“But I thought this penthouse was supposed to be a secret,” I point out, completely the opposite of reassured. “What about the whole no-Uber speech you gave me?”
He inclines his head. “Itissupposed to be a secret. But obviously, word has gotten out. We expected it to, given Priest’s role as the head of the family businesses. But we didn’t think it would get out there so soon.”
“How would the other places be any different?”
“Jesus, what is this,Law & Order?” he snaps. “The place I’m taking you is a safe house. It’s an underground bunker, and it’s the absolute best spot for you to be right now.”
I’m shaking my head before he can even finish. “No. Sorry. Nope. You lost me at underground.”
“Too fucking bad.”
“I need windows,” I say, already starting to panic. “Cid needs windows. I mean, assuming you want to bring Cid, which, since he’s the whole reason I’m here, I’m sure that was the plan.”
“You don’t need windows. There are lights. Now pack your shit. We have to get out of here. I’m on a tight timetable.”
“I’m not packing, and I’m not going.” My chest is tight, so tight, like a band has been wrapped around it and is squeezing the life out of me.
“Isla,” he snaps, and then his words trail off.
Maybe because I’m starting to lose my shit. I’ve taught myself to fly again after the accident. But what I can’t handle is being in a windowless room for an extended period of time. Any confined space without a view of the outdoors has been almost impossible for me ever since the plane crash. I can barely manage elevators and public restrooms. There’s something about not being able to see where I am that makes me feel powerless and terrified. I need windows like I need air to breathe.
A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead at the thought.
“Isla, are you okay?”
Alessio’s face is hovering over me, and maybe it’s the panic attack I’m doing my best to stave off that’s fueling my overactive imagination, but it almost looks like he’s worried.
“I’m…I think I’m having…a panic attack,” I manage.
My lungs are frozen. My thoughts are a frantic jumble.
“Jesus fuck, why didn’t you say something?” His hands are on me, even gentler than they were when he tended to my scratches as he guides me to a sleek leather couch. “Sit down and put your head between your knees.”
An air of authority is in his voice, like he’s done this before. I haven’t had a panic attack hit me like this in a few years, but I know he’s right. I fold myself in half and lower my head. His palm is flat on my back, reassuring.
“Breathe slowly through your nose and exhale through your mouth.”
I focus on my breathing, pushing all thoughts of the underground, windowless room from my mind. Alessio’s hand moves up and down my spine, and I find it oddly soothing. It’sthe same hand that showed no mercy this morning, and yet now, it’s tender. Almost caring. The tightness eases from my chest.
“Just keep breathing,” he says, “nice and steady.”
We stay like that for what could be a few seconds or a few minutes as my pounding heart slows back down and the tension seeps from my body. Finally, I can sit up again, and the frantic clash of thoughts in my mind has eased.
“Want to tell me what that was about?” he asks.
I don’t know how to tell him about the plane crash. I have a difficult time speaking about it to this day. How can one person’s brain fathom losing everyone they love in the span of a minute? Mine hasn’t been able to, not entirely. There are some days when I still feel like my parents and Lily are out there, a call or text away.
Only, they’re not.
“Isla,” he prods, still stroking my back, breaking me from the stranglehold of the past.
“It’s…” I falter and take a deep breath before trying again. “I have this thing where I can’t be in a room without windows.”
“Claustrophobia?”
“Kind of.”
“Shit.” He pauses. “Can I get you something? Water? Something from Priest and Luna’s bar?”
