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“Go ahead,” I say. I’m leaning against the wall of the bathroom, one hand folded across my torso. Across from me, is a huge wall-to-wall mirror hanging above the two marble sinks. “I’m listening.”
Lev gives out a little chuckle. “It’s about the DNA sample you sent.”
Instantly, my hands tighten around my phone and I push off from the wall, straightening. I already know what he’s going to say, but it doesn’t stop me from still going through the full spectrum of emotion. Instantly, the room feels a little warmer.
Lev doesn’t say anything further for a few seconds.
“Well?” I ask, hoping I don’t sound too impatient. He clearly has a flair for the dramatic. Why else would he be pausing instead of telling me what he has to say? “What is it?”
“It’s her.”
At first, I don’t think I’ve heard him properly.
“Go again?” I say, turning up the volume on my phone to make sure I don’t miss his next words.
There’s a soft sigh on the other end. “It’s her. She’s Michel’s daughter.”
No. He must have gotten it wrong. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, they’re a match.”
That can’t be true. Who the fuck is Louis, then? I hate the anger that crests in my chest, and I hate that no matter what I do, I can’t seem to stop the darkness gathered in my thoughts.
“Is Louis one of his aliases?”
“It’s his middle name.”
My body turns to ice. She knew.
Why the fuck would she tell me her father’s middle name instead of his first name if she didn’tknow? The suspicions I had all start to make sense. Why else would she misrepresent the truth? She knew her father murdered my mum.
That has to be the reason.
My thoughts are whirring a mile-per-minute.
“Send me the details,” I say to Lev, already moving the phone away from my ear. “I need to see it for myself.” I hang up the phone, not even waiting for his response.
My vision grows spotty, and I feel myself slipping back into the tornado of hate, fury and rage that consumed me after my mum died. I storm out of the bathroom on autopilot. I can’t even be sure what’s happening, or what I’m doing, because it feels like I’m watching it all unfold.
I’m not really there.
This isn’t really true.
I get Alize into the car and take off back toward the estate. She’s talking to me, but it’s like I can’t even make out what she’s saying. I don’t want her to talk to me. I don’t want anyone to talk to me.
This isn’t really true.
It can’t be.
It’s her hand on my arm that finally shatters the haze of disassociation. I’m ripped back to reality with a fiery harshness that has me shouting at her not to touch me. The car’s engine revs loud in the background, and the road stretches out ahead of us like a black, silver snake in the darkness.
“You’re going pretty fast,” Alize’s voice is withering, like a sniffle.
She sounds scared. She should be.
She lied to me.
I don’t like it when people lie to me.
