Chapter 13

THIRTEEN

Sabella

The news of last night is so exciting, I can't wait to tell Colin about it. It's his mom's turn to drive us to summer school, so I can't say anything in the car. We arrive at my school, where the mixed classes for the eleventh-grade boys and girls are presented each summer, with only a minute to spare, which means my big news will have to wait until we get home after five.

The whole day, I'm in the clouds. I can't stop touching the heavy gold ring on my thumb. I barely manage to concentrate on the math exercises. When the tutor asks me a question, I look up from my book in a daze, lost in my daydreaming. Colin, who sits one row in front of me, looks over his shoulder with a frown. I never get a question wrong, let alone having to ask the tutor to repeat the question.

"What's up with you today?" Colin asks when we finally gather our books at five.

"I'll tell you later," I say with a grin, swinging my backpack over my shoulder.

"You need that A for math if you're to make it to the final selection for uni." He takes the heavy bag from my back. "You can't afford to screw this up."

I skip ahead of him to the exit. "I won't."

When we come down the steps, Mrs. Taylor, Colin's mom, honks the horn to pull our attention to where she's parked in the shade of an oak tree. She gets out and leans against the car, waiting for us with a smile.

Emmaline Taylor is petite with blond hair and blue eyes. On days like these, when her hair is tied into a ponytail and she's wearing her gym leggings and T-shirt, the resemblance between her and Clara is uncanny.

Colin dumps our bags in the trunk and shifts behind the wheel. Mrs. Taylor takes the passenger seat in the front. Since we've gotten our learner driver's licenses, Mrs. Taylor lets us take turns to drive when it's her week to carpool.

"Hi, Mrs. Taylor," I say, getting into the back.

"Hey, Bella." She twists in her seat. "How was class?"

"Okay."

Colin shoots me a look in the rearview mirror, but he doesn't say anything. He starts the engine and focuses on driving.

Mrs. Taylor asks how my birthday dinner was and if we have news about Ryan and Celeste's baby. Ryan and Celeste live in Cape Town where Ryan runs Dad's city office, so we don't see them very often. They only come to Great Brak River for family events like birthdays and Christmas.

As we drive up our street, I spot my mom's Audi parked in front of the house. It's strange, almost as if she left it there in too much of hurry to open the gates. She always parks inside the garage because she doesn't want her windows to get sticky and dirty from the sea air.

I thank Mrs. Taylor when they drop me off and tell Colin I'll see him later. We're planning on doing geometry exercises together. We'll be working in his library where no one ever disturbs us, and I'll be able tell him about last night.

The canteen at summer school is horrible. I didn't eat much of the lukewarm fish pie, and I'm starving. I let myself in through the gate and slow down when I notice the cars in the driveway. Dad's Rolls Royce and Ryan's BMW are there. My dad never comes home this early. And what is Ryan doing here? He's not keen on traveling far from home since Celeste developed complications with the pregnancy.

I push the front door open and close it quietly behind me. My dad's heated voice booms from his study. Ryan says something, his tone placating. I drop my bag and pad down the hallway. Sniffling comes from the lounge. I stop in the doorframe. My mom is perched on the sofa, crying into a tissue. Mattie sits next to her, rubbing her shoulder.

Shit.

What happened?

Coldness invades my body.

Mattie looks up. Her expression is grave when she meets my gaze. She gets to her feet and crosses the floor, her steps quiet on the marble tiles like in the way people walk at funerals as if they're afraid of making noise.

Putting an arm around my shoulder, she leads me to the kitchen. Doris stands at the counter, rolling out dough. For once, she doesn't shoo us away and tell us not to get under her feet. She dusts her hands on her apron and disappears into the scullery.

"What's going on?" I ask, my heart beating in my throat. "Has someone died?" Aunt Judith or Uncle Fred?

Mattie leans on the counter and crosses her arms. "There's been an incident."

My voice comes out hoarse. "What incident?"

She's calm, taking after Ryan in that sense, but I don't miss the tension in her face. "Someone stole Dad's notebook."

I battle to make sense of it. "What?"

"Someone broke into the house and stole Dad's book, the little black one he kept in his desk drawer."

"But…" Shaking my head, I open and close my mouth, finally only managing, "Why?"

"The book is important."

"I don't understand. Why is Ryan here? And why is Mom crying about it?"

She lowers her voice. "Dad's been involved in some bribing."

"Bribing?" My breath catches. "What do you mean?"

She waves a hand. "He paid some people under the table."

I go colder still. "I don't believe it. Dad would never do that."

"It's how business is done here. Everyone does it. The thing is not to get caught."

"What does that mean?" I lean my hand on the table to steady myself. "What does that mean for Dad?"

"Dad and Ryan are dealing with it."

"What's going to happen to us?" I ask, panic constricting my chest.

"Nothing," she says, her voice stern. "What's important right now is to figure out how it happened because it can never happen again." She glances at the scullery and continues in a quieter tone. "Someone cut the alarm and the cameras last night."

Her words hit me like bullets. Blood pumps through my body and rushes to my head.

She straightens. "Naturally, we can't involve the police."

I hear her through the gushing in my ears, her words distant and distorted. I look at her, see her lips move, but I don't register what she's saying any longer.

Someone cut the alarm and the cameras.

And I know.

I know who took the book.

I don't know what's worse, the betrayal that burns like acid in my stomach and pushes up with bile in my throat or the shame that cripples me. The shame, I think. Of being stupid and na?ve. Of being an accomplice. Of being selfish and hurting my family.

I draw back my hand, noticing how much it's shaking, noticing the flour stuck to my palm.

"…just have to give them a moment. Dad isn't himself."

Mattie. I stare at her. She's still talking.

I nod, the movement mechanical.

She grips my shoulder on her way to the door, a rare show of affection. No, not affection. Support.

My thoughts are scrambled, my body shaking with the devastating blow of deception. Blazing red-hot in the wake of that deceit is nauseating fear. It's my first taste of the ugly sentiments, and I don't care for them.

What have I done?

I glance over my shoulder at the straight set of Mattie's back, how strong she is when she needs to be.

"I'm going to Colin's," I say, making a rash decision.

Mattie turns to me. "You can't tell anyone about this."

"I know."

She sighs. "Maybe it's not a bad idea to hang out at Colin's for a while, at least until the worst of it has blown over. I suppose Dad will want to speak to us before dinner. Make sure you're home by then."

Her heels click down the hallway, her steps that strange funeral march again, cautious and subdued.

Before Doris has a chance to return and question me, I escape to the entrance and snatch my mom's car key from the table where it lies next to her handbag. I'm too upset to think about taking her car registration papers or my license. I walk out of the door and push through the gate. The Audi is an automatic. It's not difficult to drive. I get in and start the engine, not bothering to check the mirrors or to adjust the seat.

At the bottom of the street, I floor the gas. My eyes burn, but they remain dry. Good. Angelo doesn't deserve my tears. The line in the middle of the road blurs and doubles. I rub my eyes with the heel of my palm, trying to clear my vision. I'm driving like a maniac, way too fast, and it's only sheer luck that I don't get pulled over by a traffic cop before I reach the golf estate.

I park in front of the main entrance of the hotel and stalk inside, ignoring the valet who stares after me. At the counter, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. My mascara is smeared in dark circles around my eyes and my expression looks wild. The people in the reception area steal glances at me. They're dressed in fancy golf clothes or formal office attire. My favorite T-shirt with the whale on the back dating from an aquarium visit two years ago stands out like a sore thumb. So does my faded and authentically ripped jeans, but I don't care.

As I don't have a bag with me, I shove the car key in my back pocket. Drumming my fingers on the counter, I wait. There's no one else but me, but the concierge is in no hurry to help me.

Anger makes me brazen. I lean an elbow on the counter and put myself in the concierge's space. "Mr. Russo's room number, please."

The man's voice is neutral. "We're not allowed to give out room numbers, ma'am."

"He's expecting me," I say, smiling sweetly, speaking too loudly.

The concierge glances around. They don't like people to make scenes in upmarket places like these, especially not underdressed and underaged girls who ask for grown men's room numbers.

I lift my hand, showing him the gold ring on my thumb. "Why don't you call him and check for yourself?"

Something passes over his face as he takes in the ring, some recognition that gives life to his otherwise cardboard-like countenance.

He doesn't have to check the guest list. "The penthouse suite."

Of course. There's only one penthouse suite.

I slam a hand on the counter, palm-up. "Give me a card."

His mouth tightens. "I'll need your name, please."

"Sabella Edwards."

He quirks an eyebrow but says nothing. His long, spidery fingers clack over the keyboard as he types. A moment later, he pushes a keycard in a paper envelope toward me.

"Thank you," I say.

He doesn't bother with a reply.

I grab the card and cut across the foyer. When I look back over my shoulder, he's got the phone pressed against his ear, no doubt alerting Angelo that I'm on my way.

There are only two floors, but my legs are too wobbly to navigate the stairs. I stab the button of the elevator to call it down, repeatedly hitting the button until the doors slide open. The man and woman who were also waiting for the elevator step aside, not getting in with me.

I jam the heel of my palm on the top-floor button. The doors close, shutting me in. I turn in a circle like an animal in a cage, willing the numbers to light up more quickly. The soft, generic music that plays through the speakers in the ceiling does nothing to calm me. It only agitates me more.

When the elevator stops, I squeeze through the doors before they're fully open. There's no hallway, just a foyer with a burgundy carpet and silver wallpaper embossed with fleur-de-lis"s.

The only door on this level opens before I reach it. Angelo stands in the frame, wearing a black shirt, dark pants, and an inscrutable expression.

All the fury I felt since Mattie's words had ripped into my heart bubbles to the surface. I'm blind with rage as I storm across the floor, plant my palms on his chest, and shove him with all my might.

My effort doesn't move him an inch. He steps back into the room of his own accord, letting me in.

Raising my arm, I slap him hard across the face. My handprint lies red on his cheek when I pull away. I lift my hand again, but this time, he catches my wrist.

I yank free. "How could you?"

He moves around me and closes the door.

I turn, circling with him, unwilling to give him my back. "How could you do something like that?"

He only looks at me with gleaming eyes.

"You used me," I say, stepping away from him, my palm burning and my hands shaking.

He doesn't deny the accusation.

"You planned this for a whole year." My voice quivers. Tears prick at the back of my eyes when I realize how deep his deceit runs. "That's why you gave me a phone."

"Not only," he says with a stoic face.

Fuck. That hurts. I gnash my teeth, forcing back the tears. I will not show him how effectively he's broken me into pieces. The only thing he deserves to witness is my loathing.

I shove him again. "How could you?"

He just stands there, taking my abuse.

"Damn you, Angelo Russo. Tell me." The volume of my voice rises to a hysterical level. "Why? Why did you do it? What are you going to do with the information you stole?"

Still, he says nothing, shows nothing. No emotion. No regret.

Done. I'm done with this. The this he didn't want to do through the bars of a gate last night had nothing to do with me. It was all about stealing information from my dad.

I utter a wry laugh. He couldn't steal that through the bars of our gate. No. He needed me to switch off the alarm and let him in. And I did it. I invited him in, welcoming him like a wolf in a lamb's pen.

He walks to a wet bar in the corner and pours a glass of water. I take in the surroundings for the first time, the spacious lounge that opens onto a balcony with potted trees, the canopy bed in the adjoining room, and the home gym in front of the big windows.

He puts the glass on the coffee table in front of me. "You need a drink."

I feel like throwing that water in his face, but I've already assaulted him physically, and it's not how my parents raised me. I don't like this person, the one I become when I'm with him.

"Juice, perhaps?" he asks.

"You're an asshole."

His mouth lifts in one corner. "Maybe I should add some sugar for that mouth of yours."

I've tried. I'm not going to get answers from him. There's no closure for me here, no reasons or excuses.

I hold out my hand. "Give me the book."

"It won't make a difference. The information has already been copied and stored in the cloud."

"I'm going to tell my dad. You know that, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter. He already knows."

"That was your business with him?" I exclaim. "You son of a bitch. What do you want? Money? Are you blackmailing him? Is that it?"

His tone is level. "If your father was a man of his word, this wouldn't have been necessary."

"I don't know what you're talking about, but it doesn't change the fact that you manipulated me or that you're using stolen information to blackmail my dad."

"I did what had to be done for us to be together," he says matter-of-factly.

"Us?" My chuckle is ugly. "Do you seriously think I'll ever be with you after what you've done?"

"One day, you'll understand."

"Never," I spit out. "We'll never be together."

His look turns calculated. "Then you better think again, cara. You're mine. We belong together. Nothing will change that. I'll kill for you if that's what it takes."

Oh my God. He's not just bad. He's the definition of evil. The love he kindled inside me and so carefully cultivated is like poison. If I don't cut it out of my heart, it'll kill me.

My dad was right. I've been Angelo's fool, and I'm no longer playing the idiot for him.

Stripping the ring from my thumb, I throw it on the table. It clatters over the glass before rolling off the edge and hitting the carpet with a thud. "I don't ever want to see you again. Stay away from me and my family."

I turn on my heel and head for the door, but I don't make it two steps before Angelo wraps a big hand around my throat and pulls me back. The action breaks my momentum. I stumble, my back hitting the wall of his chest.

He squeezes, pressing his fingers on sensitive spots. "You're not so quick to like me now that you've seen my true nature." It almost sounds like an accusation. Lowering his head, he brushes a whisper over my ear. "That ring stays on your hand until I replace it with another. Have you forgotten so quickly?"

I step away and spin around. "Keep your ring. I don't want it."

"You'll wear that mark on your finger or branded into your skin. Your choice."

My lips part. He must be joking.

He's not. He bends, picks up the ring in no hurry, and takes a Zippo lighter from his pocket. It's the same one he used to light a joint when we first met. I watch, horrified, as he flicks the lighter and holds the ring under the flame.

He's bluffing.

I look between his impassive face and the blackening surface of the ring, unable to believe he'll go through with it.

"I prefer that you wear it on your finger," he says. "But as I said, it's your choice."

When he kills the flame and reaches for me, I shrink back. His fingers curl around my bicep, dragging me closer. I fight his hold, clawing at his forearm, but my efforts have no effect. He brushes my hair over my shoulder, taking care not to touch my skin with the ring, and kisses a spot on my neck.

A shudder runs through me.

He's going to do it—right there where he pressed his lips on my skin.

"Wait," I cry out, straining in his grasp.

He blows over the spot that's wet from his kiss, making my skin contract. "It'll hurt, but I'll put you out first."

Wait. What? Put me out? What does that even mean?

"No." I claw at him again. "I'll wear the ring."

He stills. "What was that?"

I push him off me. "I'll wear the ring."

"Definitely the better choice."

He goes to the table and drops the ring in the glass. It makes a hissing sound when it hits the water. He stirs the water a few times with his finger before taking the ring out and rubbing the black off on a napkin. Gripping my hand, he pushes it back onto my thumb.

He closes his fingers around my nape again, pulling me closer and bringing his lips to my ear. "If you ever take it off, I'll know."

I don't ask how. I don't want to own that knowledge. My legs buckle a little. I just want to go home.

Not daring to look at him for fear of seeing the smug victory in his eyes, I walk to the door.

He steps in front of me, cutting me off. "How did you get here?" I push past, but he grabs my arm. "Who brought you?"

"I drove."

"By yourself?"

"Yes."

Not letting go of my wrist, he grabs his jacket from a hook on the back of the door.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Driving you home."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"You have a learner license. Driving alone is illegal and dangerous."

I gape at him. "You're worried about illegal driving after you broke into our house?"

"I didn't break in." He lets me go to pull on his jacket. "You let me in. And it's your safety I'm concerned about."

"I may have let you in but only because you tricked and deceived me."

Taking my arm again, he opens the door. "You'll get over it."

"Fuck you."

"We're going to have a serious talk about that mouth."

"Let me go."

"Stop struggling, Sabella." He tightens his hold. "I told you I'm going to see you home safely."

"Don't pretend to care about my safety."

"I don't have to pretend."

He drags me across the foyer and into the elevator. We get out when the doors open on the ground level. People stare as he steers me through the lobby, but he pays them no heed. A man with a shaved head dressed in a dark suit waits outside.

Angelo takes a key from his pocket and throws it at the man. "Follow us." He motions at my mom's Audi. "Is this her car?"

The man nods.

Angelo dips his hand into my back pocket and pulls out the key.

"Hey." I try to grab it from him, but he holds it out of reach. "Give that to me."

The man gets into a Mercedes parked in the lot while Angelo bundles me into the passenger side of my mom's car.

"Who's that man?" My tone is sarcastic. "Your bodyguard?"

"Yours," he says, starting the engine.

"What?"

"His name is Roch." He pronounces it like rock. "He'll be keeping an eye on you."

I cross my arms, facing forward. "To make sure I don't run to the police?"

He only chuckles, knowing very well if my father is involved in paying bribes, going to the police isn't an option.

Some of the fight has left me, bringing on sudden exhaustion. Without the armor of anger, I'm frightened. How will my dad react? Will he hate me? Will my naivety and disregard for his wishes ruin our relationship?

We drive in silence, Roch following in the Mercedes.

At our house, Angelo stops in front of the gates and cuts the engine. "See you soon, cara."

"I don't think so."

He only smiles, gets out, and closes his door.

When I don't move, he comes around to my window. "Go inside."

He doesn't get to tell me what to do, but it's almost dinner time, and I don't want my parents to go look for me at Colin's house. I don't want them to see me outside our house with Angelo.

He opens my door and offers me a hand. Ignoring his proffered palm, I take the key from the console between the seats and get out. His eyes burn holes at the back of my head as I let myself through the gate, but I don't look back. Not this time. Never again.