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“Is everything okay? Is your head bothering you again?”
“I’m fine. The concussion seems to be gone. I just . . . I need to talk. About my amnesia.”
“Kayden told me you might. And yes. I can come there and I will, but I’m at the hospital. It’s nearly noon now; I’ll be there in a couple of hours if I can. I’ll meet you in the store.”
“Great. Thank you, Nathan.”
He hesitates. “I should warn you up front that that I might not have the answers you want.”
“I want you to make me remember.”
He laughs. “That’s about as reasonable as you asking me to lose ten pounds in twenty-four hours. Some things take time.”
“Is that what you told Kayden? That my memory will take time?”
“Let’s talk when I get there.”
“Avoidance is a four-letter word.”
“You can teach me some new ones when I get there.” He ends the call.
I grimace, setting the phone in my lap. I might not have the answers you want. That’s already not the answer I want, and I now know why Kayden didn’t directly respond when I asked him what Nathan had told him. Nathan didn’t give him the answer he wanted, either. And suddenly I wonder if he’s told Kayden that I’m unstable or unreliable. He might have even told him not to trust me.
Frustrated that I’m doing this to myself, I shove my phone back into my purse and zip it up. Standing, I slip the strap over my head and chest, keeping my phone and Charlie close at hand. My gaze travels down the closet, seeing the rows of Kayden’s clothes on one side, my limited wardrobe on the other.
This place, this man, is home to me now. I’m not letting it go. I need the trigger I was after when I came in here a short while ago, and my attention lands on the pink ballet slippers sitting on a wall of shelves. An image of my mother, my first dance instructor, with a huge smile on her face. I smile, too, but abruptly the feelings and the moment in time shift. Now there is pain, loss, heartbreak. Now my mother is lying in a hospital bed, and by her side is some man I do not like. She is close to death, and I don’t want to live this heartbreak again. I most definitely don’t want to know the man standing by her bedside, but I have to face those things. I have to face all things.
Marching forward, I pick up the slippers, steeling myself for the pain to follow and shutting my eyes. And I wait. And wait, and I will something to come to me, but I have nothing. Frustrated, I remember my lunch with Giada, and set the slippers down. Dancing for my memories will have to wait. And I wonder, not for the first time, what can be so horrific that I refuse to remember it? I have to talk to Nathan about controlled triggers. There has to be a way to drive my progress.
Leaving the closet, I walk into the bedroom, glancing at the clock, which reads twelve fifteen. I have forty-five minutes to kill before my lunch with Giada, and I pull my journal from my purse, opening it to a random page. I find one of the many butterfly drawings there, and while I now know they represent the necklace, for some reason, it still feels like it means something else. Or maybe the butterfly is a part of a memory I can’t quite reach. Desperate to fill the black holes of my mind, I decide that stimuli trigger memories, and since I won’t get that alone in this room, I’ll head to the store early. I shut the journal and replace it in my purse.
I quickly make my way to the main castle foyer, and as I head up the central tower steps toward the store, I hear, “Ella!”
I turn to find Giada rushing up the stairs toward me. While her all-black jeans, boots, and sweater would strike me as stylish another time, today I have a feeling she’s trying to stay low-key. “Thank God you’re early. I’m suffocating in that tower. Marabella and Adriel have been watching over me like a hawk.”
A Hawk. Kayden. He is The Hawk and right now, I am an extension of him. “Because last night was bad, Giada. I need to know what you said to Gallo.”
“I told him there were men here with guns. Nothing more.”
“Giada—”
“I didn’t tell him anything more.” She tears up. “I had just seen Enzo lying in his own blood. I was supposed to go on a date with him, Ella, and he was dying. He did die. I didn’t really know him, but I might have, and I hate The Underground.”
Stunned by this revelation, which doesn’t justify her actions but helps explain them, I pull her into a hug. “I know that hurt. I know it scared you.”
She sobs and I hold her for several seconds, before she makes a low, frustrated sound and pulls away from me. “This is why I hate Kayden.”
Protectiveness flares in me hard and fast, forcing me to tamp down on it just as quickly. “I know why you’re connecting this to The Underground, to the many tragedies in your life—but Kayden gave Enzo specific orders that he ignored.”
“Kayden tells those men when to pee.”
“Kayden gave him an order that he ignored,” I repeat. “And we all make choices, and we live or die with them.”
“Kayden gave him the job he was on, knowing it was dangerous,” she argues.
“Kayden tried to talk him out of the job. And when he finally let him take it, he told him to observe and report. Instead, Enzo charged after his prize—and he knew the risks.”