Page 137 of Fighting With Light
“Hey, I thought that was you and me,” Cordelia says, plopping in Kai’s lap.
He grins up at her and she angles her head down to kiss him.
“We are our own story, gem,” he says quietly.
I look away, unable to take all the…love. I swear I’m dissociating. I text Aelia again and wait for the bubbles, but nothing.
My only goal is to bring her home safe, and then I’ll go buy her the biggest diamond ring I can find.
50
Aelia
If Liam thought Colombiawas our smoking gun, this is a bomb. I read the papers three times, took pictures of everything twice, and put it all back where I found it.
After I double-check that everything is right where it should be, I leave my father’s office and sneak back to my room. I try to connect to the Wi-Fi on the iPad, hoping the modem is on, but there’s no signal.
My father is so paranoid he keeps the modem locked away, so if someone tries to send something through the internet like I’m trying to do now, I can’t. My only evidence is sitting on an old iPad. Since there’s no internet. I turn the iPad off and think of a place to stash it until I can either take it to Liam or send it to him when the internet is turned back on. I’m sure he’s losing his mind right now.
Less than thirty-two hours to get back to Liam, or he will come here guns blazing and my father will shoot him on sight. I can’t let that happen.
Checking the hall again, I slip back into my mom’s room and slip it behind the dresser. Closing the door behind me, I go back to my room and lock the door before tossing myself on the bed.
I wish I could talk to him, even if it’s a text. I miss him like I’m missing a limb.
***
A knock on my door wakes me up, and I trudge over to my door. Giorgio is leaning up against the doorjamb with a smirk on his face, wearing his three-piecesuit. He should have a pocket watch for his vest to round out his look. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, and his thick, curly, black hair is in disarray. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days.
“Giorgi,” I sigh and hug him.
“Ah, piccolina,” he says and wraps his thick arms around me. I’ve always been the smallest out of the four of us. My brothers are huge, all six feet or more, and built because if you can’t defend yourself in this business, then you’re dead.
“I missed you, ya know. You don’t call. You hardly text. What’s up with that?” he asks, with that slight Boston drawl to it. I smile up at him.
“I’ve been busy.”
He chuckles and pushes my hair out of my face. “Yeah, busy traveling the world and getting into trouble.”
I lift a shoulder. “So what?”
He chucks my chin, so I look up at him. “Who is this man you’ve been seeing?” Giorgio asks.
I don’t know how to respond. I trust my brothers up to a certain point. They are loyal to my father, and I don’t want them to get caught in the middle of all of this mess. When Dad gets put away, they will have to pick up the pieces.
“I met him in Bali, and we got along well. It’s nothing serious,” I tell him, almost choking on the word because I want to sob into my pillow. I miss him so much my heart doesn’t feel like it’s beating the right way.
“I see,” he says, studying me. Giorgio is perceptive, he always has been. Romeo probably just wasn’t paying attention, his mind on business. “I came to tell you Dad wants to see you.”
I groan and hug him again. He kisses my forehead before he walks back down the hall. I know what my father wants, but I will never say yes. I’ll die before that happens.
Instead of going to my father like a dog. I ignored him, took a nice hot shower, had a good cry, and put on one of my suits. They feel like armor, even though it’s just fabric. I decided to go with the white one. It’s double-breasted and dips low, so I have to go without a bra. My hair is pinned back on the sides, so it cascades down my back, and the dark color contrasts with the white. I find my sky-highblack Manolo Blahniks with a gold-encrusted buckle on the front. Slipping my large gold hoops in my ear, I check myself in the mirror one more time and walk out of my room. I was starving, but I’m losing my appetite with every step I take toward my father’s office.
Stopping at the landing between each wing of the house, I take a deep breath before crossing into the west wing. I lift my chin and force one foot in front of the other. My heels click on the floor, announcing my arrival before I set foot in the room.
His door is open, and I click in there and cross my arms.
“Are you agreeable yet?” he asks.
