money. Isabella Knight had more money and recognition than Louis and all his scummy mates combined. Why? Why would he do this to her? How could he have allowed it? What did she ever do to him? All she wanted was to be loved!
If Emily doesn’t want to see me and wants to believe her husband is a saint, then maybe I should just leave her alone and allow her to keep living a lie. They clearly all think that my sister is some kind of fibber and that Louis had no hand in her tragedy. I only fancy telling Emily the truth; what she bloody does with it shouldn’t be any of my concern.
Standing by this window, looking down on New York City, I wish I were anywhere but here. I want to go home, but I don’t know where home is anymore. My home doesn’t feel like home without my sister there, but it’s the closest thing I have to a place where I belong. It’s sad to think I can’t walk down the streets of London without being recognized, and yet I don’t even recognize myself. Who will I call when I miss her? Nobody! Who will I call when I feel alone? Nobody! How could she have left me behind?
“Liam.”
I hear my name and for a second, I let myself imagine it’s Isa, but I know my head will ruin it for my heart. I know it’s just Sara, the sad girl with haunted demons in her own eyes. The girl that schools her face so that the world doesn’t see the sadness hiding inside. It takes sad to know sad and that little bird is as sad as they come. Perhaps she, too, is with a man she thinks is a saint like Louis. Maybe she is as deliriously happy as Emily is, so delirious that she cries herself to sleep every night. I turn to see her carrying a tray of food; our breakfast has arrived. I walk over and take the tray and set it down at a table set for two by the window. She doesn’t say a word or even look at me. She’s studying the rumpled bed sheets and there it is…Jeffery Rossi. I don’t know him, but I could bet my left nut he’s a bastard. Haven’t made up my mind if I want to know their story, but there’s definitely a story. By the look on her face, it’s not one with a happy ending…not for her, anyway.
“We should eat, I’m famished. Thank God you ordered breakfast,” she says, already starting on the chocolate croissant.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d fancy, you threw me off with your beverage choice, so I ordered every pastry on the menu. I’ve been living at this hotel for over a month. Their pastries are stellar.”
She looks up from her half-eaten croissant and smiles. “Thanks, I only eat chocolate croissants for breakfast, so you hit the nail on the head. You’ve been staying here at The Pierre for over a month…why?”
Why? Because I may be in love with a married woman who’s the wife of the man who helped kill my sister. “I’ve been waiting to talk to Emily. At first, I wasn’t sure what Louis’ state of health would be and I couldn’t just abandon her. If something were to happen to him, I wanted to be close, in case she needed me. I also owed her an explanation for my ‘omissions of truth,’ as you previously referred to my unwillingness to offer my true identity at first. I wanted a chance to talk to her, to tell her in person. I promised her that I’d wait in New York until she rang or came around to chat with me.”
Sara sits with her long legs stretched out on the windowsill, wearing grey shorts and a sweatshirt that says “NY is for Lovers.” She has her dark, damp locks arranged in a bun at the top of her head. She and Emily both look like schoolgirls. I haven’t sat down yet; I decide to lurk and enjoy the view, still trying to figure this bird out.
“Why are you here, Sara? Isn’t this suite under Louis’ name? Did you know I was leaving yesterday and then organize being here to meet me? I truly am enchanted as to the coincidence of having Louis throw me out of The Pierre, only to have his wife and her mate break me back in.”