan says, revealing his extreme distaste for the way they all cut me out of their lives.
He knows how ecstatic I was to have friends, so he’s mad that I lost them so easily.
I tried to tell him that Creighton is their family and childhood friend and they wouldn’t forgive me for shooting him, but he said that if they were true friends, they would’ve at least tried to understand me.
“Everything’s going to be okay.” I smile. “Besides, Papa doesn’t need to know, right, Mom?”
“Right.” Mom catches his other arm. “Let her go, Yan. She deserves this.”
“You two will get me killed one day,” he grumbles, but he allows me to go unescorted after reminding me to call him at the first inconvenience.
And to keep my phone close—since they can track me through it.
Truth is, I don’t always have security with me. Papa was a pain in the ass at the beginning, but he soon allowed me the freedom he promised me and I no longer had to fight for it.
For some reason, that has felt like a tasteless victory.
What’s the point of freedom if I can’t use it to be with who I want?
