I take a moment to watch her reaction to my admission, but to my surprise, she doesn’t appear overtly afraid. No, if I had to name the emotion I saw running across her features, it would be resigned. Like running into the Italian Mafia isn’t that unique an experience.
Hmmm,the response is perplexing, and I file it away for later.
“So, Chloe, does that scare you?”
“Should it?”
And there it is, that challenging, infuriating way she has about her that drives me mad.
“It would scare most people.”
“I’m not most people.”
I study her for a moment. “No. That much is obvious. Which is part of the problem.”
“Now, I’m a problem?”
“You’ve been a problem since the moment I met you.”
Something flashes in her eyes — hurt maybe or perhaps anger — as she strains to keep her expression neutral.
“You have convinced me that Emmanuel needs you — for now, at least. But that does not mean for a second that I trust you.”
Her jaw tightens. “I haven’t done anything to warrant your distrust, Basili.”
The sound of my name on her lips is distracting.Definitely a problem.
“Oh, but haven’t you?” I let the question hang between us for a moment, making her think about my implication. “Your last name just happens to be Tao, which is Chinese, coincidentally the same ethnicity as the faction that I suspect is responsible for taking my son.”
“That’s purely coincidence,” she quips back. The response is too fast; yes, I’d definitely struck a nerve.
“I don’t believe in coincidences, Chloe.” I can feel the wicked grin spread across my face, the one that promises retribution if I find out it is anything but a coincidence. “Hear me clearly; I will be watching you. Iwillfind out where you came from; Iwillfind out why someone with your background just happened to be in the right place at the right time to end up being the caretaker for my son after he was kidnapped.”
“My background? You don’t know anything about my background!” Her voice rises.
“No, I don’t. Which is exactly the problem. Perhaps you would like to enlighten me?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it, visibly swallowing before answering. “I told you. I’m an orphan. I grew up at the orphanage.”
“Yes. But before that?” I push.
Her eyes meet mine for a moment, and then she casts them to the side again, her hands wringing together in the way that they do when she is nervous.
“That’s what I thought.” I lean forward slightly. “Whatever you’re hiding, Iwillfind out. Emmanuel is everything to me. And if I find out that you’re using him to get to me, putting him in danger in any way, if you’re working with someone who wants to hurt my family. I will not hesitate to remove you from our lives. Permanently.”
The threat hangs between us, sharp and unmistakable. Her face goes pale, the blush fading away completely. But there’s something else there too — hurt.
“If that’s how you feel about me, then why did you kiss me last night?”
I straighten. “That was a mistake.”
Her eyes search mine, looking for any amount of compassion. “A mistake?”
“Yes. One that won’t be happening again. Whatever happened between us last night changes nothing. You’re here for Emmanuel. That’s it. Nothing more.”
I see the instant shift in her, the anger building in her body. Fists clenched, jaw pressed together hard. But not in the way that women do when they’re about to cry; no, this is true unguarded anger at my dismissal.
Interesting.
