Page 86 of Goldflame
I guess I could ask Lorenzo right now—Has Eleanora been told about this arrangement?But asking means potentially hearing an answer that will shatter another relationship I thought I understood.
Right now, I need the illusion of stability more than I need the truth. I need to believe in the bubble Lorenzo has created for me—this safe haven where family means something good rather than something toxic.
I’ll worry about Eleanora some other time.
“Italy,” I say instead, tasting the word. “Far away from Seattle.”
Far away from Julian. From Valentine’s betrayal. From Lady Harrow’s manipulations.
Far away from Adrian too.
My chest is back to aching. I don’t want to leave him, not after finding him again, but right now, with his walls firmly in place, he’s not giving me much reason to stay.
“You don’t have to decide anything yet,” Lorenzo says, reading my expression. “Just know you have options. A future beyond all this.”
A future. The concept feels mythical after spending so long consumed by the past and my hit list.
I haven’t even thought about the names on my list in days. The remaining assholes swim through my mind—Francis DeMarco, Olivia Marlowe, Gregory Whitman, Sergio Castellano, DeSean Smith.
Lady Harrow.
I’m not really sure how I can finish off the names, given the situation. I don’t even know whathappens when Julian expects me to return and I don’t. Maybe I should just fly to Italy now.
I could walk away from it all, walk away from Julian.
What would happen to him? Despite everything, despite the drugging and the selling and the imprisonment, some twisted part of me still cares and wonders if he could be saved from the darkness.
I drop my head, feeling Lorenzo’s gentle, concerned gaze on me.
It’s all too much. Too many questions without answers. Too many paths that all seem to lead back to pain.
“Aurelia?” My cousin’s voice cuts through the fog, and he leans forward, touching my arm softly. “Are you okay, cugina? You look distressed.”
I force a smile that feels brittle enough to crack my face. “Just thinking.” I stand, suddenly needing to be alone. “I should… I need a minute. Excuse me.”
The hallways of Lorenzo’s mansion blur as I flee back to my room. Inside, I shut the door and sink against it, sliding down until I hit the floor. The heavy oak against my back is the only solid thing in a world spinning out of control.
In my mind, I’m back in Julian’s penthouse. Back in the darkness where he held me down. His hands are around my throat.
“You’re still mine.”
I feel sick, but I swallow it down, forcing air through my constricted windpipe. Four days of safety hasn’t erased weeks of terror. It lives in my marrow now and resurfaces when I least expect it.
I just want to feel normal again for five goddamn minutes.
I push myself up and stumble toward the bathroom, flipping on lights as if the brightness can chase away Julian’s shadow.
I move to the marble counter and the row of products lined up below the mirror. My fingers hover over them, as I read product names. La Mer face cream. Fresh Sugar lip scrub. The exact Moroccan hair oil I’ve been using for years. Precisely what I’d have chosen myself.
I know Adrian is the one who put these here before I arrived because he knows my preferences.
A flicker of warmth ignites in the part of my heart I keep trying to ignore. Even as he keeps his distance, he’s thinking of me. Caring for me in his indirect way. The man is a contradiction wrapped in an enigma, sealed with a riddle.
But I can’t dwell on that now. I need this ritual of normalcy, just some reminder that my body is still mine despite everything the Consortium tried to take from me.
I twist open jars and unscrew bottles, breathing in familiar scents. My fingers relearn the contours of my face as I massage creams into my skin. For fifteen minutes, I exist purely in sensation. The cool slip of serum, the gentle pressure of my fingertips along my jawline, the light sting of toner.
When I finish, I stare at my reflection. The deep bags beneath my eyes are still there, but at least I have color in my cheeks again. The woman looking back at me is someone I almost recognize.
