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I follow her a moment later as the flight crew closes the door and prepares the family jet for takeoff. It feels strange to be leaving New York behind once again–my sister, my bodyguards, my life.
It’s a small comfort to know I’ll be following Silvia back to Chicago. But from the troubled look on her face, I’d wager she doesn’t feel the same way about my presence.
Rather than read, like she did on the plane ride to New York, Silvia looks aimlessly out the window as we take flight. I watch her closely, intent on finding some sign that will alert me to her state of mind. But she seems closed off, withdrawn.
Whether that’s from what I did to her or what happened with the men who tried to rape her, I can’t be sure. And I don’t want to press her; I’m sure she won’t confide in me either way. Not after how I treated her.
But I can only take the silence for so long. Because I’m desperate to know what she’s thinking.
“Excited to be going back home?” I ask as the plane starts to level out.
“Mm-hmm,” Silvia confirms, glancing my way.
Then her eyes track back to the window. A clear but polite way of telling me she doesn’t want to talk to me. Not that I blame her. Her distance is entirely what I deserve after everything I’ve done. And if she wants space, I’ll give it to her.
I don’t know what will happen next when we return home. I only know I can’t bring myself to ask for her forgiveness once more. That would be too much. She doesn’t owe me her trust yet again after I’ve betrayed it so many times.
I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserveher.
23
SILVIA
My father studies me with sharp eyes, his expression severe as he watches me across his office desk. “Well? How did it go?” he demands after several moments of silence.
Nico shifts uncomfortably where he stands off to my father’s right. His eyes watch me just as closely, threatening to penetrate the thick wall of defense I spent the entire morning trying to build.
Clasping my hands in front of me, I interlace my fingers nervously as I think of the best words to use. “Fine. It went well,” I say, willing my father not to dig any further.
He nods, his expression thoughtful, and I’m sure he’s wondering about how that might affect his alliance and whether “fine” is good enough for whatever strategy he probably has in mind.
“And you made a good impression?” he presses, seeming satisfied with my non-answer.
It takes a good amount of self-discipline not to bite my lip, and I nod. It’s not entirely a lie. The Matron seemed happy enough with me. I made friends with Mila and the adorable blonde artist, Danielle, who Pyotr introduced me to. We’ve been communicating over text, and she even sent me images of some of her most recent over email.
But I’m sure my father is asking more about how things are going with Pyotr. And I can’t tell him. I can’t tell him any of what really happened, though I know I should.
“Good.” He shuffles papers on his desk, turning his attention to them in a silent dismissal.
My eyes flick toward Nico now that I’ve been excused, and the look on his face tells me he’s not nearly as easy to dupe. The trace of a scowl wrinkles his brow, and his arms cross over his chest as he studies me.
I drop my eyes, wishing I hadn’t looked at him. Everything still bubbles too close to the surface, threatening to spill over at the slightest pressure. Without a word, I turn and leave my father’s study.
I thought it would feel good to be back home, that I could just put things behind me and pretend they never happened. But even here, in the house where I grew up, I feel Pyotr’s presence lingering in the back of my mind. My tired body and the slight ache at the peak of my thighs remind me of him.
I make my way back upstairs to my room, where my suitcase still sits full and closed on my bed. Slowly unzipping it, I get to work unpacking, putting dirty clothes in the hamper, and hanging clean clothes. My fingers brush against the velvet jewelry box containing the beautiful earrings and bracelet he gave me as a gift, and my chest tightens.
A figure in the doorway looms out of the corner of my eye, and my heart breaks into a sprint. I whirl instinctually, fear clawing up my throat. Then realize it’s Nico.
“Whoa, jumping bean,” he observes, letting his arms drop as he pushes away from the threshold.
“Sorry, I just didn’t see you there at first.” Heat pools in my cheeks as I realize I’m too on edge.
“Scout,” Nico says, pulling out his favorite nickname for me.
It turns my stomach to lead.
“Hmm?” I ask, busying myself with my suitcase once again to give myself somewhere to look beside Nico’s observant eyes.
