Say You're Mine

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says gently.

His voice still manages to sound gruff, but something about it makes me believe him. He’s been kind when he could have been cruel, and part of me thinks he actually believes what he’s telling me. He sees this as him doing the right thing.

“I love my parents.”

“Even if they kidnapped you?” he challenges.

I nod. I’m close with my dad, and I know my mom cares for me even if she doesn’t show it. But her trying to marry me off to Brock was too far. At the end of the day, what she wants always overrides what I want. It doesn't matter that I’m an adult; she will always try to control my life in one way or another.

“I can't flip a switch and turn it off. That’s not how love works. Even if everything you’re saying is true, I’ll miss them and want to see them.” I swipe at my cheeks as more tears start to fall. I lower my chin and look down at my hands, silently wishing once again for this to be a dream.

“Shit,” I hear him grumble.

A moment later, he pulls me to the bench he’s sitting on and wraps an arm around me. The fact that he’s being so nice only makes me cry more. I don’t understand any of this, and the confusion is adding to my emotional breakdown.

“I have no idea how love works, but I can’t take you back to them. At least not yet.”

“Yet?” I jerk my head up, and my eyes meet his.

“Let’s say what I’m telling you is true. You don’t want to meet your real parents?”

“I don’t know.” It’s not something I considered, and a barrage of emotions takes over inside of me. It’s too much to understand, so I fight it. “It’s not true, so it doesn’t matter. This is crazy.”

He starts to say something else, but there’s a knock at the door before someone calls out for tickets, and it slides open.

“Tickets?” the short man asks.

Dutch lifts me off his bench and puts me back over on the other one. He hands the man some papers and then the two American passports. The train guy goes through the papers then shoves one into his pocket before handing Dutch the tickets back.

Next I watch as he opens the passports then looks at me and then at Dutch. After that, he slides the passport bars through a small machine and it beeps. He hands them back to Dutch and nods to both of us.

“The beverage cart is open and there are snacks available too. Have a good trip,” he says before stepping back out and closing the door behind him.

I reach over and grab for the passport, but Dutch holds it so I can’t. “I want to see.” I hold my hand out, and his lips twitch before he places it in my palm. I flip it over and see a picture of a woman that is clearly not me.

“But…” He takes it back from my hand. “How?”

“Money can get you most things.” He slips the passports back into his bag. “You did good though. Didn’t say a word.” He almost sounds proud.

“Because you would have hurt him.”

“Is that really the reason? Even at the train station you were quiet as a mouse except to mess with those women.” He’s not wrong, but I don’t like seeing him so smug. “You jumped into the water not knowing how to swim but haven't tried to get away again. At least not since I told you why I was here.” He’s right, and I hate it.

I push back in my seat. “What are you getting at?”

“You’re curious.”

I am even though I shouldn’t be. “This is all stupid. You said you’d tell me once we were on the train. So…”

He runs his hand down his face. I don’t miss the scars along his knuckles, and I wonder what kind of life he’s had. His words of not understanding love come back to me.

“Your parents are Bronson and Freida Dian,” he tells me, lifting his brows.

“If you’re waiting for a reaction, you’re not going to get one. I don’t know those names.”

“How about a picture?” He pulls one out from the file next to him and hands it over. I take it from him and flip it over.

It’s an old picture, but as I look at the young woman in it, the air leaves my lungs. I stare down at her and realize she’s probably around my age in this picture. She has my same body build and hair, but it’s more than that. It’s her features that draw me in, with the same small, upturned nose and the dark freckles across her cheek. She’s smiling, and there are two dimples deep in her cheeks the same as mine.