Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84342 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I turn my back on him and all the good feelings from the night before turn sour. I try to cling to the memory of him washing me and worshiping me, praising me like he can’t get enough, but it’s all tainted now.
“I should go get changed,” I say softly and walk to the door.
I want him to call out. I want him to say sorry, that I can go if I want to, that he understands how close I am to my mother.
But he doesn’t. He only watches me.
I step into the hall, more determined to leave than ever.
If my mother wants to see me, then nothing can keep me away.
Chapter 22
Mirella
It’s shockingly easy to escape from Villa Bruno.
I go to the morning session with Fynn. Most of the tender excitement from the night before has evaporated, replaced by the stupid fight we had as I was leaving. We do our usual routine, stretching, lifting, mobility training, and when we’re finished, he grabs me and pulls me against him.
“Don’t think too much,” he whispers and kisses me softly. I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but I bite his bottom lip.
“And don’t be so controlling.”
“Mirella.”
“I know, it’s for my own good, right?”
“Exactly. You need to understand where you are.”
“And you need to understand who I am.” I wiggle from his grasp and move out of his reach. “I’ll see you later this afternoon, okay?”
I stand in the doorway and look back—and the hurt in his eyes almost breaks me. He looks at me like he wants to apologize, like he wants to say anything to bring back what we had last night, and I want that too—but I can’t change my mind.
The thought of his hands on my skin in the shower, his words, his praise, it keeps me strong as I head to my room, get changed, shove some cash into my pocket, and head out. I’m in hiking boots and clothes, and I hurry out the back, skirting along the pool, and strike out toward the wall.
I know the general direction of the road, but I go the long way. I trek through the treacherous paths, between massive red sun-bleached boulders, until I find the wall that surrounds the Villa Bruno property. It’s white and six feet tall and not easily climbed, but I manage it with the help of some stones I pile up. I drop down the other side, then keep walking, following the wall toward the road. When I reach it, I hurry away and walk down the street for a while until the house is out of sight.
Then I find some shade, take out my phone, download Uber, sign into my account, and call a car.
It’s that simple.
The hardest part is waiting in the heat. I stand next to a tree and lean against the trunk, thinking about Fynn the whole time. I know what my disappearance is going to do to him but I can’t let it stop me. I’ll be fine—I’ll visit with my mom for an hour then get an Uber back to the villa gates. The guards will be confused, and Fynn will drag my ass over hot coals and probably spank me blind, but I’ll survive.
We’ll be okay.
The car comes and I ride in silence. The guy’s chatting on a Bluetooth headset the whole time in what I’m pretty sure is Korean. He drops me off and I slip him an extra tip, which he thanks me for, and gives me a strange wink before he drives off, peeling out as he accelerates much too fast.
Mom’s house looks small. It’s always been small, but for some reason after being in Villa Bruno for the last few weeks, it seems almost tiny. I can’t believe I lived here with her for so long and this place used to seem like a palace. I hurry up the front steps and knock.
She answers after a minute and looks surprised to see me. “Honey, you should’ve called!”
“I’m sorry, Mom. I had to sort of slip away to get here.” I grin sheepishly. “In all the excitement, I forgot about calling ahead.”
“They wouldn’t let you leave?”
“It’s complicated. Can we go inside?”
She steers me into the kitchen, sits me down in my usual spot, and gets me a can of Coke. We share it, spilling half into two glasses with ice, and clink them together. I never drink soda except for with her, and this is like our own special ritual together. The cold soft drink tastes amazing on my parched throat, especially after that daring escape.
“Mom, you sounded really freaked out yesterday, and now I’m here. What were you trying to tell me?”
She laughs and waves it away as she clatters around the kitchen. Putting back coffee mugs. Checking cupboards for nothing. Keeping busy. “Oh, that? It’s nothing, honey, I never should’ve made you worry.”