walk beside her as we head for the elevator. She blows me a kiss as the doors close and I stifle yet another yawn. I feel drained.
I collapse in my bed when I get back and close my eyes, begging sleep to come take me away. The circus of anxiety fades away and is replaced with the pungent smell of dirt and old wood.
I’m in the coffin again, half-awake, half-asleep. The lights on the ceiling of my bedroom become the cracks in the ceiling of the coffin. I batter it with my fists but it does nothing.
But then the coffin door cracks open. Light seeps in.
Carlo is standing above me in a beautiful forest, butterflies all around him, the smell of flowers wreathed in the air. He reaches down and takes my hands, pulling me to my feet, and suddenly the coffin is gone, the pain is gone, and we’re both naked, pressed against each other. But it goes no farther. We just hold each other, kissing, smiling.
“I’ll always keep you safe,” he whispers, breath caressing me. “I’m your shadow. I’ll always be there, watching over you, defending you. You never have to be afraid again.”
I roll over, burying my face in the pillow, burying my heart in the dream.
10
Hazel
I would like nothing more than to lie in until lunchtime becomes dinnertime, clawing back that dream, but I’m due to Skype with Lucille at eleven o’clock. So I force myself to roll out of bed with fifteen minutes to go, taking a quick shower and taming my hair as best as I can with a hairband.
Ubert arrives right on cue, laptop tucked under his arm.
“How’s Cecilia?” I ask.
He tries to mask his grin. “Fine, fine,” he mumbles. “Baby will be big. But she’s a strong woman. No funny business today, Miss Hazel.”
I open the laptop and wait until Lucille comes online. She answers almost as soon as I call, standing up in her kitchen wearing what I assume are last night’s clothes: leather skirt, sky-high heels, a strappy top that pushes up her not-inconsequential breasts.
“You gonna tell me where you is, girl?” she snaps.
I roll my eyes. “I told you, Lucille—”
“Family emergency, yeah, yeah. You lying to the wrong chica. I know that face. You got a man. He been banging your drum big-girl time.”
“Have you done your homework?” I ask, purposefully not looking at myself in the corner box so I don’t see myself blush.
“Mm-mm.” She wags her finger. “I weren’t born tomorrow.”
“You mean yesterday.”
“Yeah, that neither!”
She settles down and we manage to get some work done, though Lucille’s no-bullshit attitude never fully recedes. I like that about her.
When it’s finished, Ubert darts forward and takes the laptop. He smiles as he does it, as though he’s sorry.
I return to bed, hoping that I’ll be able to force myself into a nap. I’m still exhausted from last night. But sleep won’t come. Instead, I find myself wanting to see Emily again. Lucille’s given me a pang of longing for more female company.
Also—maybe, just maybe—I want to hear more about this good-guy side to Carlo.
As I walk through the mansion, I realize how I haven’t been scanning for possible escapes like when I first came here. That’s not good; it means I’m getting way, way too comfortable. I wonder if I have Stockholm Syndrome.
I ride the elevator to Emily’s room, hoping she won’t mind me just swinging by. She seemed so delighted for the company last night that I can’t imagine she’ll be too upset by another visit. I’m walking past the bookshelves, but I hear something and stop before I round the bend.
Carlo’s voice filters over to me, but he sounds different, kinder.
“… not that bad,” he is saying.
Emily huffs. “Look at this one: ‘shallow, bland, boring.’”
I peek around the corner to find Carlo in his suit, leaning against Emily’s desk with his arms folded over his chest. His blue-green eyes have softened and the smile he aims at his sister is reassuring.
“The average rating is four and a half stars. You’re just focusing on the bad ones. Like you always do. Read me a positive one. Go on.”
I will myself to step out from my hiding place, but something roots me.
“This one says the chemistry between the characters was believable and genuine.”
“Well, there you go.” Carlo smiles. “Don’t be such a baby.”
“Back off!” Emily says, slapping his hand. “I’m not ten anymore.”
“Don’t remind me,” he laughs. “With that smut you spend all day and night writing, you better