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Chapter One
Daphne
There’s no silence like the silence in Leo’s SUV after the hospital. In a painting, it would register as a sea of dark color, interrupted by the muted glow of the dashboard panel. It’s not an angry silence. It’s not for leverage. He’s not using it against me.
That makes it worse.
Sometimes, I’ve caught Leo with a book in his hands, staring into space. Surrounded by his thoughts. It’s that kind of quiet. Questions I can’t answer swim in the deep. Questions I don’t want to ask out loud. My brother is known for his temper, but he’s never been like that with me. Leo has always been a kind brother. A caring brother, even if he is overbearing. He’s always treated me like a little kid, and this experience hasn’t changed that. It only emphasizes it.
The doctors said I was fine. The more they said it, the less fine I felt. The more my heart ticked up. It asks the same question over and over. Is Emerson alive?
My temples throb.
We’re north of the city when Leo speaks. “I can’t take you back to your apartment.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
He cuts a glance at me and adjusts his grip on the wheel. “The paparazzi have staked out the entire block around the gallery. Crews from all the major broadcast networks are on a twenty-four hour rotation in Bishop’s Landing. My house is the safest place.”
“You know…” I don’t even have the shield of my sketchbook to guard me from the tension between us. It would be a faulty shield, anyway. It wouldn’t make this hurt less. It wouldn’t make me feel less exhausted. Strung out. “You know I can’t stay with you forever.”
“Of course not.” Stress boils over in Leo’s voice. “But I’m not dropping you off at an indefensible apartment right now with reporters and who knows who else angling to get inside. I won’t do it, Daphne. That’s your answer. I won’t leave you there where anyone could get to you.”
Leo’s headlights fall across his front gate, and my mouth drops open.
Oh.
Oh.
His security has set up a cordon. Eight—no, ten security guards are enforcing the boundary. There are both news vans and paparazzi here, waiting in the dark. My face flushes hot. Leo hates strangers coming to his house. He loathes people hovering this way.
My apartment and Bishop’s Landing must be even worse.
Cameras flash as Leo turns into the drive and waits for security to clear the gate. I slide down in my seat, my heart pounding. The windows in Leo’s SUV are tinted, but who knows if that’ll be enough?
“How do they know I was missing?” I ask, mouth dry with embarrassment and shame that it’s come to this. For me.
“I held a press conference.”
“You did?”
“Yes, Daphne. I held a fucking press conference.” Leo drives through the gate and glances in the rearview mirror, probably to see if it’s safely closed. “You were gone. There was some question about whether you were alive. I couldn’t just—” The growing tension snaps his sentence in two. “There was no other option.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
“Don’t be pissed at me.” I mean to be as level as he is, but the day is catching up with me. My fingers ache for a pencil. A paintbrush. A way to pull myself together.
“Daphne.” He puts the SUV in park and looks me in the eye. “I am not pissed at you.”
“You’re upset that I didn’t call, but I did call. I called as soon as I could.”
“I’m not angry.” His jaw works. “I’m not angry at you, anyway. It’s been a long day. Let’s just go inside. Okay?”
That doesn’t look as simple as it sounds. His front steps are a hive of activity. People come out the main doors carrying computers and file boxes. My heart sinks. I’d imagined Leo looking for me, along with his head of security. I didn’t know there would be reporters. A press conference. That means he went in front of the world and asked them for help. Leo never does that.
He must have been desperate.
