The question is so unnecessary that I have to smother a laugh, covering my face until I get my emotions back to the flat state where I have some control. “Not really. Thanks for everything you did for today. I’m sorry the cake won’t get the reception it deserves.”
She presses a napkin into my hand. “Cut you off a piece just in case you felt hungry.”
It opens, showing the glint of silver from the fondant I worked on yesterday. Back when my mind was giving me glimmers that the story I’d told myself about my mother for so long might be untrue.
“Don’t you dare take him back,” she whispers, casting a glance back along the corridor before taking a half step into the room to shield her from whoever might be watching. “Make him work for it.”
And the revelations of the day have been so fast and furious that I’m not even sure which ‘him’ she means.
Both, I decide. Both of them need to work to regain my affection.
“Could you distract everyone for a second?” I ask, taking her hand and gently squeezing it. “I just need to get out of here for a while. Go for a walk and clear my head before I decide on what to do next.”
She glances at me askance, but I hold out my phone. “I’ve got this turned on if someone needs to reach me. And if I go missing, there’s my tracker.”
“Should I get Warren to—”
“I think he’s better off staying here to ensure my dad and Micah don’t kill each other.”
There’s the ghost of a smile as she nods. “Fair enough. Give me half a minute.”
I keep the door ajar, listening as she bustles back into the room, issuing orders and wrangling everyone downstairs. The moment the coast is clear, I stuff a change of clothes and the wallet my father gave me back this morning into a bag, and move to the lift, punching in my code.
The doors open immediately—another benefit to no one else living in the building—and I step inside, shifting from foot to foot as it travels to the ground floor.
Outside the building, there’s a heat haze already, making the world feel like it just emerged from a shower and there’s so much steam on the mirrors it can’t see its own reflection. I turn into the flow of foot traffic, merging with the other pedestrians, all intent on going about their day.
The map to the restaurant is seared inside my head but I misjudge how much longer it will take on foot. After an hour, I’m still only halfway there and give in, getting on a bus that seems to be headed in the right direction, fumbling in my bag for a bill small enough for the driver to change.
When I alight, there’s still another fifteen minutes’ walk before I reach my destination. My first stroke of luck is that the place is open this early in the day.
“Is Stefan here?” I ask the hostess at the front desk. When she frowns and glances over her shoulder as though searching for help, I add, “He owes me money.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-FOUR
CRIMSON
It’s Teodor who comes in the end. When he steps into the restaurant, his face tells me he already knows everything he needs to. I guessed as much, guessed that my appearance would spark a flurry of phone calls that would always lead back to one source. That Micah gave him the all-clear lifts my spirits.
He could have refused. Could have cut me off and forced me back to his apartment to choose between staying with him and leaving with my father. Two equally unappetising decisions given the revelations of the day.
That he didn’t demonstrates more convincingly that he cares than his useless fumble for words.
Teodor offers me a crooked smile. “Wasn’t sure if we’d also be persona non grata.”
I wrinkle my nose, trying for levity. “Luckily, I don’t know anyone else in Auckland, which puts you to the very top of the friends list.”
He opens his arms and I close in for a hug. His build is so similar to Micah’s that when I close my eyes, it’s almost like being embraced by him instead. Not that I want that. Not right now.
“What do you want to do?”
The list of everything I need to sort seems endless, but I force myself to concentrate. If I tackle the most important first, the rest should fall into place. “I need somewhere to stay but I don’t have a credit card to use for a hotel.”
“Do you have that bank account sorted yet?”
A shake of the head and he nods at my bag. “What about ID? You have a passport or driver’s license?”
“I’ve got an 18+ card.”
