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The teacher, Mrs. Aravena, accompanies the kids.
My muscles tense as she approaches.
The kids run up to hug me. After loading them into the SUV, I close the door and give her my attention, expecting the worse. Did Sophie cry again? Did the kidnapping reverse all the progress we made?
“Mr. Russo,” she says, leading me a distance out of earshot.
I watch her with apprehension.
She smiles. “I just wanted to tell you that Sophie is doing much better. She’s catching up fast, and she seems a lot happier. You did the right thing to let her bring her dolls to school. She told me today that it’s time for them learn to stay at home alone.” Crossing her arms, she studies me with a perceptive gaze. “Thank you for doing that for her.”
I relax marginally. “Any gratitude due is yours.”
Her smile stretches. Uncrossing her arms, she says, “You’re welcome,” before walking away.
I stare after her for a moment before getting into the car. The kids speak simultaneously, competing for my attention as I start the engine.
“One at a time,” I say.
“I want to tell you first,” Sophie says. “We made clay models today, and Mrs. Aravena said mine was the best. It’s a zombie.”
Guillaume crosses his arms. “I wanted to go first. We’re going to the beach to pick up the plastic next week.”
“Sophie goes first today, and you go first tomorrow, Guillaume,” I say.
They tell me about their day, each speaking louder than the next until I urge them to lower their voices lest they give me a headache or permanent hearing damage. When they’ve each had a turn, I remind them of the visitors we’re expecting, warning them to be on their best behavior.
The city cars I dispatched to the airport are parked in front of the house when we get back. I inhale deeply before getting out of the SUV.
Heidi waits for us on the porch.
“Your teatime snack is ready in the kitchen,” she tells the kids after greeting them. To me, she says, “I sent Sabella’s family up to your room. They must have a lot to talk about.” She adds with a meaningful glance toward the kids, “They can do with some privacy until they’ve caught up.”
Which is code for she’ll keep the kids busy to give Sabella and her family the time they need before the new introductions are made.
“Thanks,” I say, grabbing Étienne’s arm as he storms toward the house. “No running. And no going upstairs. We’re going to give Sabella a chance to visit with her family in peace.”
Sophie’s face drops. “But I wanted to tell her about my clay model.”
“You can tell her later,” I say, ushering them inside. “What she’ll appreciate is a little time alone with her family. Understand?”
“Come.” Heidi closes the door. “I baked scones.”
The two youngest boys push each other in their haste to get to the kitchen while Sophie drags her feet down the hallway. Johan glances at the stairs as he follows, his gaze both apprehensive and wary.
I go to my study and pour a stiff drink. I’m going to need it. I’d just downed the Scotch and am pouring another when the door slams against the wall and Ryan Edwards barges inside and charges like a fuming bull to where I stand in front of my desk.
Caught off guard, I open my mouth to ask what the problem is, but before I can utter a word, he pulls back his arm and plants his fist on my jaw. The impact sends my face flying to the side. Scotch sloshes over the rim of the glass, soaking my shirt sleeve. By some fluke of luck, I don’t drop the glass.
“You son of a bitch,” he says through gritted teeth, swinging his fist again.
I grab his wrist. “I let the first one slide because I deserved it, but if you punch me again, I’ll fucking break your bones.”
“Come, motherfucker,” he says, yanking his arm from my grip before removing his jacket with jerky movements. “I’m going to level you to the ground.” He’s surprisingly fast, landing a punch on my stomach. “Have you seen the fucking state of my sister?” He delivers another blow on my ribs, sneaking it in when I put the glass on the desk. “You fucking bastard. Is this how you protect her?”
When he takes another swing at me, I punch back. He crashes into the coffee table, but I’m on him before he has time to regain his balance, knocking him down with a left hook on his chin.
He’s as agile as he’s fast, jumping to his feet in a second. He charges at me, head-butting me in the chest. I hear the rib crack, but I don’t feel it. I go for him with everything I’ve got, smashing my fist into his face. That crunch was his nose. Blood streams from his nostrils. He barely pays it attention, wiping away the blood with the back of his hand before aiming a right hook at my temple.
