Page 20 of Every Step She Takes
I hear the bite in that word, like armor snapping around me. I shake it off. I need her to think I come defenseless, expecting a gentle, tear-and-apology-filled reunion.
I want to try for something softer, but standing in front of her, there’s nothing soft in me.
That’s a lie. Thereissoftness – and every instinct screams to protect it, to shield myself before she can home in on my weak spots.
Forget subtlety, then. I’m in no mood to manufacture it. Too angry and too anxious, and I must focus on the former.
I stride past her and look around. “Where are you hiding the cameras?”
“Cameras?” Her voice crackles, as if she has to dig to find it.
I turn on her. “You sent a parcel bearing my old name into my new life. If you found me, you know I don’t go by Lucy anymore. That parcel was a grenade lobbed over the parapet.”
She blinks. “No, that wasn’t – By using your old name, I only wanted to get your attention.”
“Because otherwise, I’d ignore a parcel addressed to me? Who does that? Someone else found that parcel. Someone I haven’t told about my past.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t think–”
“Youalwaysthink, Isabella.” I walk into the suite. “I’m here because I recognize a threat when I see one. By using my old name, you reminded me that you know who I am, so I’d damn well better accept your invitation. After I arrived, I realized this might be more than a personal takedown. Then I saw the hotel you’d chosen, and that left no doubt.”
Isabella walks to a chair and lowers herself into it. “I’ve made a mess of this.”
“Only if you expected I wouldn’t figure out what you were up to.”
“There is no camera crew, Luce – Genevieve.”
“Lucy to you.”
She nods. “Look around all you like. If you’re worried about hidden cameras, I’ll phone down and ask for another room.”
I almost say yes to call her bluff. But if wearebeing recorded, then she’s miked, and moving venues won’t help.
“No one is recording this?” I say.
“They are not.”
“I have your word on that? The understanding that I’ve come in good faith, with no agenda of my own, simply to hear what you have to say?”
“Yes.”
That’s enough for me, considering my phone is also recording this conversation in case I need to prove I wasn’t the doe-eyed idiot who bounded into her trap unaware.
“Why here, then?” I say.
She looks around the suite. “It was a good memory. I wanted to recapture that, to remind us both of a better time.”
“I am well aware of the fact that you were kind to me, and you were generous, and I betrayed you. Bringing me here only salts the wound.”
“Then I apologize. That was not my intention.” She watches me as I take a seat. “You’ve changed.”
I laugh. I don’t want to – not this kind of laugh, harsh and bitter. I bite it off and say simply, “I had to. But if you truly wish to extend an olive branch, Isabella, then I’d like to begin by saying that I don’t want to compare war wounds. You may accept the dubious honor of most injured.”
“I don’t want it,” she says softly. “I’m not sure I’ve earned it.”
“Then let’s put that aside. I’m fine. This is about you – what you need from this conversation.”
She rises and pours coffee without a word. When she hands me a cup, I pretend not to notice her hands trembling as I take the bone-china mug with thanks.
