Fate Book

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “Never again,” he whispered.

  I remember he’d said the same thing the night before.

  “Never again what?” I asked.

  “Let you go.”

  “I hope not,” I murmured. Not after this. And, if for some reason we ever got separated, I could only pray he’d find me again.

  “Wait. You never told me how you knew where I was,” I said.

  His eyes went wide, and he hopped from the bed, disappearing into the bathroom.

  What the…? “Paolo?”

  I heard him clear his throat. “We have our ways,” he called out.

  “Paolo, stop hiding and come here. What ways?”

  Paolo appeared in the doorway with a white towel wrapped around his waist. The blissful, sated look on his face had evaporated. Now he just looked downright uncomfortable.

  “Holy shit, Paolo,” I sat up, “you guys didn’t put some microchip in my head, did you?”

  He scratched his forehead and came to sit beside me. “No.”

  “Then what? And why do I feel like I’m not going to like this.”

  “Because you won’t,” he said. “But remember, we did it for your own good. And it did save you.”

  I pulled the sheet up over my body and crossed my arms. “Tell me.”

  He sighed. “Hand me my phone.”

  I did, and he began tapping the surface. Then he showed me the screen.

  “What the hell?” I said. It was a page from my notebook. “You guys copied my diary?”

  My mind began to race with all of the crazy, stupid, and personal—yes, personal!—things I’d written in there.

  I grabbed the phone and flipped through the screens. There were hundreds and hundreds of pages. My dreams of Paolo, my self-deprecating thoughts, and lots and lot of…just me, pining for Paolo.

  “How embarrassing.” I looked at him. “Both you and my father read this?”

  He nodded.

  “My most private thoughts.” I’m going to kill them. “But how did you make copies?”

  “We didn’t,” he replied. “The notebook is,” he cleared his throat, “not really a notebook. It’s made from a special material that only looks like paper. Everything you write goes through a small, nearly undetectable transmitter that can’t be tracked.”

  I wanted to punch him but was too mortified.

  “Your father,” he continued, “though I disagreed, thought it was the only way to really know what was going on in your life, who you were hanging out with.” He smiled stiffly. “I’m sure he meant well.”

  I dropped my head. I couldn’t believe it. I’d written down my very explicit dreams. Every detail. And come to think of it, that one morning when Paolo had arrived to take me to school, he’d been incredibly flustered.

  “Wait. When you disappeared earlier this year, was it because of this?” I asked. Because I wouldn’t blame him. I must’ve sounded like a depraved slut.

  “Your father was not happy when he saw what you wrote,” Paolo said. “Then you wished I’d go away because I was ruining your life, and he was more than happy to oblige. I was more than happy to get the hell out of there before you got me into trouble.”

  “So that’s why you left?” I asked.

  He nodded. “You have no idea how hard it was to keep my hands off you, Dakota. Especially after you wrote about us in the shower. I wanted you the moment I saw you, but after that, you made it fucking impossible. I haven’t been able to take my mind off you since.”

  That makes two of us.

  “I think,” he added, “the fact you told you’re mother about me—that you didn’t know me—saved my ass. I wouldn’t have lasted another day if she hadn’t found out your father lied to her.”

  Lied? “About what?”

  “That was her rule. She understands why he does what he does. I think she loves him for it. But her one condition was to keep you and her completely insulated. No bodyguards. No spying on you guys. She insisted you have a normal life.”

  That explained my mother’s bizarre behavior once I told her the truth about Santiago.

  “I can’t believe this.” I paused to digest for a moment. “But if she didn’t know who you were right away, then why did she act like she knew you the day I got run over?”

  “I lied to her.” He flashed a guilty grin. “I told her you and I had been secretly dating for almost a year, but that you were afraid to tell her. She was extremely upset at you for not trusting her.”

  No wonder she never brought up anything about him. And no wonder she acted so pissed at the hospital that day. “Paolo! How could you?”

  “I did what I had to.”

  “And when you came back to watch over me at college?” I asked, because by then she already knew who he was.

  “I think she realized she couldn’t protect you anymore. She asked your father to bring me back. Of course, he knew you were still…into me,” he coughed.

  Yes, I’d written about Paolo incessantly, like a girl with a bad teen idol crush. But it was only because my notebook was the only place I could turn to after Santiago slash Paolo had showed up and then mysteriously disappeared.

  “You mean completely obsessed,” I admitted pathetically.

  “And that.”

  “You must’ve thought I was crazy,” I said. “Because I sure the hell did.”

  “No, I didn’t. Truthfully, I couldn’t forget about you—your smart mouth, your fiery personality, your humility. You are the sexiest, most intriguing woman I’ve ever met. I jumped at the chance to see you again. It was all too convenient for me that your father’s motives were to have me keep every guy on campus away from you. I would get you all to myself.”

  That bastard! And he’d made sure I had a brand-new notebook just waiting for me to pour my heart into on the first day of college.

  “Don’t be angry.” Paolo brushed the hair from my shoulder and kissed me gently. “I was flattered that you dreamed about me so much. And that you thought I was a space alien. And a demon. And a ghost, asshole, chauvinistic pig.”

  Served him right.

  I looked at my hands, thinking through how things must’ve looked from his point of view, knowing my secrets, pretending not to. Ugh! “You knew how I felt, but you let me keep making a fool of myself?”

  “Have you ever read your journal?” he asked. “The only thing I knew was that you wished me dead and had very erotic dreams about me. A lot.”

  “Oh my God. This is so embarrassing. I will never write anything down ever again. Stupid notebook.”

  “That notebook saved your life,” he said.

  Paolo explained that everything I wrote while being held captive gave them all the clues they needed to find me: the description of being stuck with a needle, the fact I had been locked in a basement, how the person who took me was Mr. M—an insider with access to their communications.

  “We knew,” he said, “you were only a few hours away because you’d written about waking up in a basement. That meant sedatives. The kind our people use only last for an hour and a half to two at most. There aren’t many houses with basements in that geography.”

  Once I’d written in my notebook that I’d been taken, my father had a hundred analysts, scouts, and “friends” searching every house I might be inside. Paolo was already on the tenth home when he saw me coming out with Mr. M.

  “I’ve never wanted to kill anyone, Dakota,” he said. “Never like this. But when I saw him handcuffing you, shoving you into that car, I could only imagine the things he’d done. When I shot him, it was the first time in my life I’d enjoyed it.”

  Oh. “Well, if it’s any consolation, he was taking me to someone who was going to chop me into tiny bits and pieces. So, not sure I feel too bad about you shooting him.”

  Paolo looked at me and gave a little smile. “I didn’t think I’d recover from my rage—not only at him, but at myself.”

  “You’re a good man, don’t ever doubt that,” I said, knowing that m
y words fell seriously short compared to how I felt about him.

  “So you forgive me for reading your diary?” he asked.

  Hmmm. Did I? It was hard to be mad when that notebook had saved my life. A bizarre twist of fate. My fate book.

  “I’m not angry. But my father is such a jerk!”

  The cell on the nightstand began to vibrate. It was the same number as before.

  “Speaking of, there he is now,” Paolo said.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Let me answer—”

  He snatched the phone from my hands. “Let me.”

  I understood that he wanted to shield me from the ugliness of the situation, but I had lots and lots to discuss with my father, ranging from the fact that he’d lied to me, manipulated me, spied on me, and threatened to kill the man I loved.

  “Dane,” Paolo said coldly. Several moments passed, and I saw the look on Paolo’s face change. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look pale. “I see.”

  He held out the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

  Great. Because the son of a bitch had this coming. I stood up from the bed and wrapped the sheet around my body before taking the phone. “Dad, I want you to know—”

  “Do you love him, Dakota?” my father asked. No hello. No I’m sorry. Just…do you love him?

  “What?” I asked, feeling confused.

  “Do. You. Love. Him?” My father’s tone was stern and bitter, like the time I’d driven my car into the neighbor’s fence.

  “Yes, more than anything. Where are you going with this? And where’s Mom? Is she okay?”

  “Dakota, Mr. McGregor did more than simply hunt you down and take you. He posted pictures of you and your mother on every Internet site out there. Every hit man, cartel boss, mobster, and enemy of the state now knows you exist and what you look like.”

  Oh shit. “What does that mean?” Aside from very bad things?

  “It means that I’m retiring and going into hiding. Your mother is coming with me. Otherwise, I’d never see her again. I can’t live with that, not after everything we’ve been through to stay together. You are both…my life.”

  My pulse ticked up a bit. I heard the sincerity in his voice, but his actions felt so wildly different. Words couldn’t undo years of being pissed off. This was…

  “Such a fucking mess.”

  “Dakota, I don’t approve of that language,” my father said. “We raised you better than that.”

  “Did we raise me? Really?” Why the hell was I bringing this up now? It felt so petty, given the situation. Yet, there I was, summoning my old ghosts. “Can I just talk to Mom?”

  “We’re not done yet,” he said.

  “Then say what you need to say.”

  He didn’t respond immediately, and I almost thought he wouldn’t, so I was about to let loose, but then he said, “Every day, every step, every success and failure I missed was because I had to. I can’t tell you how sorry I am for not being there. However, life is never perfect, and I wouldn’t change a thing. Not when so many lives survived because I made that sacrifice.” The weight of his sorrow echoed in his breath. “But that’s all water under the bridge now, Dakota. It’s over. It’s time for me to put you and your mother first. Your lives and your happiness.”

  As sad as the situation was, and as shady as my father might be, the fact that he’d give up everything to protect my mother and be with her, redeemed him in my eyes. Almost.

  “Does she know about that woman?” I asked.

  My father was silent for several moments. “The other woman was a decoy. A highly trained, highly paid, decoy wife who knew how to protect herself. I’ve always had one because she kept anyone from suspecting my real wife lived safely in the suburbs with little to no protection. Your mother always insisted on keeping things separate. Obviously, I lied to her and embedded people all around you two, but I’ve never been unfaithful to your mother. I would never hurt your mother like that. Or you. Your happiness is everything.”

  “Oh.” Well, that sort of made me feel better. My father was a liar and shady, but not a cheater.

  “This is why I’m letting you choose, Dakota. You can come with me and your mother—I planned for something like this to happen and can easily protect you both—or you can stay with Paolo.”

  Too shocked to stand, I sat back down on the bed, hugging the sheet to my body.

  I was about to ask why we couldn’t all go somewhere together, but that was stupid. My father would probably kick Paolo in the teeth the minute he saw him touch me.

  In any case, my father had just told me that I could never go back to my old life, but somehow, I didn’t care. After nearly dying multiple times in recent months, I knew what was important. It wasn’t about looking to create an unattainable state of perfection sometime in the future. It was about living the life I had. Making the absolute most of every moment. The rest—how I’d finish school, where we’d live, how we’d stay out of sight—we’d have to figure out. But I wanted to live my life—my strange, strange life—with Paolo.

  I sighed, knowing I’d miss my parents, especially my mother. “When will I see you again?” I asked, indirectly answering his question.

  “When it’s safe.”

  “How long?” I asked.

  I heard the sadness in my father’s voice. “Paolo has access to enough money to last three lifetimes, and he’ll keep you safe.”

  It spoke volumes about Paolo that my father kept trusting him with my life, but…

  “How long?” I asked again.

  Long pause. “Maybe never, Dakota.”

  “Oh.” Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t imagine never seeing them again.

  Paolo slid his strong hand into mine and gazed at me with sympathy. He already knew what my father was telling me.

  “Then I will pray every day that ‘never’ turns into just a few years.” Yes, maybe things would die down after a while, and we’d find a way.

  “I’ll hope for the same, Dakota.” There was a quick pause. “I have to hang up. I’ve been on this line too long. I love you. Everything I did was because of that.”

  “I know. I love you, too. And tell Mom I love her and miss her.”

  “I will.”

  “And, Dad?”

  “Yes?”

  “I lost my notebook, but if you figure out how to send me another one, I’ll write every day. Okay?”

  He chuckled softly. “I’d like that.”

  The call ended, and I handed Paolo back his phone. He quickly popped out the battery. I guessed it was to kill the signal.

  “So you made your choice?” he asked.

  I bobbed my head. “You.”

  He pulled me into his broad chest and stroked the back of my head. “I’m sorry you had to choose.”

  So was I, but strangely, I was happy, too. My mother finally got her wish: My father had quit his job, and she had him all to herself. As for me, my journey hadn’t ended up where I’d wanted, but my ghost—made of solid flesh and bone, and who loved me—was all I wanted. I had faith that everything else would work itself out—I’d find a way to see my parents again.

  “I don’t know, seems like fate to me,” I said.

  He kissed me deeply and then stared into my eyes. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.

  He smiled awkwardly. “So are you ready?”

  My stomach lurched. “Ready for…what?”

  Paolo cupped my cheek. “We can’t stay here. Not after so many phone calls—even with precautions, it’s too risky.”

  “Where will we go?” I asked.

  Paolo grinned and then shrugged. “I’m not sure, actually. Falling in love with you and running away was the one thing I never planned for.”

  How funny. Mr. Contingency didn’t have one for this scenario? I found that completely adorable for some reason.

  I gave it a moment of thought. “How about Italy?” He spoke the language.


  His mouth twisted a bit. “About that, Dakota, I should tell you something.”

  Oh no.

  Again, he smiled awkwardly. “Remember I told you about my family?”

  “Powerful. Connected. Something like that?” I said, with dread in my tone.

  “Yes,” he said. “The reason I went to work for your father is because I wanted to escape them.”

  I gasped. “Whyyy?”

  “They are not very nice people. Think, Godfather, but much worse.”

  Oh great. “Your family is…Italian mobsters?”

  “They prefer to be called la famiglia, but yes. And my mother’s death was just one of many in a long string of retaliations and tragedies. That’s why I left as soon as I could. I couldn’t be a part of that. Your father was the one who helped me escape them.”

  I felt a twinge of pride. He had to be a good guy, right? “Are they looking for you?” I asked.

  “I think they’ve given up, but I’m not sure.” That sounded like a story, an unpleasant one, for another day. And I’d kind of reached my limit.

  I sighed. “Okay. Nix on Italy,” I said. “How about somewhere warm in Latin America?” I assumed Paolo’s Spanish was decent; he was great at faking the accent.

  “Excellent choice.” Paolo kissed me again, but then I had another thought.

  “Wait. Is there anything else I need to know about you? Prison record? Wanted by the FBI?”

  Funny. Paolo actually paused to think about the answer. “There is much to tell you, but nothing like that.”

  I sighed with relief.

  “Come. It’s time to get dressed.” He took my hand and pulled me up from the bed, and stared into my eyes.

  “Can I send Mandy and Bridget postcards before we go?”

  “No. I’m sorry,” he said. “But we will find another way to let them know you are all right.”

  Good. Because I wouldn’t want them to worry.

  I kissed him quickly. “Just promise that wherever we end up, I’ll get a chance to study psychology, and that I can get my Spy Kids training. I have a feeling I’ll need both.”

  “You do understand that you won’t actually have to work? Ever,” he added.

  “If you think I’m going to sponge off you for the rest of my life—”

  “You’re more than welcome to; however, as much as I’ve earned over these past few years, I’m certain your father’s investment skills far exceed mine.”