by Nadia Lee
“Elizabeth, be reasonable,” Mom says. “If Ceinlys’s daughter is good enough for the Sterlings, why should you settle for…that man?”
The question hangs in the silence. I just stare at her. She glares back, her breathing rough. She truly believes the nonsense coming out of her mouth.
Finally, I say, “I’m not settling. I’m in love. It’s my choice.”
“Your choice? Ha! Your choice means nothing. Your choices change all the time. You chose to pursue art, but didn’t. You thought to do art while leading the foundation, but didn’t because you promised your grandmother.”
“How do you know about that promise?” I made it on Grandma Shirley’s deathbed. Mom wasn’t around, and the only person I told that is Tolyan…and later Dominic.
“Because I’m the one who told your grandmother you had to choose between the foundation and art. I told her you would neglect the foundation for your art, something she always feared. Why should you get to do both? You don’t get to be a painter on top of getting all the praise and recognition for helping the poor. It’s not fair!”
“Oh my God,” I whisper. “You were jealous of me all this time.”
“I was not!”
“Yes, you were. You wanted the recognition of leading the foundation, but Shirley chose me instead.”
“Mother only chose you because you were younger and blond!”
“If you showed a capacity to care about others the way you do about yourself, she probably would’ve made you the head of the foundation. She knew neither Vanessa nor I wanted it.”
Mom jumps to her feet. “I won’t stand for this insult.”
“There’s the door,” I murmur.
“You hateful little brat! Don’t come crying to me when you find out just what sort of trash your Dominic is!”
She spins on her heel and storms out, slamming the door with enough force to shake the walls.
I deflate in my seat, my head back and staring at the ceiling. Five minutes. Five minutes to compose myself. Then I have a man to love, a charity to run and a psycho to catch.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Elizabeth
There’s something comforting about being back in the routine of things—get up, have breakfast, go to the foundation to work on whatever project is pending, come home, have dinner. But there’s also some newness—Dominic, Kristen, Tolyan and Antoine. I’ve never had breakfast with more than one or two people, except when I was staying in Tuscany with Grandpa Thomas. And I’m not used to coming home to the love of my life…or spending evenings and nights with him, sharing my dreams and my body.
But there’s a small part of me that can’t forget the danger lurking outside. The guns Tolyan stashed in various nooks and crannies throughout the penthouse for me and Dominic are constant reminders that Andy’s waiting to smash my happiness. Dominic swore he’d take away what mattered the most to me, but it’s his return that’s mattered more than life itself, and it’s Andy who’s threatening it all.
I do my best to live every day like it’s a normal, ordinary day and not waste a moment thinking about Andy or all those horrible things Mom said during her last visit. Dominic’s people deliver Grandpa’s painting and the supplies from the studio on the island, and I’m thrilled when Dominic partitions a small section of our ginormous master suite into a studio and hangs the portrait where I can see it while I work.
“Only until we can find a place that works better for us,” he says, kissing me on the forehead.
“You’re the best!” I tackle him onto the bed and proceed to show him my appreciation for the rest of the night.
However, after three weeks with no move from Andy, I can’t help but wonder if we’ve miscalculated. Maybe he ran, and isn’t going to come back to hurt us.
I’m not the only one who thinks that. Kristen yawns over a coffee one Saturday morning and says, “Maybe he gave up. I mean, he knows we aren’t just going to be stupid and sit around and wait for him to come get us or something.”
I nod. “It does look that way…”
“Don’t get complacent,” Tolyan says, pouring himself a cup. “A man like Andy needs closure. He won’t give up until he has it.”
“But it’s been three weeks,” Kristen says.
“Lizochka got away from him. Twice. That makes what’s between them very, very personal. He’s going to want to finish what he started. This is precisely the time to be more vigilant.”
I sense a tremor start, and I clench my hands so Kristen doesn’t see my reaction.
“To you, he’s a nice, awkward cousin who killed bugs for you when you were little,” Tolyan continues. “To everyone else, he’s a sociopath who deserves to be put down like a frothing, rabid dog.”
She gapes at Tolyan, then finally says, “I can’t believe you talk like that.”
“I don’t sugarcoat things. If reality bothers you that much, you’re welcome to stick your head in some sand.”
“Tolyan,” I say softly. Kristen’s lived her entire life sheltered by Dominic, and violence and threats are the kind of things she sees only on TV. There’s a vast gulf between intellectual understanding and actual experience. I didn’t know how terrible it was to leave myself exposed until I did it and almost got raped as a result.
I look for something to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable topic…then notice a unique ring on her finger. It’s silver with multiple lines rippling like waves. Little chips of colored stone are embedded in even intervals. “That’s a gorgeous piece. Where did you buy it?”
“Oh, this?” She waggles her finger. “I designed it a couple of years ago. I wear it every time I want to feel extra lucky.”
I gasp. “You didn’t tell me you designed jewelry too!”
“Because I don’t. It’s just something I did for fun.”
“I want you to design me one.”
“No way. Don’t you have a ton of super-fancy ones made by famous people?”
“So? That doesn’t mean I can’t have an original Kristen King as well.”
“I don’t know…”
“Come on. Don’t be shy. Custom jewelry is a great business if you want to get into it.” I lean closer. “If you want, I can have my brother Ryder buy something from you.”
“Your brother Ryder?” She blinks a few times, then her mouth forms an O. “Ryder Reed?”
“Uh-huh. He’s all about spoiling his wife. It’ll make headlines.”
“Oh my God! Really?” She starts to fan herself, her hands moving like a hummingbird’s wings, her reluctance forgotten.
“Yup. So come on. Work up some designs, and I’ll ask him what he thinks.”
“Oh my God, oh my God! Does this mean I get to meet him?”
“If you want.”
“Yes!” She jumps, then yelps when she spills the hot coffee on her hand. “Ack, I’m so clumsy! Sorry.” She wipes the spilled coffee up, but there are some brown splatters on her white shirt. “Ugh. I really wanted to wear this to see Bea today.”
“Wanna borrow one of my shirts?”
“No. It’s okay. She wanted to see me in this one because it’s her design. I’ll have to tell her I couldn’t wear it.”
“Tell her Ryder’s going to buy your jewelry.”
“No! That’ll jinx it!”
I laugh as she disappears into her bedroom.
Tolyan sighs. “Does every woman become stupid when she hears your brother’s name?”
“He’s a movie star. That’s why.”
“I never understood the attraction.”
“You’re a man.”
He grunts, unimpressed with my explanation and my Hollywood star brother. “It’s too bad Dominic had to work.”
“He’s a busy man, and Saturday or not, business deals wait for no one.” I go to the living room, take a couch and turn on the TV. “He said he’d be done before lunch.”
While I browse Dominic’s movie selection, Kristen’s bodyguard slips inside. She managed to conv
ince Antoine to get the security detail down to one, saying it was ridiculous for her to have two when she wasn’t the target. The man seems competent, and he always shows up on time—Kristen doesn’t have him sleep in the penthouse, since Tolyan and Antoine are guarding the place at night.
A few minutes later, Kristen shows in a new shirt and leaves with a cheery wave. “See you tonight!”
“Have fun with your friend!” I say.
Tolyan watches the door, making sure it clicks shut all the way.
“Found it!” I cry out triumphantly.
“What?”
“Casablanca! I knew it would be here.”
“Dominic’s not the man I thought he was.”
I laugh. “Not his choice. I knew Kristen would like it.”
The movie’s such a classic, and I absolutely adore it. Tolyan yawns at least ten times. Sometimes he merely snorts, but he doesn’t comment, for which I’m grateful. He most likely doesn’t have anything complimentary to say.
“The main character’s stupid. He should’ve kept the girl.”
“Rick was doing it for the cause—”
“If the cause was flimsy enough to fail over him keeping the girl he wanted, it was destined to fail from the beginning.”
I giggle at his superior attitude. “You sound like you’re an expert.”
“I know a few things.”
I tilt my head, regarding him. I never, ever asked him, even when I helped bring his son to America. “Did you love her?”
“Who?”
“Lyosha’s mom.”
“I loved her as much as I was capable.”
Wow. That’s like a vow of undying love coming from Tolyan. “How’s Lyosha doing these days, by the way?”
“Typical teen. He thinks he was born fully formed with everything he needs to know embedded in his brain.”
Despite his dry tone, the corners of his eyes crinkle. It’s adorable how devoted he is, how much he loves his son.
But then his phone buzzes, and his usual scowl comes back. “Yes?” He goes still, a leopard sensing something wrong in his territory. “How bad is it?” A minute tremor runs underneath the flat voice, something I’ve never heard before.
The walls of my stomach jitter, and I swallow. The moment he hangs up, I say, “What’s wrong?”
His raises a forefinger. “I need to verify this.” He dials a number, then speaks for a few minutes, his face becoming grimmer. The last time I saw that expression was when he burst into Andy’s house and dislocated his jaw.
Tolyan hangs up. “It’s Lyosha. He was in a car crash earlier this morning.”
“Oh no! Is he all right?”
“He’s in surgery.” Tolyan’s eyes narrow. “Hit-and-run.”
“You should go to him.”
He nibbles his lower lip, then shakes his head. “There’s nothing I can do there. I told Dominic and Antoine I’ve got you. So I’m staying.”
I stare at him. I always thought his loyalty was to whoever could give him what he wanted. He chose me because I helped expedite the immigration process so he could be reunited with his son as quickly as possible. But I always believed he’d turn his back on me—the way he did to Shirley—if somebody offered him something better.
“What?” Tolyan says.
“I…I don’t know what to say. Lyosha’s your son.”
“You were there for my family, Lizochka. I’ll never forget that.”
My throat tightens. “Tolyan…”
He leans heavily against the back of the couch and runs his fingers through his tightly cropped hair. “They’ll call me when the surgery’s over.”
I sit next to him, my leg against his, and pat his knee. “Don’t. He needs you to be by his side. His spirit’s going to know if you don’t go.”
“But—”
“I promise I’m not leaving this penthouse or letting anybody in until Dominic and Antoine are back.”
“Not good enough.”
I firm my mouth and stand. “Fine. I’ll go to the hospital with you.”
“No.”
“Yes. I care about Lyosha too, Tolyan. I’m not going to sit here if that means keeping you away from him.”
“The wait’s going to be long, and there’re too many unpredictable variables at the hospital.” He shakes his head. “All those people going in and out. You’ll be too exposed with only me there.”
I place my hands on my hips. “It’s your choice. Either you go, or I go with you. Look, it’s a little after ten thirty now. Dominic said he’d be back before lunch. I’ll be okay for a couple of hours on my own. Nobody can come to this floor without using their fingerprints or getting buzzed in.”
Tolyan rolls his head left and right, then looks at the phone that’s still in his hand. “God damn it. Okay. I’m going, but call me if there’s anything’s. Anything. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“I’m also texting Dominic and Antoine so they know what’s going on.”
“Okay.”
He levels an index finger at me like the barrel of a cannon, his expression tight. “Don’t let anybody in, even if they’re carrying a vat of vodka and chocolate and flowers.”
“I won’t.” I gesture at the wet bar. “Dominic has plenty of vodka.”
“Not the fucking point,” he mutters, sighs when I smile at him, then leaves.
The penthouse feels extra empty without anybody else around.
I turn off the TV and go upstairs, determined to use the next hour or two to finish my painting. I haven’t had much time to devote to it since returning to L.A. The foundation has needed my attention, and I’ve given it a lot to make sure we’re going to be on target for all the major fundraisers and projects.
As I change into an old shirt and jeans, I pause. Why have I not felt suffocated in the office over the last three weeks? I often used to, even as the people we helped smiled at me from the pictures on the walls. I should’ve been feeling worse, knowing that Andy’s out there and what with Tolyan tagging after me everywhere.
But I haven’t.
I stand in front of the canvas. Every time I do this, I feel close to my grandfather. But this time, I close my eyes and imagine I can also see Shirley—her cool gray eyes, her smooth diction.
“Mom told me how she got you to make me promise to give up art forever. I broke that promise weeks ago on Dominic’s private island. I’m sorry I broke the promise, but I’m not sorry I painted. I love it, Grandma. It makes me feel more complete, more in touch with my heart…and I think that makes me a better leader for the family foundation. That was what you wanted, right?” I exhale softly. “You told me a Pryce is proud, knows what she wants, doesn’t cower before the world and doesn’t back down from anything. I know what I want—I want it all. I’m not giving up my dreams or love. But I promise you, I’ll never neglect the foundation and its mission. Making the world a better place is my wish, too.”
I exhale again, and feel like there’s light filling my heart. If there’s another world where people go after they die, Grandma Shirley is probably okay with my decision.
My phone rings. It’s a Skype video chat request from Kristen. I can’t imagine what she needs a video call for. Her usual preference is texts and calls, in that order.
I hit answer, in case it’s important. Everything inside me stills, then starts shaking like my body is having a monster earthquake.
On the screen is Andy.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Elizabeth
“Hello, Elizabeth.” Andy’s purring voice comes through, smooth and creepy, through the speaker. “I know you’re home. Alone.”
The pulse in my throat beats so hard, I feel like it’s blocking my air passage every time it throbs.
“I’ve been watching. Watching, watching, watching. It’s so fun to see you live like nothing’s wrong, while I’m watching. I’m sure that’s how lions feel, watching their prey.”
“Lionesses,” I rasp.
“What?”<
br />
“Lionesses. Only female lions hunt. Males don’t.” I have no idea why I’m telling him this. It’s like the connector between my brain and mouth got cut off. I have a psycho serial rapist and killer right on the phone. I need to do something.
“Stupid bitch. Like that matters. Don’t even think about calling anybody or I’ll make this bitch pay.”
He pulls something out from his pocket. Is it a gun? Wait, why would he have a gun? He can’t hurt me with it. Even if he’s in the lobby just before the biometric gates, he’s twenty-seven floors below.
You’re safe. You’re safe. You’re safe, you’re safe, safesafesafesafe.
Suddenly, he shoves something up against the camera. It’s too close to see clearly at first, just a blur of flesh-colored stick. Then slowly he pulls back, pressing it against his cheek. “Isn’t this beautiful?”
It’s a human finger, severed cleanly. My phone falls from my hand. The breakfast I had earlier gurgles upward, and I toss it all on the floor, my palms and knees hitting the hardwood. My stomach twists, pushing everything out, and I heave over and over again until my face’s hot and wet, my mouth coated with acid and bile.
Tolyan… No. There’s no way someone like Andy could’ve overpowered him, and the finger was too slim, too small. “You sick son of a bitch.” I want to sound strong and angry, but fail completely.
“What, you don’t like it? I thought it might be to your taste, since you don’t seem to care for puppies…which still breaks my heart. My sweet little cousin dropped something real pretty when she lost her finger.” He puts a silver ring between his forefinger and thumb and rolls it back and forth. “Pretty, isn’t it? Her design.”
Oh no. Kristen. Is she… Oh my God, is she dead? I put a hand over my mouth as another surge of bile rises from my gut.
“You do know my dear cousin designs jewelry?”
Designs? Thank God. She’s alive. She’s alive. We can probably reattach the finger.
“You have no idea how many times I wanted to just grab her, tie her to the bed using those silver chains she made and fuck her until she bled like a pig.”