Chapter 26

TWENTY-SIX

Sabella

Angelo walks away with long, powerful strides, angry strides, and gets into a car. We stare after the sleek Jaguar as he takes off with screeching tires and turns onto the road that leads to the airport.

I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself to face up to the people who turn their gazes on me like one man.

Ryan's voice is quiet. "Did he bother you?"

Bother is a light way of putting it. Shame heats my cheeks. They can never know what happened, that I slept with the man who betrayed me and stole a part of my dad's company. That's not only weak but also despicable. I wounded my dad when I let Angelo into our house. I don't want to hurt him again. I'll never live down the humiliation if anyone finds out Angelo and I had sex—repeatedly—and that I'm branded like property. Like an animal or a slave.

"Sabella?" Ryan says, taking a step toward me.

Celeste shifts to the edge of the bench, all eyes and ears.

"No," I say, heaping on the lies.

"What the fuck did he want?" Colin asks.

Celeste dumps the plastic cup with the Starbucks logo she clutches in the trash. "Language, Colin, please. I think we've had enough unpleasantness this morning."

"Sorry," he mumbles. "Seriously, what did he want, Bella?"

"You heard him." I wave at the ridiculously expensive car. "He brought me a birthday gift."

"He came all the way from Corsica to give you the key for a car he had delivered?" Colin asks, clearly not buying it.

"That's what it looks like," I say.

Colin flexes his jaw. "That's it?"

"Look, I ran into him on my way out," I say. "Just like you. What else do you want me to say?" I'm going straight to hell.

"Why would he give you a car?" Colin glances at Ryan. "Don't you think that's fucking weird?"

"Language," Celeste sing-songs.

Ryan grabs a suitcase and loads it into the trunk. "Who the hell knows? The guy is the personification of weird."

"But don't you think—" Colin starts.

"Let it go, Colin," Ryan says, slamming the trunk shut.

The harshness of his voice startles not only me but also Celeste and Colin. Colin stares at him with parted lips, looking as if he'd like to say more, but when he takes a breath to speak, Ryan cuts him short.

"What do you want to do with the car, Bella?"

I watch my brother, trying to read him. His face is blank. Why do I get the impression he's hiding something? He doesn't want Colin to ask those questions. Shouldn't Ryan be asking the same questions? Not that I'm complaining about being let off the hook.

"I'll drive it," I say.

"Are you sure?" Ryan asks. "Sports cars can be tricky until you get used to them."

"It's a Ferrari." I pick up my bag. "They're all automatic. I'll manage."

"I'll go with her," Colin says.

Ryan nods. "We'll follow you."

Colin takes my bag from me and loads it in the trunk while I adjust the mirrors and the seat. When he's buckled up, I pull out of the parking lot and head toward the highway.

"You missed the brunch," Colin says.

"I said I would."

"How's your hangover?"

"Not too bad. I had to take pills."

He shoots me a sidelong glance. "The others were asking about you at the restaurant."

I check in the rearview mirror to make sure that Ryan is keeping up. "What did you tell them?"

"That you enjoyed your party a little too much and needed to sleep it off."

"Thanks."

"It won't hurt to make an effort, you know."

I brake too hard, the momentum jerking our bodies forward. I take my foot off the pedal and try again, getting the force of stepping down right on the third try. "Sorry. Ryan was right. Damn, the brakes are sensitive. This is a very different drive compared to my mom's Audi." At the exit, I turn toward George. "An effort with what?"

"To make friends with the other girls in your class. They're trying."

I scoff. "They're not. You don't know how things are. And you're supposed to be on my side."

"I am. That's why I'm telling you, Bella. Why are you isolating yourself like this?"

Keeping within the speed limit, I accelerate. "I'm not."

"You never hang out with anyone but me."

I grin, going for humor. "Because I like you. I thought you'd be glad."

"You're not even attempting to meet someone. How many guys in my class have hit on you? You pretend not to notice. It's your birthday, but you don't dance with the single dudes. You don't give any of the guys a chance to get near you. You have this air of being unobtainable that puts men off before they can make a move. It's like you're keeping everyone at a distance. If you only behaved that way with guys because you're not interested in dating, I'd understand, but like I said, you're not going to the trouble of getting to know the other girls. Friendship takes investment, Bella. It's as if you just don't give a damn. You don't even make it to your own fucking birthday brunch."

I slam a hand on the wheel. "Why are you giving me such a hard time about this? So what if I'm not a social person? Everyone isn't like you."

His voice rises in volume. "The fuck how like me?"

"Perfect," I shout, regretting it the minute the word left my mouth.

"Jeez." He turns away from me, staring out of his window. "Fucking thanks a lot."

"For crying out loud, Colin. What's gotten into you? Can you just give it a rest?"

"Maybe what's gotten into me is Angelo," he grumbles under his breath.

I utter a sound of frustration. "I have enough to deal with as it is. Do you mind not adding to it?"

"He's got a hold on you." He twists in his seat, continuing with renewed anger. "He told you he wouldn't miss one of your birthdays. You said he wasn't going to show, and he did. The guy gave you a fucking Ferrari for your birthday. He flew all the way from Corsica to be here, happening to know where you were throwing your party. Don't you find that strange?"

"He's doing business with my dad. My dad could've mentioned something to someone." I shrug. "George is small. You know how people talk. It's not difficult to find out details like that here."

"Fine. Say he picked up something via the grapevine. It's still nuts. The guy is clearly obsessed with you. Do you now see why you need a restraining order?"

My driving is almost aggressive in the way I take the bends. From the way the car grips the road, it's clear that it was made for speed. Ryan has fallen behind. His BMW is no longer visible in the rearview mirror. I slow down and take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself.

I can't confess why going to the police isn't an option. My dad's business is still on the line. Besides, a restraining order will make no difference to a man like Angelo. I don't know how to explain that to Colin who lives his life by the letter of the law. I don't know how to convey the darkness in Angelo in words. I can't tell Colin about the mark of shame I carry on my body or that I can't ask my brother or my dad for money to have it removed. I'll have to get surgery when I can work and save up the cash. I can't tell him that the car is nothing but payment for last night. Why else would Angelo give me a car?

I'm losing my enthusiasm for birthdays. Angelo gave me defiance for my sixteenth birthday, allowing me to keep Pirate. The betrayal for my seventeenth was sealed with a sweet kiss. He paid for my v-card on my eighteenth with a Ferrari.

In George, I head toward the east side of town and turn into the car park of the church where a bazaar is being held in the adjoining hall every weekend to raise money for the homeless shelter.

For a while, we're quiet.

Closing my eyes, I lean my forehead on the wheel.

"I'm not trying to be hard on you, Bella. I'm only looking out for you."

I sigh and sit up. "I know."

When I spot Ryan pulling up behind me in the rearview mirror, I cut the engine. "I won't be long."

Colin gets out when I do, a question burning in his eyes. I take the steps to the hall two by two and slow down when my underwear brushes over the burn, chafing the inflamed skin.

The lady who sits behind the cash register in the foyer looks up with a smile. "The stalls with the second-hand items are on the left, and the home-baked and crafts goods are on the right."

I push the key over the counter. "I'd like to donate a Ferrari. It's parked in the lot. The papers are in the glove compartment." Picking up the pen that lies on the book in which she scribbles down the sales, I write down my name and telephone number. "Here are my details. Just call me when I need to come down and sign whatever documents are necessary."

She stares at me as if I'm an alien, still gaping when I turn and walk out.

Outside, Colin leans on the car with crossed arms.

"Come on," I say, getting my bag from the trunk. "We'll have to catch a ride with Ryan."

"What did you do?" Ryan asks when I shift into the back of his car.

"You did not," Celeste says, twisting in her seat.

Colin gets in beside me, only shaking his head.

"What?" I raise my palms. "You didn't think I'd keep it?"

"Fuck." Ryan laughs as he turns the car around and pulls into the road. "I can't wait to tell this story at the office."

We're quiet the rest of the way home. Colin jumps out with a muffled goodbye when Ryan parks in the cul-de-sac in front of our house. My best friend makes his way to their gate without looking back.

The gap between Colin and me is growing. I understand that he's worried, but behaving in such an overbearing manner makes it difficult to be open with him. He won't be able to handle the truth. Just as well I have no intention of anyone ever finding out what really happened at my party.

Celeste blows me a kiss when I get out. I'm not surprised that she's not coming inside. My mom isn't crazy about Celeste. She's never approved of Ryan's choice of a wife. Needless to say, Celeste isn't overly fond of my parents either.

"Give Brad a hug from me," I say, shutting the door.

Ryan is already getting my bag. He stands quietly, observing me with a too perceptive gaze as I come around the car. We face each other for a couple of beats before he hands me the bag.

"Mom and Dad know. I called them from the car." The corner of his mouth lifts. "Expect some drama."

I arrange the strap of my bag over my shoulder. "Thanks for the warning."

He gives me a piercing look. "I had to warn Dad."

Kicking at a tuft of grass, I avert my eyes. "I know."

"Good luck, Bella." He squeezes my shoulder. "You know where to find me if you need anything."

He's halfway around the car before I say, "Ryan?"

He stops.

"How did Angelo know where to find me?"

The habitual mask drops back in place. "It can't be too hard to get your hands on information like that." He continues with a stoic expression, "Do you feel unsafe?"

"No," I say quickly, not wanting him to dig deeper and pose questions I can't answer.

He offers a semblance of a smile and opens his door.

"Thanks again for the party," I say.

He nods and gets behind the wheel.

When he drives off, I glance around me. Roch is out there, somewhere, always watching. A shiver races down my spine. It's most probably him who told Angelo about the party.

Finally alone, my composure slips. I lied to Ryan. I do feel unsafe, but not in the way he suggested. I feel mostly unsafe from myself, from how I feel when Angelo presses his lips on mine and says despicable things in my ear. I can't trust myself when he strips me naked under the bright lights of a hotel bathroom and studies my body with unabashed fascination.

I'm the first woman he saw naked, but that unexpected tidbit of information isn't what hit me the hardest or what made me the weakest. It was how he looked at me—as if I'm the lastwoman he'll ever see naked. Then he branded me, reminding me all too vividly why I should hate him. Why I do hate him.

Shit. I'm a traitor, and I betrayed my family in the worst way. Angelo was right about one thing. I can't blame my moment of weakness on the alcohol. I did what I did, and now I have to live with it.

Taking a deep breath, I push away everything and prepare myself to face my parents as I enter the house. My chest constricts when their heated voices reach me from the front garden. They're fighting again. Things have been going so well, lately.

"You have to tell her," Mom says. "For crying out loud, Ben. Can't you own up to your actions for once?"

I cross the lounge and stop in the open sliding door. My parents are standing on the veranda, facing the sea. They each have a drink in the hand. Dad's prized bottle of Scotch stands on the table. Considering that it's not even lunchtime, whatever they're discussing is bad enough to warrant a strong drink.

Mom's words have an edge to them. "Is it so hard to admit you made a stupid mistake because you were driven by your greed?"

"Enough," Dad says, his voice hard. "Telling her won't serve her any good."

I drop my bag on the floor. "Tell me what?"

My mom spins around, regarding me through slitted eyes. "Are you eavesdropping? In my house? Don't you know how?—"

"Margaret," Dad says, his tone shutting her up. "This house belongs to everyone in this family, not only to you."

"I see nothing ever changes around here." Mom slams her glass down on the table. "My opinion clearly doesn't matter."

My dad tilts his face to the sky. "For heaven's sake. Can we not do this now?"

"Sure." Mom smiles sweetly. "Whatever you want. You're the breadwinner. That earns you all the say."

I look between them. "Tell me what?"

"It's not about you," Dad says. "It's business-related."

Mom pulls her lips into a thin smile and looks away.

"More importantly, we want to talk to you about what happened this morning," Dad says.

I don't want to discuss it anymore. "Ryan said he already told you."

Mom crosses her arms. "Where's the car?"

"I donated it to charity."

"What?" She laughs like she does when she's upset. "Which charity?"

"The homeless shelter."

"You did the right thing," Dad says, shooting my mom a look. "Is that all?"

"I told them to call me when I have to sign the transfer of ownership papers."

"I meant with regard to Angelo Russo." He clenches his jaw when he says the name.

"Yes," I say, crossing my fingers behind my back. I still hate lying to my dad even though I can do it now without blushing. "Why don't you stop doing business with his family?"

My dad frowns. He gives a soft, uncomfortable chuckle. "What?"

"Why are you still in business with them?"

Mom lifts her chin and glares at him in a way that says, I told you so.

"It's complicated," Dad says. "Unfortunately, it's one of those necessary evils."

Mom snorts. "That's putting it mildly."

"Margaret," he says again, harsher this time. "Shouldn't you check on the lunch?"

"Of course." She untangles her arms and squares her shoulders. "Whatever you say."

Dad groans as she walks with a stiff back to the lounge. "Margaret, come on. I didn't mean it like that."

Ignoring him, she makes her way to the kitchen.

My heart beats a little faster when I face my dad. "What's really going on, Dad? You're scaring me when you and Mom fight like this."

"Nothing." He crosses the veranda and rubs my arm like he used to do when I was little and he wanted to soothe me. "Would you like a glass of wine before lunch? You're eighteen now after all."

"No, thanks."

He chuckles. "Ryan said you had a little too much champagne last night. I'm glad you had fun."

I don't correct him about the fun part.

He clears his throat. "You know how much you and your siblings mean to me, don't you?"

"Of course."

"You've always been the apple of my eye." He smiles as if to himself. "I'd always get into trouble with your mother for that."

"For having a favorite?" I ask, my throat tightening. Mattie is Mom's favorite, and I know how much that used to hurt before I was old enough to understand. I'd hate for Mattie to have felt the same about Dad and me.

"For spoiling you." He takes a sip of his drink. "Yet you're not a spoiled child." He chuckles. "Sorry. You're not a spoiled adult. Where does time go? My little girl is a grown woman now. You're a good person."

"Um, thanks," I say, not quite meeting his gaze, because I'm not a good person.

"Your happiness is important to me. Very."

"Dad?" I search his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"If you and Colin ever decide to get married, it'll make me very happy."

I blow out a sigh. "Mom put you up to this, didn't she?"

He shrugs. "Colin is a good young man. I know you like him."

"Like a brother," I exclaim. "Please don't start with the matchmaking too. It's bad enough that Mom has been on my back about it since high school."

"I'm only saying if you should ever develop romantic feelings for him, I'll go to my grave peacefully, knowing you're in good hands and taken care of."

I hook my arm around his. "First of all, I can take care of myself. Secondly, you're not going to your grave any time soon, so let's drop the subject of finding me a husband."

"I'm just saying." He pats my hand. "I know you're capable of doing perfectly fine without my—or your mother's—meddling."

"Thank you," I say, kissing his cheek. "Shall we go see if Mom needs help? I don't want her to think we're excluding her from our conversations."

"You go ahead. I'll be there in a minute."

Mom is banging spices on the counter when I enter the kitchen. The fragrant smell of bobotie rises from the stove. Although the sweet Malaysian curry is one of my favorite dishes, my stomach turns at the odor of the garlic, turmeric, cinnamon, and ginger that hangs in the air. It's going to take a while before I find my appetite. The painkillers are working out. I'm raw and sore, not only where my skin is burned but also inside.

"Can I help?" I ask.

I give a start when my mom turns abruptly and puts her arms around me. She holds me close, hugging me like she's never done. I wrap my arms around her shoulders and give her an awkward pat on the back.

Tears shimmer in her eyes when she pulls away.

"Are you all right?" I ask, tensing in alarm.

She wipes a finger under one eye, catching a tear. "Oh, it's just the idea of you also leaving the house so soon. I'm not looking forward to being an empty nester."

"I won't be far. Cape Town is only a four-hour drive away."

She sniffs. "I know, but you're moving in with Ryan and Celeste, and I'm not welcome there."

"Oh, Mom. You know you're always welcome at their place. Celeste just feels bruised about how you criticize her."

She waves a hand. "I'm not going to turn my own heart into a cesspool of sin by lying about my feelings."

I laugh. "That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"You and your father would think so. When the two of you side together, it doesn't matter what I say."

"That's not true." I lean against the counter, dipping my head to catch her gaze. "Your opinion does matter. We may not always agree, but that's a different issue."

She scoops raisins from a jar and adds them to the spiced minced meat browning in the pan.

Biting my lip, I study her. I always turn to my dad with questions because he gives me straight-forward and honest answers. His truth isn't as tainted with manipulation as my mom's.

However, there's something he's not telling me. I didn't buy the story about discussing work when I caught them fighting. This time, my mom may be the one to ask.

"You know something?" I start carefully. "We never talked about the night I let Angelo into the house. I know I disappointed and hurt you."

Startled, she looks at me. "You said you were sorry. There was nothing more to say."

"I still regret that I did it. Sometimes, I think the guilt will never go away."

"Nonsense." Grabbing a cloth, she wipes down the counter with jerky movements. "We moved past that. Angelo Russo manipulated you in a scandalous way."

"And because of that, Dad lost a part of his business."

She stills, clenching her fingers around the cloth.

"I'll never forgive myself for that," I say honestly.

"Is that how you feel after all this time? Guilty?"

"Yes," I admit in a whisper. For so much more than I'm telling her.

"Well, you shouldn't. It's over. We can't change what happened. We just have to move forward." She adds after a beat, "Without guilt."

"Earlier, outside…" I hesitate. "What were you and Dad really arguing about? What doesn't Dad want to tell me? Does it have something to do with the money he lost?"

She dumps the cloth in the sink and brushes her hands over her apron before facing me. "It sounds as if you've suffered more than enough guilt. Why don't we let this go, hmm? You'll see. Things will be better once you're in Cape Town."

I want to believe that. At some stage, I did. Didn't I say the same to myself? After last night, I no longer do. Nothing will be different. Angelo will always be a part of me, ingrained in my soul. He did a too good job during that first year. He's part of my dreams and my nightmares. He's imbedded in my guilt and burned into my skin. He'll continue to show up on every day I turn a year older. I know it with a deep-seated certainty.

The situation won't change in Cape Town.

It won't change anywhere.

The question is why.

Is it some sick game? Does he get off on tormenting me? Does he ruin other people's lives for fun?

The only way to stop a game is to no longer play it. It sounds easy, but it's not as simple as that. How can I end or win the game if I don't even know the rules?