Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

AURORA

" E leanor is not permitted to see you. Don't you dare try coming to this house again or I'll call the police." The front door slammed in my face.

I had known from the last text Eleanor was able to send me that her mother was refusing to let her see or even call me. I had hoped that if I pleaded with her in person she would relent. I was wrong. As I turned to leave, I heard a sound from above.

"Psst! Psst!"

I looked up. Eleanor was leaning out an open window. She motioned with her head for me to go around back.

I nodded.

I first went down the driveway so her mother would think I'd left before circling around to the back of their house. It took several minutes. Like I had in my old life, Eleanor lived in a massive mansion on the edge of Hyde Park.

As I neared the back entrance, Eleanor appeared. Without saying anything she motioned behind me. I turned and headed for the sanctuary of the trees. We walked in silence until we saw the gold steeple of the Albert Memorial. I gripped the black wrought-iron fence.

Eleanor stood next to me. "Sorry about my mom."

I shrugged.

"Are you okay?"

I shrugged again.

"Come on, Rory. Talk to me!"

"It would have been nice if you came to the funeral."

"I'm sorry. It's… it's hard right now. The media. The police. Mrs. Salisbury warning us all not to talk to you. My parents. Plus I have university in the fall to consider."

I nodded. I was a pariah. It wasn't right to take it out on Eleanor. I turned and gave her a half-hearted smile. "It's fine. I know. I don't want to burden you."

She looked over her shoulder. "Listen, I need to get back before she knows I'm gone." She dug into her pocket and pulled out a roll of pound notes. "Take this."

I shook my head. "I couldn't."

She grabbed my wrist and pried my hand open. She placed the pound notes in my palm and closed my fingers around it. "Yes, you can. It's four thousand pounds. It's all I've got."

"I'll pay you back."

She gave me a hug. Speaking against my hair, she said, "Don't worry about it. I'll steal something from the back of my mother's jewelry box and hock it. She'll never miss it."

I wiped at the tears on my cheeks.

She stepped back. I already missed her.

"What are you going to do now?"

I shrugged. "I can't go home. It's too dangerous. Besides, Roman owns it all now. I think I'm just going to try and find a job, maybe rent an apartment, and lay low for a little while, at least until the media around my mom's death dies down."

"They are starting to report it was a murder–suicide and that you aren't a prime suspect anymore," said Eleanor, her voice going up an octave in an attempt to appear lighthearted.

I gave her a watery smile as I raised my arm. "Yay. Three cheers for murder–suicide."

"I'll try and call you when I can. My mother took my phone away but I'm sure I can annoy her enough into giving it back to me in a few days."

"I ditched my phone."

Her brow wrinkled. "Why?"

"I don't want him knowing where I am. He can track me through my phone, I'm sure of it. He has that kind of power."

"You realize you're sounding a little paranoid. You act like Roman Winterbourne has it out for you. Like he has some kind of vendetta against you."

I laughed hysterically as I pushed a tangled curl away from my eyes.

Eleanor grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me until I stopped laughing. "Stop it! Stop it! You're scaring me."

I swallowed. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's silly."

There was no point in telling Eleanor the lengths Roman had gone to, to destroy my life. She would think I was completely bonkers. I wouldn't blame her if she did. It wasn't rational. None of what had happened was rational. And there was no place I could turn to for help. The police certainly wouldn't help me. Clearly, Roman had some sort of sway over them. The solicitors were no help either. If I tried to go to the media, they'd probably have me committed. After all, what would I say?

This uber-billionaire who I'd never met before was suddenly so obsessed with me that he ruined my parents' lives and framed me for murder in order to force me under his control and into his bed? It sounded crazy just saying it in my head, and I at least knew it to be true !

Eleanor looked over her shoulder again. "I have to go. Promise you'll try to keep in touch."

I gave her a hug and promised.

I was lying.

Eleanor headed off. Halfway home, she turned and waved, then ran the rest of the way home.

I was truly alone now.

I looked down at the crumpled roll of pound notes in my hand. I would get a hotel room for the night and start looking for a job and an apartment tomorrow. It wasn't much of a plan, but at least it was a plan.

One week later…

I let my fingers linger over the piano keys as the final strains of Robert Schumann's 'H?r' ich das Liedchen klingen' drifted and died. The lyrical lament And my heart wants to burst so strongly From the savage pressure of pain echoed in my head.

Mr. Harris, the general manager of the hotel where I worked, approached the lobby piano where I sat. "Rory, I don't want to have to tell you again. Upbeat! Fun songs! Songs the guests will recognize."

I sighed. "Sorry, Mr. Harris. It won't happen again."

I meant it. I needed this job. It had taken me days to find someone willing to hire an eighteen-year-old. It was a crappy job playing show tunes in a hotel lobby, but at least it was a job. Plus, Mr. Harris was willing to pay me off the books. I didn't want to risk Roman finding me. I was certain he had ways of tracking me down, so I was trying to stay as off-grid as possible. I reached out to Eleanor only once from a library computer across town. I then used most of the money she gave me to pay three months' rent in advance. It was the only way my super shady landlord would let me rent the one-room flat.

"I like you, Rory. You're a good kid. I'm trying to help you out here, but I can't keep you on if you keep playing all these melancholy songs."

"Yes, Mr. Harris. I really appreciate the job. I promise. Nothing but happy songs tomorrow."

He winked. "Good. Now get out of here. It's late. Do you want Bobby to walk you to the tube?"

I shook my head. His son, Bobby, creeped me out. "No, thanks. I'll be fine."

"Grab an umbrella from the lost box. It's raining."

I gathered my things out of the employee locker room and selected the least tattered-looking umbrella and made my way to the tube for the twenty-minute ride to East Croydon. It was late, after midnight. I kept my head down, refusing to make eye contact with any of the drunks or passersby. I got off the train and emerged into the station. The four steel ladder masts made it look like a massive suspension bridge. Unfortunately, this late at night it had more of the somber look of urban decay rather than a bright shiny spot of progress in an otherwise depressed neighborhood.

The cold rain was coming down in sheets. So far it had been a very cold and dreary spring. Perhaps Mother Nature was sympathizing with my plight. I opened the umbrella and stepped out from under the shelter of the station overhang. A gust of wind immediately turned the umbrella inside out. Tossing the tattered metal skeleton into a nearby bin, I knew my thin cardigan sweater would be no match for the pounding rain.

With a resigned sigh, I adjusted the shoulder strap on my backpack and trudged down the grimy, slick sidewalk to my one-room flat. There was only room enough for a tiny bed and a beat-up bureau with a hot plate. There wasn't even a private bathroom. I shared a bath with the rest of the residents on my floor. It was tiny and dank and miserable, but it was all I could afford. I had to make Eleanor's four thousand pounds stretch as far as I could until I started making more of my own money. Although at this pace, it would be years before I could afford to travel across the channel to Paris.

A man in urine-stained clothes approached me. "Smile! Let me see you smile!"

I lowered my head and tried to scurry past him.

He grabbed at my backpack. "Why won't you smile, bitch!"

I kicked him in the shins and ran all the way to my apartment. By the time I climbed the arduous five flights of outside stairs to my floor I was soaked to the bone. As I ran down the narrow outside hallway, I could hear the usual nighttime cacophony of police sirens, shouts, and loud music. My hands shook as I tried to put the key in my battered front door. The slightly loose doorknob wobbled as I turned it. I swept inside and slammed the door shut behind me. Dropping my backpack to the floor, I locked the doorknob and scrambled to put the thin chain on as well.

I crossed a few steps into the one-room flat and used the glow from the neon sign across the street to find the chain to the single light bulb that dangled from the ceiling. I yanked on it. The meager light cast a sickly glow onto the ghastly pea green, water-stained walls.

I didn't have the energy to trudge down the hall to the common bathroom when my reward would only be a lukewarm shower. Peeling my soaked cardigan off my shoulders, I kicked off my water-logged ballet slippers and fell down onto the bed, uncaring if my dress soaked the thin blanket and secondhand sheets.

I used my foot to drag my backpack closer. I rummaged around and found the smooshed half sandwich in the front pocket that I had managed to save from the daily lunch the hotel gave its staff. Sitting on the edge of my bed, I slowly unwrapped it. Moaning and thumping sounds from the apartment next door rattled the meager shared wall. I wished I had a television or radio to put on to drown out the sound, but there was nothing.

I tossed the sandwich aside. My appetite hadn't improved from earlier today. A shiver racked my body, which was odd because I felt hot and clammy. I pulled a threadbare blanket over my head and curled up on my side, trying in vain to block out all the noise and chaos around me. All I needed was sleep.

I thought of Roman. He would be returning to London soon. What would happen when he learned I had never returned to my mom's house? Would he try to find me? I didn't want him to, of course. The man was evil. A psychopath. I wanted him out of my life. I didn't miss him or his scent or the feel of his hands or the strength of his embrace one little bit.

As I closed my eyes, I imagined feeling his arms around my middle as I snuggled deeper into his warm soft bed. For the fifth night that week, I cried myself to sleep.