8. Sophia

8

SOPHIA

" A re you excited for Sicily?" Leonardo asks.

I feel like I'm sitting on the other side of gauzy fabric. My brothers are there, but the fabric hides them. They are speaking words, but the fabric is muffling them.

Nothing feels real, and every word they speak feels loaded.

But I try to smile. "Sunshine sounds great. Guessing I won't be slipping on cold, damp tiles." I rub my hip for effect. I did as Theo said. They tried to steer me up the stairs, even though I limped towards them.

Instead, I redirected us to the family room, and I swear I could see the relief on Leonardo's face as we found it empty.

Luca leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. "How do you feel about perhaps leaving a little earlier?"

"I would need to speak to my medical team to make the adjustments," I say.

"Why don't you let me take care of that for you?" Leonardo asks.

I just realized the trauma unit must have some kind of power of attorney or guardianship agreement or something with my family that they are allowed to be so involved in making these life-changing decisions for me.

If my family members are what the media paints them to be, they are powerful, conniving, and have reach. Foolish doesn't even begin to cover how I feel. They've pretended to love, care, and nurture me. Now they plan to marry me to a stranger whether I want to or not. It must be why I crashed the car. I don't know the circumstances that led up to this, but I must have been frantic.

Was I trying to escape? To flee?

The first thing I'm going to do when they leave is fix who has control of what affects me. And I need to prepare for threats of removal of support. If they are willing to marry me off for the sake of the family enterprise, I can only imagine what they will do to try and control me.

"When were you thinking?" I ask. It's hard to focus on the conversation, and I'm sure they must sense something is off.

Leonardo looks at Luca, then back to me. "Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" That gives me no time at all. A part of me just wants to say no, that I don't want to go anymore. But if the plan is to get me to marry an absolute stranger, they'll find a different way to do it, even if I say no.

Suddenly, my two brothers feel even more like strangers than they did when I first woke up.

Worse, they feel like my enemies. "Tomorrow is too soon. I haven't even packed my things."

"That's okay," Luca says. "We can pay someone here. You can buy all new things. I've had credit cards with your name on them made. You can buy whatever you want when we get there, my treat."

"The buying isn't what bothers me. I'm not willing to fly anywhere without clear and solid rehab plans. I've worked too hard to let it slip now." I also want to rage. Who thinks it's okay to drag me away from the care providers I've grown to trust? Who thinks it's a good idea to take a person with amnesia away from every bit of familiarity that might help them access memories?

Why the hell would I want to go? Was I always such a pushover that I'd just do what they say? I'd hate to think that I was.

"A few days without therapy won't make or break your recovery," Luca says. "We'll have everything set up for you. You don't have to worry about a thing. We'll look after you, I promise."

"I don't even know if I can fly after a brain injury like mine. I'll have to check in with Dr. Polunin. And then there's travel insurance? Health insurance?"

Both of them look at me. "Such a worrier," Leonardo says.

"I'm sorry. I don't think I feel comfortable leaving without a plan. Sicily sounds lovely, but I might be better off staying here. Or leave in a week or two so I have time to ask if the center has any recommendations for a private clinic there and we can arrange for liaison and transfer of files."

Luca smiles, but there is a sharp edge to it. "You forget who we are, Sophia. Money can move mountains. We can move quickly but still have the plans you require. Give us twenty-four hours."

The sincerity in his face scares me most. He's lying, and if I didn't know better, I'd believe he was telling me the truth.

I was only just getting my arms around this new world I live in, and now the very foundation I built it all on, my family, is crumbling.

Loneliness bites me.

Then reality settles over me. I'm the daughter of a crime family. I'm probably dragging Theo into something he doesn't need to be dragged in to. But I need his help.

More importantly, I think I'm going to need his club's help if they come for me.

"My image no longer matches my passport photograph." Like my license that has become my talisman. An anchor of who I really was.

Leonardo chuckles. "We're an important Sicilian family. And we're taking a private jet. You'll have no trouble getting into Sicily. From there, you can apply for a new passport before we travel home."

Luca gives Leonardo a brief glance, and I can almost read between the lines. He's saying too much.

I swallow three, four times to fight the tears that are threatening.

Tension crackles between us. I wonder if it's as obvious to them as it is to me that something is off here.

"That sounds good. I should probably figure out how to apply makeup before I have my photograph taken." I touch my eye patch, and Leonardo looks at me sympathetically.

"You're still lovely, Soph," he says.

"Yes, but do I leave my prosthetic eye out or put it in? Do you know the rules? And if it's out, do I still put mascara on the lids?"

Luca grimaces. "Enough, Sophia."

Leonardo laughs.

I can't bring myself to do anything. It's taking too much effort to talk as if I didn't just overhear them in the parking lot talking about effectively trafficking me to another country for the good of our family.

After the crash, I barely knew anything about my life, but my family was the one thing I assumed I could trust. Now, I know I can't, and I remember what Theo said when we were outside.

We need to listen. Learn everything. Ask as many questions as you feel like you can .

"So, where in Sicily are we going?"

"We're going to land in Palermo and stay there for a few days," Leo says. "We have business there, so you can shop and sightsee."

"And after?"

"To our place just outside Trapani," Luca replies. "The point is to get you some sun, some fresh, clean, salty air. You need a vacation, even if it's from recovery."

I smile again because I'm supposed to. This is all too much. I start to feel sick, can feel my palms growing sweaty.

"You know, I think the fall winded me a little," I say. "I feel like I'd be better seeing one of the physical therapists to make sure I didn't do anything a little more serious. I'll message you later. Okay?"

"Of course," Leonardo says, standing before kissing both my cheeks. "We can be ready when you are."

Luca studies me for a moment. The professional liar can obviously see I'm lying too. But I can't change that.

"Be well," Luca says.

I watch the two of them head toward the exit. Their silhouettes match. Tailored suits and lean frames. The sharp click of their highly polished dress shoes on the parquet floor keeps the same beat. They are strangers.

"Sophia."

I jump at my name and turn, unable to ease my heart rate even as I take Theo in. He's such a contrast to the men who just left. Rough but honest. Tattooed and dressed in a frayed hoodie.

The relief I feel at the sight of him is immeasurable.

"I'm going to run to the back to see if I can overhear them say anything else," Theo continues. He hands me a key card. "Go to my room and wait for me there. I doubt they'd be so foolish, but if they suspect anything, they may act. You know how pissed Dawn was two days ago about the party, but she did nothing about it out of fear."

He tells me the room number, then disappears down the hallway.

Tears sting my eyes.

I don't feel safe anymore, even here, my second home for all this time. My whole body hurts; my head spins. Following Theo's instructions, I go to his room. It makes sense to hide here. My brothers know my room number, my hallway, the staff, my physio, what treatment rooms I typically use. I bet Leo could ask for a key card from Dawn, and she'd give him one.

At this, the tears fall. I swipe them away viciously. I don't have time for self-pity. I need to feel safe first. Then I can allow myself the luxury of wondering what the hell is happening to my life.

I step carefully up to Theo's room and open the door. The room is plush like mine, but where I have done things to make my room homey, Theo has few personal effects. A book sits on the bedside table, a biography of a decorated military veteran. A laptop sits on his desk.

A part of me wants to pry, to learn more about the man I'm trusting.

I look up, and the mirror is right there in front of me. I snap my eye patch over my head and force myself to stare at my reflection. It's not going to get easier.

I suddenly understand what my therapist has been saying about self-acceptance. I take in the indentation where the elastic presses against my skin. The scaly red line where the bottom of the patch rubs no matter how much petroleum jelly I put on my cheek. The red eye socket and the eyelid with eyelashes.

My prosthetic eye with its fake iris designed to match my original eye, yet it doesn't.

I lie down on Theo's bed and curl up tight. His pillow smells of him. Musky and soft. Panic washes over me in waves. I need a plan to make money. A job, of sorts. And I need a place to live that is safe and secure, which effectively rules out any of my friends. I have to assume my family will know them.

And I need to figure it out quickly.

But it's so overwhelming.

I don't think I can do this on my own.

And as I breathe, as I try to calm myself before I throw up, all I can see is Theo.