I look back at Aunt Minnie, who smiles, and then at Uncle Jack, who bobs his head. I follow Jen out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“You’ll love it here,” she says as we make our way up. “We have a hot tub, which feels so good when it’s not too cold. The chill and the heat feel so amazing.”
“Does anyone know you live here?” I ask.
She thinks on it. “Besides our guards, no.”
“Any other family?”
“You mean the family members who would have tried to ship you off to another evil bastard?”
I look up at her as we meet at the top of the staircase. “You know about them too?”
“They tried to bribe my dad into marrying me to some Italian guy. I saw the letter he left in his office. He has a P.O. box in Utah. They think he lives there. Our guys used to go every month to check it, stay up to date, until we got those pictures of you months ago—heard about you and saw you were still alive. We started sending the guards every week then. Every week we got a new picture. Helped us sleep a little better at night.” She starts down the hallway until we’re at the third bedroom on the left. “I…don’t want to seem like I’m all in your business. I know you probably don’t want to think about it right now, but . . . did he try to kill you? He kept making threats.”
I look her in the eyes. “He did once.”
“And what happened?”
“He found out who I was. He was close to my dad.”
“Yeah, they said that’s the only reason he was keeping you alive.” Oh, but little does she know.
“Yeah. It was.”
She opens the door and lets me in. “Are you glad to be back?” she asks.
I step inside, looking from the canopy sheets hanging over the queen-sized bed, to the french doors on the left. There is a balcony out there, and I sigh. Good. I can get air when I need to.
The floors are still hardwood up here too, a vanity on the west wall. The walls are painted a soft salmon, matching the quilted comforter on the bed, the white pillows, and the salmon throw pillows.
It’s so basic.
So simple.
So beautiful.
So…different. All of this feels foreign to me now.
“I am,” I answer, peering over my shoulder at her.
She smiles. “Well, good. You’ll have fun with me here. We can go shopping. There’s a ski resort only two hours away. We could go there. I have a few friends—but they know me by an alias. Chrissy Harrison. If you want, I can have someone make one for you, get you fake IDs so no one knows your real name.”
“Sure. That’d be fun.”
“Great. We can talk about names later.” She points to the door on my left. “That’s your bathroom. It’s fully stocked. Like everything is in there. My mom and me went shopping for tampons, pads, body washes of all kinds for you to choose from, and I have some nail polish if you ever want to paint your fingernails or toes.”
“You guys are very sweet. Thanks, Jen.”
She nods. “I’ll let you settle in. I know you’ve had a long trip. I’ll come back when it’s time for dinner.”
I bob my head, and she walks out, giving a quick smile before disappearing and shutting the door behind her.
I sigh, looking around, up at the thick, brown beams, and then at the french doors. Walking over to the doors, I unlock them and grip the doorknobs, twisting them and drawing the doors apart.
The view is absolutely breathtaking.
The mountains stand tall, crowded with thick trees. The wooden guardrails lead down to a set of stairs that give way to the backyard. The backyard has a fire pit with cushioned lawn furniture set up around it.
Trees surround the home. It’s like being in the middle of nowhere, where no one can find you. No one will bother you. I have a feeling they moved here for a reason—to escape the dangers of the world. To have a safe haven.
The sky is darker, the crescent moon coming into view. I stare up at the mountaintops, breathing in the crisp, clean air, wanting so badly to drown in this fresh start…take it in and accept it.
But I can’t.
Because the only thing on my mind is him.
I can’t get rid of my thoughts about him. I hope, after a few days or even weeks here, he’ll become a distant memory that feels like it happened years ago.
But right now, with tears rimming my eyes, he is not that. My memories with him are fresh and deep, and it hurts to know that I’m the reason we can’t create more.
I wonder what he’s doing. How he’s holding up.
He is self-destructive and angry, and those things don’t mix.