While I’m fighting to not react at all, he blinks as if he can’t believe his eyes.
I’m sure I look like a stranger to him, but I’ve never felt more like me. My natural hair is longer, unkempt, and splitting at the ends. The gold in my curls that’s become my trademark has become dull and is receding by the day, giving way to the dark brown that I inherited from my mother.
I’m not dressed in one of those ridiculous costumes that he insists makes millions of girls across the globe want to be me while at the same time appearing desirable to men yet unapproachable.
Whatever that means.
My face is also clear of makeup, but it was never something he allowed me to overindulge in once our PR team caught wind of my natural beauty being praised in the media.
I don’t look like the superstar he created.
Instead, it’s just me. Daughter to Jamila and Logan George. Wolf. Songbird. The sun in Seth’s world. Goldilocks. Princess. Survivor.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Uncle Mars.” Fitting since I’m supposed to be dead.
“Aurelia?”
“In the flesh. Surprised?”
“I don’t understand,” he says after struggling to recover. The shock is fake. The horror that I’m alive and dared to show myself to him is very much real. “How is this possible?”
“Well, there was a tree. My guess is it broke my fall from the fireball that was once my plane and by the grace of God or the devil’s amusement, I didn’t die from the freezing cold or get torn apart by wolves like Cassie.”
“What an ordeal you must have had,” he dryly replies with a strained smile. “Thankfully, all of that is behind you now. You’re safe. You’re alive.” More pointedly, he adds, with his gaze flickering toward the silent, fuming man next to me, “You must be eager to get home.”
“Eh,” I say with a shrug. Khalil grumbles unhappily when I move away to slowly circle the room, giving myself a tour. The living room looks straight out of a home catalog. There’s no personal touch to be found anywhere. “Not really.”
“E-excuse me?”
“I said I’m not ready to go, but you can. As you can see, I’m perfectly fine and enjoying this little corner of the world, so not to worry. I’m sure you have a lot to do back home.”
“Is this a joke?”
“What part sounded funny to you?” I stop to pick up a statuette of a slender deer with large antlers. While we were in town earlier, Khalil had been approached by a few people who were eager to have him carve custom pieces like this statuette for them. I was even more surprised to learn that he sold his for a fraction of the price of whatever designer company the decorator had purchased it from.
“Aurelia, you can’t possibly think that I’ll allow you to stay here. Your place is with me back in the States.”
“You didn’t seem to think that when you sent me here.”
“That was for your own good,” Uncle Mars volleys back.
“I think a plane crash and all the people who died horrible deathsexceptfor me would beg to differ.”
“You can’t blame yourself for that.” He waves dismissively.
“Then who should I blame, Uncle? You?”
“It’s no one’s fault. It was a rogue blizzard. An act of God.”
“Well, thatact of Godcame with a warning that you ignored, and it got nine peoplekilled.”
“Eight.”
I freeze, and out of my peripheral I could swear Khalil does the same. “Run that back?”
“The crash only killed eight. You weren’t the only survivor, Aurelia.”
It feels as if I’ve been punched in the gut. Sensing the change, Khalil rushes over to me, and I grab his arms to steady myself. I don’t even care that my uncle is witnessing me fall apart or that I’m accepting comfort from a strange man.
