99.9%.
"Satisfied?" he asks, closing the documents and getting back to his feet.
As he sits down and hands the glasses back to his security personnel, oblivious to the way I can't seem to breathe, he adds, "Even though there's no chance for a false positive, I still think it's best we keep things to ourselves for now. You haven't told anyone, have you?"
"What? Oh…no. No, I haven't."
"That's good. Once the media gets a hold of this, they'll have a field day. We should try to strategize how we'd like to makeany formal announcements and when, but that can come later. I know it's all still very new and…"
I hope I nod and smile at the appropriate times as Ambrose prattles on about lawyers and media image, and incorporating me into his life in ways that can't be undone. I'm trying to pay attention. I know he might say something important. Something I need to remember and regurgitate later for Atticus and the others.
But I can't. My mind screams, racing with a thousand questions that I can't outrun.
What will they think when they find out?
How could they ever love me now?
Will they even trust me anymore?
Somehow, the lunch is over so fast, and I wish I could stay longer, because I don't know what happens when I walk out that door. When I have to seethem.
"So, what happens now?" Ambrose asks, walking me to the entrance of the restaurant.
"What do you mean?"
"Will I be able to see you again soon? I know you're busy with your studies and I don't expect you to completely uproot your life, but I have great connections for the best private schools in the country and we could have you studying under?—"
"Mr. De La Rosa," I interrupt him because, honestly, I need him to shut up.
"Ambrose," he corrects. "Let's start with Ambrose."
"Ambrose," I echo. "I know you have really good intentions?—"
There's the puke again, trying to get out.
"But, I like my life. I like it here. I like my classes, and I'm making friends. I think we…should take it slow. Like you said."
He pushes his hair back, stands taller, and nods. "I apologize. My excitement is getting away from me."
"It's okay."
Now, please let me leave.
Before I realize what he's doing, he has his arms around me, and that scent—musk and pine—fills my nose. My lungs. Cloying.Choking.
I want to cry so hard for the little girl who always dreamed of this moment, but I can't, because this isn't that dream—this is my nightmare.
35
SHOWER CONFESSIONAL
AURORA
Imanage to keep it together for the entire drive back to my apartment. The driver doesn't try to make conversation at all this time and I don't even mutter a goodbye as I exit the car before he can get my door for me, too afraid to open my mouth.
The key to the apartment clicks against the lock panel as I struggle to stuff it into the keyhole, hands shaking.
Come on.
