17
Gianna (18 years)
I jerked upright the second my eyes opened. Glancing around, I tried remembering what had given rise to my pounding temples and the heaviness around my eyes. The soft drone of engines told me I was in a vehicle but how was I in a bed at the same time. Was I dreaming? Pinching the skin on my arm, I hissed out on the pain. I moved to the edge of the bed, and something flashed in my mind. A burning emptiness as though I was blanking something out. My breathing labored, trying to remember. It wouldn’t come. I glance around the room once more, looking for a sign.
Then a door in the cream wall opened and my father stepped through. Like I’d just been hit by a ten-tonner, the memory came rushing back, knocking the breath from my chest, and with it, came the tears.
“Mom,” I whispered, rising to my feet. “Dad?” Slowly, he shook his head, his face swathed in sadness. “No,” the word lodged in my throat.
He came toward me. “Gianna—”
“No.” I shook my head wildly. “If this is some kind of sick ruse...you...you better tell me now.” I choked on the air leaving my lungs.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered
“No, dad! No!” I screamed, the tears blinding my vision.
He reached me. “Sweet—”
“No!”
“Gianna...sweetheart...shh...” He pulled me into his arms, trying to hold me.
I fought his embrace. “What happened...what...no! What happened!” My jaw ached, my head hurt, my heart deflated. “What...” I hiccupped on a sob.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t want our first meeting again to be like this. I’m so sorry.”
He tried to hold on, but I crumbled to the floor, clutching my stomach and leaning over on my folded knees. “Where’s Zayne, where’s my husband!” I screamed, shaking my head from side to side, not wanting to believe my father’s words.
His jaw clenched. “He wasn’t available.”
“Zayne!” I called out his name, over and over like a protective mantra, like some superhero sonic that would reach him. “Mom!” I cried, my heart clenched, my fingers biting into the soft skin of my sides as I shook with sobs, needing to hear the voices of the two people I trusted the most.
My father crouched next to me but his words fell on deaf ears. All I heard was my exploding heart, piece by piece it spasmed and died, leaving a searing heat in its place.
“Gianna?”
I looked up and there he stood. The only other person my mother trusted with her life. I scrambled to my feet and rushed up to him. Grabbing the lapels of his black suit jacket, I twisted the coarse material. “Is it true, Julian? Is my mom...” I couldn’t finish the sentence, those words were my ruthless enemy. If I said it out loud, I feared its meaning.
Julian stared at me, jaw clenched as though fighting his own sorrow. I expected him to pull back from me, to resist my need for comfort because my father was in the room. But Julian didn’t. Instead, he gathered me into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry, Gianna,” he whispered to the top of my head.
“No!” I bawled into his chest, even as he rubbed my back in a gentle caress, my body shook. “Mom!” I cried harder until my body begged for reparation but I didn’t give it one. And still Julian held onto me whispering calming words I didn’t hear.
I wasn’t sure how long we stood there with him holding me, or how to stop the pain twisting my insides until my father cleared his throat and said, “we need to strap in, Julian. Get her to sit down.”
Lifting my head, I looked up at Julian. “Where are we?” I rasped, my throat aching as I swallowed against the dryness.
“We’re on a private jet.”
I pulled away from Julian, frowning. “Private jet? Whose? To where?” the questions rushed out as a new panic swirled in the pit of my stomach.
“Come on, let’s sit and I’ll fill you in.”
If it wasn’t Julian asking me with that calm voice I’d come to respect, I would’ve probably burst at the seams for answers. Following him through the door, I was momentarily blinded by the brown and cream plush décor of the plane. My father and his men were already seated and being served drinks by a pretty hostess. I took the seat Julian indicated and clicked my seatbelt in place.
“Here, drink this.” He held out bottled water which I accepted and within seconds downed half its contents. “Better,” he asked while lowering his large frame into the seat next to mine. I nodded. “I’m sorry about your mom, Gianna,” he leaned in close to whisper and immediate tears sprung to my eyes.
