Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 96065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 480(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
I can’t blame Eva. She came into the picture after Vivienne left. Dad likely withheld a lot of information from her. To him, she’s just a trophy, not a true partner.
“I’d suppressed those memories,” I tell her softly, dropping my gaze to my second half-eaten scone. “I’d recently come off my meds, so when I was in my room back at home, I remembered. It all flooded back…” I trail off, shivering. “I don’t know if I can ever forgive him.”
Eva reaches across the table, clutching my forearm. “I hope you find a way to. You’ve already been through so much. Carrying that anger will only make things worse.”
For a split second, I wonder if Dad sent her to counsel me. Did he ask her to spike my latte with my meds? I eye the drink warily.
“And then Bastian upset me,” I say, purposely remaining vague. “Aside from seeing you, this has been a horrible visit.”
Eva frowns, nodding. “You adore your brother. I’m sure whatever it was, you’ll be able to get past it a lot more quickly than the thing with your father.”
Doubtful.
“Maybe,” I lie. I pick up my latte and give it a sniff. Nothing weird. I take a sip and then sigh happily. “Oh, I missed this.”
We both share pleased grins.
Sometimes I wonder what Eva would do if I called her Mom. She’s been the mother I never had. My own mother bailed on me. In fact, I don’t even remember what she looked like.
“The reason for us meeting,” Eva says as she opens her purse, “is I wanted to give you something.”
I expect a gift—makeup or jewelry or even money. Eva likes gifts. It’s not any of those things. She passes me what looks like a journal and a handful of pictures inside a gallon-sized freezer bag. I take it from her and frown in confusion.
“When I first moved in with you all, I discovered this in one of the guest rooms.” She waves her manicured hand at me, encouraging me to open it. “I showed Gid and he told me to toss it. Something kept me from obeying.”
I unzip the bag and pull out a picture. It’s me as a baby, golden hair glistening on top of my head. I’m wearing a toothless grin in the picture.
“Baby pictures?” I say, looking up at her, eyebrows pinching. “Uh, thanks.”
To be honest, I probably have most of these. Family picture albums existed in my home, but they were kept in closets. Dad never decorated with photos of his children like most families do. He did, however, take pictures of us.
“They’re um, of you and the nanny.” She grimaces at the last word. “I figured you’d want them. To dispose of or whatever.”
Apprehension floods through me, but I force myself to pluck out another picture from the bag. This one, I’m two, sitting in a highchair. Beside me is Bastian, holding a birthday cake and cheesing for the camera. Vivienne stands aside, watching us. Dad must be the photographer.
I try to remember my own mother and where she fit in on this timeline. When she left, did she leave the door open for the monster to come in?
“Ro-laaaaaa.”
I nearly drop the bag. The scones in my stomach roil. These pictures were not what I expected when I agreed to meet Eva for coffee.
Another picture is of me in Vivienne’s room, which is now a guest room, and she has bows in her hair. I must’ve been about four or five. I’m proud as punch to have done her hair up with all the bows. I wonder if it was Bastian or Dad who took the photo. I also wonder at what point did she go from my caring nanny who played with me to a monster who stalked me at night.
I can’t look at these anymore.
Shoving the pictures back into the bag, I let out a heavy sigh. “Thanks. I think.”
“I figured that journal of hers might shed light into your questions and murky past. I didn’t read it, but I did flip through it to see there are countless entries. If it makes you feel uncomfortable, dump it all in the trash on the way out. I just wanted you to have it, is all.”
My phone buzzes from my coat pocket. I pull it out and see Caius’s name on the screen. Decline.
He immediately calls back. I decline that call as well. After five separate calls where he’s declined, he finally stops calling. Then come the texts. The first one has me shoving my phone back into my coat pocket, ignoring him altogether.
Caius: Where the hell are you? Come back now.
Eva’s eyebrow lifts in question. “Your boyfriend looking for you?”
“Yup. I’m mad at him too.”
She chuckles. “I understand that, honey. Men can be difficult sometimes.”
Sometimes?
How about always?
“He’s so hot and cold,” I admit with a grumble. “Last night we got into an argument. Things got passionate and then he just…stopped. It was rude, and quite frankly, hurt my feelings.”