“Good. I’m glad. I never want you to be scared of me. I swear to you now, there will never be a time I raise my hands to you or your daughter in anger. Not ever. I’d sooner slit my own throat.”
“Okay, psycho, there will be no need for any throat slitting.”
She huffs as a couple walks past. Both of them stop and look at us for a second before giving us a wide berth.
“Whoops. Now it’s my turn to put my foot in it.”
I grin, park the bike, and offer her my hand. “Well, there’s space at the losers’ table with me. My feet are huge, so thankfully, I can only fit one in my mouth at a time. Though I could probably fit two of yours in.” I pause before sighing.
“Serious? What is wrong with me? I wonder if my sister put a hex on me. I wouldn’t put it past her. And she’d find it hilarious, laughing down on me acting like a dickhead when I’m trying to impress a girl.”
“You trying to impress me, Ambros?”
“Either I’m that shit at it, or you haven’t been paying attention.”
Honestly, it’s likely a little of both.
Chapter Three
CITI
I stare at him,a little dumbfounded. He slowly reaches up and slides his hand along my jaw, making me shiver.
“Not now. But someday,” he says softly before dropping his hand from my face and pulling me toward the diner, as if he didn’t just change the trajectory of my life with one sentence.
He pulls the door open and holds it for me to pass through, but he doesn’t let go of my hand. I scan the room, which is moderately busy. People turn our way to see who the newcomers are. I dip my head, letting my hair cover my face.
Stories like mine garner big news, and for weeks, my face was plastered everywhere. Add in the fact that my twin sister is a famous author, and the media went into a frenzy that almost made me wish I’d never been found. The world had changed while I’d been gone. Empathy and compassion eroded under the toxic glow of social media. People sitting at home, who wouldn’t dare say something to my face, were more than happy to hide behind their computer screens while they spat their vile accusations and questions at me. Things like what did I do to grab a predator’s attention to what was I wearing? Then therewere the comments claiming I must have grown to like what the monster did to me, otherwise I’d have fought harder to escape or killed myself. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.
I wasn’t human to them. I was a commodity to cash in on, trending and boosting posts that used my name in the hashtags. My brain felt like a soft-boiled egg with a broken shell, everyone scrambling to peel away the layers to get at what was beneath, and all at the expense of my sanity.
“Citi?”
I shake my head and look up at Ambros. “Sorry.”
“You okay?”
“Of course.”
“Please don’t lie to me.”
My shoulders slump. “Then don’t ask me questions you already know the answer to. Let’s sit over there where it’s quiet.” It’s my turn to lead him. I drag him over to one of the empty booths and let go of his hand so I can squeeze into the seat facing the door.
Ambros slips into the seat opposite. I feel his gaze on me, but I grab the menu and let my eyes roam over the pictures.
I can’t say I have much of an appetite. The last week or so has frayed my nerves, but I’ve worked hard to gain some much-needed weight. I don’t want to undo my hard work now.
“Do you know what you want?”
“There’s a lot to choose from.” And making choices for myself is one of the hardest things I’ve had to deal with.
“I think I’m just going to have coffee.”
I look up. “You need to eat. We both do.”
He looks like he wants to argue but relents with a nod. “I’ll go for the omelets.” I make a face, making him chuckle. “Not an omelet fan?”
“Not an egg fan. When you’ve eaten as many as I have, it kind of puts you off.”
