Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“That’s great. What about her brothers?”
“The cave was empty. The fire was cold, and the footprints were at least a couple of days old, so I took a drive to the camp.”
I lean against the cupboard. “Where is this camp?”
“A good two hundred kilometers away.”
“Did you question your grandfather?”
“I didn’t have to.” He rubs his nape. “The boys were there.”
“What?” I exclaim. “How did they get there?”
“They hitchhiked. Caught a lift with a truck driver who dropped them not far from the road. They walked the last few kilometers.”
I can’t believe it. “They just left their little sister like that?”
“They said they saw you taking her in. They assumed she’d stay here.”
“That may be true, but what if it wasn’t the case? How could they be so irresponsible?”
He takes a long drink. “I don’t think they know the meaning of the word. Besides, they’re still young themselves.”
“So, what happened?” I ask, breathless with worry.
“The old man is willing to sign guardianship over to me.” His lips tilt with a wry smile. “For a sum of money of course.” Scoffing, he adds, “He doesn’t give a fuck about anything else.”
“What will happen when you have guardianship?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”
I wipe a hand over my brow as I consider the consequences.
“It’s not your problem, Sabella. You don’t have to worry about it.”
“I can’t help being concerned about those kids.”
“Just focus on Sophie for now.”
“She has to go to school.”
His jaw hardens. “I know.”
“Has she ever been?”
“I put them in a boarding school in Bastia when I moved them into the house, but that didn’t work out. After that, I hired a private tutor who quickly quit. Before then, it’s hard to say. I doubt it. I got their birth certificates from the old man. She’s six years old. She should’ve been enrolled in primary school, but if you ask me, she’s never seen the inside of a classroom before Bastia.”
“What about the local school?”
He sips his wine, not looking at me.
“Surely the principal will understand?” I continue. “If you explain the situation, won’t he accept a late enrollment? Sophie is a bright little girl. She’ll catch up quickly.”
“The school year finishes in June. There are only four months left.”
“Then let her start officially with the new school year. What prevents you from putting her in school in the meantime? She’s been so isolated with no good role models. Being in an environment with other children of her age will do her good.”
He studies me from under his lashes. “Not if they make fun of her or bully her.”
“Why would they do that?”
He clenches his jaw. “Because of whom she is and where she comes from.”
I remember Isaac and the teasing. “I don’t want that for her either, but you have to try. Integration is important. Bullying and teasing can always be addressed.”
“I agree that she’ll have to learn how to handle those things. Bullying happens even between adults.”
“But?”
He puts his glass on the table. “A school in a different city may be a better solution.”
I gape at him. “In a different city? You want to send her away?”
“For her own good.”
“For her own good?” I whisper-exclaim. “She’s only just connected with you, her only family besides her brothers and great-grandfather, maybe the first person in her close circle who she perceives as being reliable. You can’t send her away now.”
“She’ll go back to boarding school. A different one. She’ll be well cared for.”
“No doubt,” I say, slamming my glass down on the counter. “She’ll be clothed and fed and educated.”
“Exactly,” he bites out.
“What about stability and affection and love?”
“There’s stability in routine. She’ll have that at a hostel. And she’ll be at my house on the weekends.”
“You can’t do it.” I ball my hands into fists. “That little girl has suffered more than enough in her short life. What she needs is a family she can depend on, not a tutor in some fancy girls’ school miles away from everything that’s familiar to her.”
Advancing on me, he asks, “Are you a child psychologist now?”
“No,” I say with thin lips. “But maybe you should consult one. You may be shocked to find that a psychologist may agree.”
“Sophie is not your problem and not your responsibility,” he says, animosity sparking in his eyes as he cups my nape. The touch isn’t a caress. It’s a dominant grip meant to intimidate. “She’s my niece, and I’ll decide what’s best for her.”
“I don’t mean to interfere, but—”
His voice hardens. “Then don’t.”
“Mr. Russo, you have to—”
“Stop fucking calling me that,” he says, giving me a shake.
“Then what am I supposed to call you, seeing that your name is off limits?”
Anger glimmers in his eyes. “You want to say it? Go ahead. Say my name.” When I only clamp my lips together, he shakes me harder. “Say it, damn you.”