With Marcus as my mandatory traveling buddy, I’d decided not to ask Charlotte to come with me. I knew she’d say no; she might even warn Detective Dawkins or hack my name onto the no-fly list. So I opted for a Post-it. It read: Headed to Italy. Call when I get there. Sorry.
Tyson and Regina got a similar text, only I added that the Italian trip was a backpacking vacation because “I needed a break.” They responded, “Have fun!” I doubted Charlotte would offer the same response. But honestly, I could have written a novel-length explanation and she’d still react like a mom with a toddler lost at the mall.
So I flew to Florence.
The plane touched down around seven in the morning, local time, and we hopped a cab to the train station.
Marcus sat beside me as we zipped through picturesque Florence, the ochre morning light gleaming behind the massive Duomo. It is one of the most beautiful and romantic cities in the world, and I was traveling with someone who made me choke on survivor’s guilt. I leaned away from him, refusing to let our arms touch, our knees touch. It had been a constant battle during the flight, to ignore the feeling of static electricity rising between our bodies, but I was determined to ignore the diversion. Marcus was there to help and visit his brother. That was it.
I kept my eyes locked on the Duomo. It was an impressive cathedral, with an intricately carved marble exterior and a towering burnt orange dome at least thirty stories high. Personally, I wasn’t a huge fan of cathedrals as tourist attractions—if you’ve seen one gilded Jesus, you’ve seen them all. But even I had to admit that Italians did churches right—all marble, frescos, and gold-plated reverence.
“Que hermosa,” Marcus noted as he eyed the same view.
I nodded, noticing that outside our car, tourists were gazing at store windows full of leather gloves and colorful ceramics, and I couldn’t help but think that a few years ago, that was my family, carrying overflowing bags of souvenirs before dining on plates of steak Florentine. Now, I was just hoping to find my sister alive and prove my parents weren’t lunatics screaming, “Death to America!” Things had changed.
We stopped in front of the station and made our way to our high-speed train. We trudged our way through the narrow cabin aisles with our luggage, knocking passengers’ elbows until we found our designated booth—there were two seats on either side and a gray plastic table set between them. I heaved my wheely carry-on onto the overhead metal rack and plopped down as the train lurched forward. I rested my laptop bag on the empty seat beside me, forcing Marcus to sit opposite the table. I yanked out my copy of Ok! magazine and blindly leafed through it, eyes buried. I’d bought it along with an international cell phone I’d use to call Charlotte once we arrived at our hotel.
I scanned the glossy pages as Marcus settled into his royal blue cushioned seat, the train roaring through a pitch-black tunnel. Amber overhead lights flickered, illuminating the cabin as I eyed an article on The Bachelor. Keira could practically teach a PhD course on the show, reciting the contestants’ names and hometowns as if she shared their childhoods. I think she secretly wanted to audition, but didn’t because her seventeen-year-old dependent didn’t scream “free-spirited love interest!” Chalk it up as another way that I held her back.
The next page featured a “Stars Like Us” page with a picture of a British media heir, his bright blue-green eyes looking sad and horrified as he darted into a luxury car. Above his head, the editor had scrolled “Wanker” with a white magic marker along with streaks of snot coming from his nose. Halfway around the globe and stars still got the same classy treatment.
“I didn’t know you were into celebrity gossip,” Marcus noted, eying the magazine.
“I’m not. Keira is.” I flipped a page, trying not to engage.
“You’re hoping to catch your sister up once you see her?”
“Well, she might want to know Katy Perry’s relationship status.”
“It’s good to be prepared.”
I nodded, keeping my eyes buried in the photos.
“You were quiet on the flight.” Marcus’s voice was apprehensive. “You don’t like that I’m here.”
Damn. I didn’t want to offend him, especially after all he’d done and all he was currently doing. But I didn’t know how to explain my situation or how I was feeling. Sorry, Marcus, but I just think this trip would be easier if you were unattractive. That didn’t sound right.
“It’s not you, it’s just…” I gazed at the dreamy farmland whipping outside our window, and again felt a misplaced sense of betrayal for even being in the presence of beauty, even natural beauty. “You don’t know Keira.”
“I know you, and you shouldn’t have to do this alone.” He placed his hand on the table, as if inviting me to take it. I didn’t. “Dresden Kids stick together.”
“This might be taking that slogan too far.”
“I’m also here to see my brother, who would love that I’m doing this. Antonio lives for adventure, at least he used to. He was always running off, getting into fights, drinking too much. Sort of a rebel, before he became some serious business man.” He uttered that last part like he still didn’t believe the words. “Maybe you’ll get to meet him.”
“You know I might not be able to go to Milan, right?” It was probably rude of me to back out given that he currently was sitting on a train to Cortona holding up his end of the arrangement. But I couldn’t commit to going anywhere that didn’t lead me to Keira.
“I know. We’ll see what happens.” He glanced at the skinny cypress trees lining the farms as perfect as a painting.
“Do you think it’s weird that Urban sent you here to see your brother? Why couldn’t he just connect you over the phone?” The question had been gnawing at me ever since we left Dresden’s offices. Not that I wanted to tell a CEO how to spend his cash, but it seemed like a Send-Your-Kid-to-Europe program was an auditable misuse of corporate funds.
“My parents knew I was homesick. I think it was a good excuse to get me to stop moping and stop waiting for you to call.” He gave me a teasing grin, and I felt instantly guilty for dodging his requests to hang out. I seriously was a terrible friend. “Besides, with everything that’s happened to your family, I don’t think anyone wanted to say no to you or send you here alone. I want to be here.”
“To track down a guy whose son may or may not be involved in a violent kidnapping?” I pursed my lips. Most friends balk at helping you move.
“Sí. I’m with you.” He looked at me so intently I felt my body involuntarily leaning toward him. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to reach across the table and grab his hand, touch his face.
Only I didn’t.
I broke eye contact, clearing my throat as I stared down at my lap. Stop it, I reminded myself. “I don’t think I’ve said it, but thank you for coming. It’s nice of you.” My voice was overly formal.
“De nada,” he replied.
When I peered up through my lashes, I caught sight of his dimpled grin once more, and I couldn’t help but think that Keira would really like him.
The conductor’s voice bellowed through the croaking static of the train’s audio system, announcing upcoming stops.
“Looks like we’re next—Cortona,” Marcus translated.
“Sí. Parlo Italiano,” I replied, grabbing my bag from the overhead rack.
“Oh, I forgot, our Dresden education.” He hoisted his duffle bag as the train pulled into our quaint Italian village.
Last time I’d been here, I sat in a rental car with my family: my dad driving, Keira humming the tune from The Godfather, and my mother spouting historical facts.
The scene looked a little different now. As did the company.
“So what’s your total? How many cities?”
“Madrid, Berlin, London, D.C., back to Madrid, and Boston,” he replied.
“You can’t count the same city twice, you know that. Still, I gotcha beat. Seattle, Singapore, New Orleans, Morocco, Los Angeles, Madrid, Milan, Miami, and Bosto
n,” I recited.
“You got to live in Asia; that must’ve been cool.”
“You couldn’t chew gum.”
Marcus chuckled, but it sounded forced, and I noticed a crease between his dark eyebrows. He looked worried. Maybe he was tired from travel, or maybe the fact that he was thrusting himself into the middle of my family’s mess was finally hitting him. It should be.
“You sure you want to do this? You can just head up to Milan if you want.” I placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him an out. It was the first time I’d touched him since we’d boarded our flight, and he seemed to notice. He looked down at my palm and smiled, that familiar tingle flushing my skin once more.
I returned my hand to my side.
Still, he moved toward me, his face so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. “I wouldn’t think of leaving you. Lead the way, Miss Phoenix.”
He followed me into Tuscany.
Chapter Sixteen
We rattled over cobblestones very reminiscent of our motorcycle tour of Boston as our taxi headed through the opening in the stone wall that encircled Cortona. The tiny village probably housed fewer people than could fit inside Fenway Park, but what it lacked in size, it made up for in charm.
We stopped in front of a swinging wooden sign and grabbed our bags from the trunk, trudging tiredly into the lobby of the same hotel that I’d stayed at with my parents. Only a few years ago, I watched as my father sat on the olive-green velvet sofa in the lobby reading the paper with his tiny espresso cup while my mother talked on her cell phone, her high heels resting on the intricately carved wooden coffee table. Nothing had changed in the hotel since, and it felt odd to see the décor continued to exist even though my parents didn’t.
“You okay?” Marcus asked, noticing my dazed expression.
“I’m fine.” I repeated my mantra as I shook off the memory and stepped toward the front desk. “Buona sera.”
The clerk confirmed our reservation, his eyes occasionally glancing toward us like our youth clashed with the ambiance. Donna had booked the last two available rooms—one on the same floor I’d stayed on with my family, and the other, the honeymoon suite. I chose the latter.
We rode up in the coffin-size elevator, stopping on the second floor (which was really the third floor, but they counted the ground level as ‘0,’ as if it were nowhere). Marcus turned my way. “So we’re meeting Salvatore tomorrow, verdad?”
“Yeah, the store opens at ten. I’ll meet you in the lobby?” I had considered going straight from the airport to the antique shop, but given the amount of travel we’d just completed, and my lack of sleep, I thought it would be best to save extremely vital conversations until I wasn’t slurring from jet lag.
Marcus nodded, and I exited the elevator into a lounge of empty couches. Dark wood beams lined the ceiling as I headed toward a narrow hall, dimly lit by wall sconces. I unlocked the honeymoon suite and placed my plastic keycard in the slot inside that powered the room’s electricity. As expected, there was a massive, romantic canopy bed draped with sheer flowing white curtains nestled between a vase of wild flowers and a shutter-framed window that looked onto a beautiful stone courtyard.
There was even a congratulatory bottle of free champagne.
I dropped my bags with a thud and plodded into the bathroom, its bright white walls and fluorescent lights clashing with the rustic decor. I stopped at the mirror, glaring at my droopy eyes rimmed with dark purple circles, and splashed cool water onto my cheeks. The room was silent. Cortona was so small that it lacked street noise—like, any street noise. And being a girl who was used to T trains, car horns, and recycling trucks, the vapid sound of nothingness felt like a weight on my chest.
I moved to the bed, pushing aside the dreamy curtains, and dropped my head onto a fluffy down pillow. It smelled musty and foreign. I could hear myself breathing. I could feel my heart pulse. I suddenly felt alone, completely alone—in this bed, on this trip, in this world. My parents took me to this hotel. My sister gave me my first cup of cappuccino in the restaurant downstairs—doused with loads of sugar and a dash of cinnamon. I told her I liked it (I didn’t), and she told me I’d learn to appreciate it (I did).
Now I was here with Marcus.
My mouth grew sour. It wasn’t good to be so wrapped in my thoughts, to be so still. I could feel the funk lurking around me like a poisonous gas seeking a weakened, porous entry. The tears began to fall as I closed my eyes.
Welcome to Europe.
...
I woke hours later. The sun had set. My pillow was damp with tears.
Pull it together. I rubbed my eyes. You are going to find your sister. That’s why you’re here.
I looked at the clock, and panic gripped my chest. It had been almost twenty-four hours since I’d left Boston, and I’d forgotten to call Charlotte. I couldn’t believe helicopters hadn’t descended by now. I grabbed the cell phone I’d purchased at the airport and dialed the familiar digits.
“Hello?” asked a breathless, frantic voice.
I already felt guilty.
“Charlotte, I’m so sorry,” I immediately apologized, sitting up in bed.
“I can’t believe you did this! Are you okay? Do you have any idea what you’ve put me through?”
I winced at her tone. She wasn’t worried or upset. She sounded pissed. “I had to…” My voice trailed off.
“No, you didn’t! I told you not to do this! I told you the cops would handle it! And to leave the way you did, I can’t believe—”
“Charlotte, I’m sorry,” I apologized again. “But you wouldn’t come with me, and I couldn’t just let the police sit around and do nothing.”
“They’re not doing nothing! They spoke to Salvatore Basso, they contacted Italian law enforcement, they’re working the case, all in ways that don’t involve you. I tried to tell you this, but you wouldn’t listen. Now you’re off in Europe alone and—”
“Well… I’m not completely alone.” I cringed, imagining her reaction on the other end looked something like the woman in the shower before the knife comes down. “Marcus came with me.”
Static hung on the line for several moments, then she started screaming. “Are you kidding me? Why would you bring him? Is this, like, a vacation for you? Are you running away?”
“No! Omigod! No!” I spilled the whole story—about seeing him at Dresden, about his brother working in Milan, about Urban offering to pay, about us really having no say in becoming travel buddies, and about me being unwilling to turn down a free ticket that might possibly lead to my sister.
“So let me get this straight. Randolph Urban, the CEO of the Dresden Chemical Corporation, shipped two teenagers across the Atlantic and didn’t think to mention it to their guardians?” Charlotte asked harshly.
“Actually, Marcus’s parents know he’s here.” I fidgeted with my wrinkled bedsheet, twisting it around my wrist.
“Oh, well, I’m glad they got a phone call. Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to convince my parents that I gave you permission to go to Europe on some ‘finding yourself’ expedition, so they don’t report you as a missing person.”
“So I guess I’m in trouble?”
“With me? Hell yeah!” Charlotte snapped. I twisted the sheet tighter, my wrist turning a blotchy magenta. “My parents think I’m some irresponsible flake who superseded their judgment and let a teenager fly halfway around the world by herself to get raped and murdered.”
I winced. “When you put it that way…”
“Do you have any idea what will happen if social services finds out you left the country alone, and my parents had no idea?”
“I know. I’m sorry,” I apologized again. The guilt I felt lately was so heavy I was surprised I could move. From failing my sister, to flirting with Marcus, to running off on Charlotte, it felt like everything I’d done for the past several months was wrong. All of it. I was wrong. My family was wrong. Everything I knew was just wrong. That was why I had to find my sister. It
was the only way to make anything right again. “I just…had to.”
Charlotte sighed so heavily I could practically feel her breath through the phone.
“I can’t believe you lied for me,” I said, my tone thankful.
“I can’t believe you lied to me.”
“I left a note.”
“Gee, thanks for that.”
“And technically, I’m not alone.”
“You know, as anti-feminist as it sounds, I’m actually relieved you’re with Marcus. Safety in numbers and all that. But if you’re not on a plane back to the States by tomorrow, I’m coming to get you,” she threatened, though I could hear the calm returning to her voice.
“It’s weird,” I admitted. “We’re in the same hotel I stayed at with my parents and Keira. Only, they’re not here anymore, none of them…” I swallowed hard, trying to force away the grief. I couldn’t let myself feel that right now. I couldn’t let the funk in, not when I was so close to learning something that might lead me to Keira. I had to focus on her.
“I’m sorry,” she replied sincerely.
“You don’t have to say that.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” she huffed. “So I take it you’re meeting with Salvatore Basso? When?”
“Tomorrow morning, as soon as the store opens. I left a message telling him I was coming.”
“Oh, so he got a phone call,” she griped.
I said nothing.
“Well, you better phone the second you leave that store.” She groaned, clearly exasperated. “I swear, I’m turning prematurely gray.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a lovely honey blonde, but I’m sorry I worried you.”
“There’s not much I can do about this now. Just be careful, or I will come get you.”
“I know. Thanks.”
Proof of Lies (Anastasia Phoenix) Page 12
