There’s some irony in that.
We step into a brightly lit hallway with sconces placed every few feet along the walls. The wallpaper is a cream color with faint golden stripes. The flooring out here is a dark wood, which gleams beneath the light.
“This is beautiful.”
“Thank you. It has been my home since I was a boy,” he says. “I always wanted to raise my family among the history here.” He leads me down the hallway toward a set of stairs. We descend slowly. “The family who raised you—were they kind?”
“Very. God blessed me by placing me with kind people. I know that a lot of kids who end up in the system don’t get so lucky.”
“Yes, well, I’m glad you didn’t suffer as a child, though I wish we’d been able to raise you.”
“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant.” My cheeks heat. Regardless of how I got here, I feel a little guilty. And how twisted is that? They kidnapped me, but I feel guilty because I loved my adoptive parents.
He pats my hand. “I know it’s not.” He pauses outside a set of double doors. “Are you ready?”
I take a deep breath. Why does this feel so intimidating? “Yes.”
Gio reaches forward and pushes the door open. A long table gleams beneath a chandelier hanging above, flickering lights that mimic candlelight. Mattheus is already here and is sitting on the left side while a woman sits directly in front of me, her back to me.
“My dearest, I have someone to introduce you to.”
“Who, my love?” the woman turns, her blonde curls swaying as she turns to face me.
The moment our eyes meet, my mouth falls slack. It’s like looking into a mirror, and any doubts I still had vanish as I stand here, staring at my mother.
Her gaze darkens a moment. “Who is this?”
“Do you really need to ask?” Gio says. “This is our dearest Gwendolyn,” he says softly. “Our darling daughter who was stolen from us. Mattheus found her and brought her home.”
The woman—Felicity—stands slowly, then crosses over toward me on tall heels that click as she walks. The black dress she wears is so different from what I normally wear—its tight fabric hugs her curves, while I prefer to wear looser fabric.
But her eyes—they’re the same shade as mine.
Her nose is dusted with the same freckles.
And for a moment, I forget all about the manner in which I was brought here and let myself sink into the knowledge that I have a living family. That they didn’t toss me aside at birth. They wanted me.
Truly wanted me.
“Hi,” I manage.
She comes to a stop before me, her eyes filling with tears as she reaches up and cups my cheek. “My darling daughter,” she chokes out. “You are alive.”
Chapter 9
Dylan
“If I could swim, this place might feel like paradise.” It was a code. Emma’s trying to tell me something about where she is. “She’s near an ocean,” I tell my mom as I set the phone onto the counter.
“An ocean. That could mean practically anywhere,” my dad replies, frustrated. “How do we even begin to narrow it down?”
“Tucker’s working on a trace,” I tell them. “I called him right after you called me. He hacked into the call.”
“Of course he did,” Dad replies proudly. “Then he should have a lock on her, right?”
“Maybe.”
“She’s okay,” my mother says. “That’s what matters, right?”
