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I don’t really know how to explain to her that her brother has me locked up in here with no foreseeable release date. I haven’t even seen him since he left me in the basement room. The first day, I jumped at every noise, thinking they were coming for me. Thinking it was my end. But now, I’m more bored with a tinge of fear.
I get up from the bed, and Lilliana follows. She cocks her head to the side as she studies my outfit.
“That’s mine,” she says simply.
I take her in. I guess we are around the same size even though she’s quite a bit younger than me. I’m bigger in the chest area, but other than that, good eye, Grumpy.
“Yeah, your brother’s guy thought I could use it since I didn’t have any extra clothes with me.”
“Geo?”
So, Grumpy has a name.
“Sure,” I say, and she merely nods again.
This is such a strange encounter.
“Well, come on.” She glides across the floor.
Her posture is impeccable, and I’m in awe of how light her footsteps are when I sound like a herd of elephants on my own two feet. She opens the door while I hover behind her. Fernando turns and spots us.
“Fern,” she says, a soft smile on her face, “I’m taking our guest here to the kitchen for some breakfast.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea, Miss LA,” he says.
I shift back and forth on my feet. I need to pee, and I don’t know why I didn’t go before staring freedom in the face.
“Okay. But only to the kitchen and then straight back. You have thirty minutes.”
She pats him on the arm as she strolls by, and I give him a narrow look as I pass. He still won’t meet my eyes. I assumed he would be tough, seasoned, weathered by working here, but by the way he’s treating me, it seems like he has never seen a naked woman. Whatever. I’m out of that room for the first time in twenty-four-plus hours, and I couldn’t be happier that I don’t have to order up breakfast and eat by myself. Maybe now, I can plan an escape route once I figure out the lay of the house.
I follow Lilliana down the hallway, and instead of going down the main staircase, we continue past it. She pushes open a doorway at the end, revealing a back staircase. As we step off the last step, she opens another door, and there, straight in front of us, is the kitchen.
“Hello, Miss Lilliana,” a cheery voice greets us as we enter the bright kitchen.
All of the surfaces gleam, clean and fresh, and the woman that was rolling dough when I came through here last is pulling what looks like fresh bagels from the oven and setting them on a cooling rack.
“Hey, Brigette,” Lilliana greets her back and then pulls out a stool that is tucked under a small wooden table set off to the side. “I’ve brought company.”
Brigette’s eyes land on me, and to her credit, she doesn’t look surprised, but she does look at me warily. “Welcome,” is all she says, the earlier brightness gone from her voice.
I give a small wave, unsure of how to respond or act around these people. I guess Connor kept his word and hasn’t told a soul about my true reasons for being here. And I’m still alive, so he must need me for something. If he’s looking for information, he’s going to be very disappointed that this wasn’t an elaborate scheme by his enemies. Just the vendetta of one girl, avenging her best friend.
Oh, Rubes, where are you?
Brigette lays steaming hot bagels in front of us and then several dishes of cream cheese and garnish. “Strawberry, regular, chive and onion,” she says, pointing at the individual containers and then smiling at us. “Dig in.”
“She makes the best bagels,” Lilliana says, and she grabs the strawberry cream cheese and slathers a healthy amount on hers.
We eat in silence until I can’t stand it anymore and ask her where the closest bathroom is.
“In the hall. Take that door and turn right. It’s the first door.”
I climb off my stool and waddle-walk out of the kitchen. I find the bathroom, do my business, and wash my hands, breathing a sigh of relief.
I stare at myself in the mirror, looking over my wild, bed-mussed hair and the silky, barely there sleep set that I finally wore when I figured out there was no escaping. Not for my lack of trying.
Surprisingly, I don’t look as worn or haggard as I usually do without makeup. Maybe the lazy, regular-nutritious-meals, stuck-in-my-room, and do-nothing life agrees with me.
