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“That—” I’d send him a painting, if I could paint. I’d walk to wherever he was right now, if I could leave. That I love him. That I wish I’d said it back when he said it to me. “That I’m going to finish my painting. The one I started at his house.”
It’s half-done, there in his studio. I’d bet anything. Even if the agents took it for evidence, they’ll have to give it back, because there’s no case without my agreement.
There are no official charges.
“Okay.”
“I’m going to fix this. Tell him that, too.”
“And if he doesn’t want you to fix it? If he’s done with all this?”
My chin quivers. I wipe the tears away. “You know, that’s what he said to me. Before he left. He said that it’s over because he loves me. That’s bullshit. It doesn’t make any sense. We didn’t get a chance to talk about it. He can—he can be done with me if that’s what he wants, but we’re going to have a conversation about it first.”
Will curses. “I’ll tell him, but you can’t come near him. You can’t come near any of us until you’re sure it’s safe.”
“I was always safe with him.”
“Until he’s safe with you. You’re a Morelli. You’re the dangerous one now.”
It’s true, and it strikes me as horribly unfair. “I would never hurt him.”
“Your family, then. You have to sort things out with them before you can go looking for Emerson. I won’t tell you where he is until then, and neither will Sinclair.”
“But you’ll give him the message?”
“Yes. I have a meeting. If you have any updates, you can give them to me.”
Will hangs up.
There’s one other thing I was waiting to do. It’s not going to be a good distraction, but I need to see it.
Leo’s press conference.
Pages and pages of search results pop up. I only had to type his name.
The sight of my family standing in front of his house is so shocking I hardly hear the news anchors. They’re all there. Even Lucian, who manages to look businesslike instead of angry.
My legs go out from under me when the conference starts. Luckily, the studio floor isn’t far.
Leo stands under all those bright lights, notes on a podium in front of him. He’s not camera shy. I’m the one who gets nervous in front of the press. That’s why he always talks to me about ridiculous things if the family is invited to a red-carpet event or a fundraiser and we have to be photographed. Almost all those pictures are of Leo telling me an absurd fact he Googled in the car on the way over.
This was bad. The conference is awful to watch, beginning with Leo describing the outfit I was wearing when I went to lunch with Eva.
Daphne’s window is closing, he says.
I will personally guarantee payment for her safe return, he says.
I’ve only seen him this desperate, this hopeless, one other time. That was when Haley is gone.
“Give her back to us,” he says, looking into all those cameras. A giant teardrop lands on the screen. “Our family would never recover from Daphne’s loss. I would never recover.”
He said it was a press conference. He didn’t say he put himself on the line. Leo hid the worst of his secrets for almost twenty years. He doesn’t want people to know how they can hurt him. And here he is, telling the world his weakness.
Me.
I hold my breath. Leo uses himself as a reference for my eyes and hair color. He doesn’t point out any of our sisters or draw attention to them. He does his best not to put anyone else in danger.
Toward the end, I see his face start to crumple. He stops it from happening, but not before Haley takes a small step toward him.
