Losing Francesca Page 19

  My days are so screwed up from the travel and the Date Line, I have no idea if that was yesterday or the day before that or the day before that. It hurts to think about it.

  I open my bedroom door slightly and listen. I can hear muffled voices but I can't catch any words beyond my name. I close the door quietly and twist the lock. Then turn Brody's phone on.

  There are no messages and it says 'not in range' in the upper left corner so there's no service and no internet. Of course, I never expected it to actually be in range, we're on a freaking island in the middle of nowhere, the satellite access here requires a password that I am not privy to. And I don't want to upload it anyway, not yet. Besides, my laptop is in my dad's office anyway. He never lets me keep it in my room.

  But I don't need any of those things to look at the picture.

  And that's all I want to do. Look at that picture of Brody and me in the moonlight on the Lake Erie beach. I stare at his lips, his blue eyes that squint with his smile, and the blond scruff on his chin. The nameplates clink in my hand as I rub them together.

  It wasn't a dream.

  "It wasn't a dream," I say out loud. And no matter how many times they make me repeat it, this time, I will not forget.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine- Faina

  I expect my dad to return to work in Russia after I settle in, but he doesn't. He stays, he watches me, he tickles me like I'm his baby again. He laughs with me and this morning he surprises me with a ride on the beach with those stupid ponies. His horse is not a pony, it's some ridiculously large draft thing that walks so slow it makes me crazy. But that's how my dad likes his horses. Big and slow.

  As soon as we get off to grab a few bananas from a tree, they start walking home without us. We trail behind them, talking and enjoying each other's company alone for the first time in a lot of years.

  Ever since Sophia came along he's pretty much left the parenting stuff up to her. It's been a very long time since he's paid so much attention to me. A very long time.

  We stop our homeward journey near the edge of a long sloping hill that leads down to a beach we normally ignore. And we just stand there looking out at the water.

  "What?" I ask, getting nervous with his silence.

  "I just want you to know that I love you, Faina. I have always made these decisions about your life based on fear."

  I squint up at him through the blazing afternoon sun. "Fear?"

  "Fear that the world would discover who you are."

  My heart thumps. A single knock that almost makes my knees buckle. "Who am I?"

  He smiles and his gray eyes catch the light, setting off a sparkle from the lights and darks in there. "My daughter. You are my daughter, Faina. And this is a very dangerous person to be. People want to kill you, people want to steal you, people want to hurt you and lie to you and make you doubt me."

  He takes my hand.

  "And I do all of this"—he waves his hand at our island—"to protect you from them. But it's gone past that now. You've been exposed, and I can't take the chances I used to. I can't be with you all the time, and yet I need you to be safe. Do you understand this?"

  "Of course, Daddy." And I do, it's hard to argue with safety.

  He smiles at the affectionate term because I don't call him that often and for the last few weeks I haven't really been a lot of fun. I cried, I pouted, I stayed in my room, I refused to eat, I even swore at them a few times. Not the F-word like I did Frank. My father is tolerant, but I'm not sure he'd be that tolerant.

  And they flew in psychologists and doctors to check me over. They made me talk to them and admit my feelings. And even though I really wanted to keep it all bottled up inside, it helped. It helped a lot, actually, to let it out. To admit that Frank was nice, that he gave me a horse, that Sean was the perfect big brother, that Brody was someone I wanted to love.

  And they tell me it's OK. I do not have to feel guilty for feeling like this. And somehow, that makes all the difference. They are not mad at me for liking those people, or liking the horse or the boy. It's OK.

  It kinda threw me, actually. It was unexpected. It validated me. It made me count in a way that was new.

  "I'm glad, Fee. Because your mother and I have made a decision about your future and I hope you see the logic in it."

  I swallow. "What decision?"

  "Nicolae has been a good friend to you, he's taken care of you, he's been a part of your life since you were a little girl."

  That's all true. I've known Nicolae since I was maybe five or six. He's five years older than me, so he came to live with us when he was ten or eleven, I guess. We've grown up together. He taught me a lot of things, including his language. But it doesn't take a genius to see where this is going and my mind starts racing. I watch my father's lips but I lose track of his words.

  He shakes me by the shoulders a little bit. "Did you hear me, Faina?"

  I shake my head. "No."

  He nods his. "Yes."

  I try and turn away but he is prepared and his grip on my shoulders tightens a bit. "You will marry him and he will take care of you. He is the only one I can trust."

  "No."

  "Yes, Faina. Yes. It's settled." And then he takes my hand and starts leading me down the hill to the path that will take us back to the house.

  I am to marry Nicolae Cretu. It's settled. My dad thought it up, my mom agreed, and Nic is on board.

  They've settled me. I tried to say no. In fact, I did say no, twice. But I'm not even sure my dad heard it. It's almost like no doesn't even register.

  I am to marry Nicolae Cretu, I think again in my head. I've been doing this all day. Mrs. Nicolae Cretu. Faina Cretu. It's not bad, I admit. His name could be worse. It's very Romanian, but I guess that's the point when I think about it. For all intents and purposes, I am Romanian, not Russian. Being Russian is dangerous, being Romanian safe.

  It's the whole reason he came to live with us in the first place, to extract the Russian from me and turn me into a Romanian. If I ever get caught with my father I can pretend to be Romanian. And I have this act down so well, I'm even starting to believe it.

  It's the same reason why all our staff is American, why Sophia is American. Why my real mother was American, I guess. Because if I get caught away from my father, I can just be American.

  I scheduled my own flight to America for my summer holiday. Usually Sophia takes care of this stuff, but she was busy and I was eighteen for freak's sake. I should be able to handle my own stupid plane reservation. I never thought it would be a big deal to use the Francesca passport. How could I have known? I just panicked when the TSA picked me up in LA, that's all. I panicked. I was Francesca, pretending to be an Italian girl on holiday, and then when the TSA picked me up it was too late to change the story and be an American.

  I panicked and everything spiraled out of control.

  I'm not Faina Saburov, Russian-born daughter of Viktor Saburov. I am anyone else but her. And I learned all these languages and went to school in all these countries for one reason only. To slip into these other identities should it ever become necessary. Because being my father's daughter is just too dangerous.

  He's been changing me into someone else my whole life.

  One of the very few details I've learned from listening to my unsuspecting father speak Russian in front of me is that the tiny Eastern European country of Moldova is where he has the most power, where he conducts the most business, where he spends most of his time when he's not in Russia.

  And since the whole breakup of the Soviet Union, things in Eastern Europe have been fragile. My dad is a Moscow-backed official in Moldova. And I've looked it up, I've looked up what they do in Moldova, it's not like I just turn my head to the tattoos, the security, and the secrets. I might not understand what he really does, but I know it's illegal. I know that he's very unpopular in Moldova. Unpopular to the point where lots of people might want to kill him, or his wife, or his daughter.

  And when it came down to it,
I failed my final exam. Because I used the wrong passport to enter the US and then I got caught and I panicked. And this is it. It's been settled. I will marry Nic and become Romanian because I cannot be counted on to keep myself safe.

  I guess I can be Romanian if they want me to. I'm not Fijian either, yet they call me Filia here and I have no problem with that, so what do I care what nationality my papers say I am? I'm sure I'll get a new passport out of this little deal. A new name too. I wonder what it will be this time? We've used up almost all the F names imaginable. Maybe they'll move on to G?

  I sigh. My life is not simple, that's for sure.

  Nic is someone I love dearly. He's rescued me from a lot of touchy situations and even one almost deadly one. He's been a friend to me almost my whole life. We've done lots of fun things together, we've traveled all over the world, we've joked and confided in each other, and did all the things that good friends do over the course of many years.

  But Mrs. Mason sounds so much better. Mrs. Brody Mason. Faina Mason. Fiona Mason. Fiona Sullivan Mason.

  My heart hurts again. I look behind me at the house as I sit on the beach. I am near the water and the tide is making its way forward, so every now and then a salty wave of foam slips in underneath me and slides me around. No one is watching at the house, so I scoot back a little farther up the beach and dig the phone out of my bag.

  I turn it on and look at the picture and the hurt in my heart becomes a deep, all-encompassing ache.

  I turn the phone off and stick it back in my bag, then take out the nameplates and rub them together. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around myself, still rubbing the nameplates in my hand.

  And I sit this way, alone, until the sun is starting to set. It goes from a bright white yellow, to gold, to orange to almost red.

  It's beautiful. And my skin stays perpetually misted from the crashing waves and allows the warm sea breeze to cool me.

  I live in paradise.

  Nic comes up behind me, slides his tanned legs along either side of my hips, and pulls me into his chest.

  "Your father is watching," he says in perfect American English.

  I stare up at him, then look back at the house to find my father. "Are you allowed to speak English to me?"

  "That job is over now, so yes. Besides, your Romanian accent was perfected years ago."

  "I was a job?"

  He sighs. "You know it was my job, don't do this."

  I sit quietly as he drags a fingertip up and down my arm. He's right, I always knew I was his job. I just never thought it extended to marriage.

  "I love you, Faina."

  "I know," I whisper.

  "I will be good to you."

  "I know that too," I whisper again.

  He leans down and presses his face into my neck. "Did that boy touch you?"

  I shake my head now as the tears start to build.

  His fingertips gently tilt my chin so I am forced to look at him. Then he swipes a tear away. "Did he touch you?"

  "Just a kiss," I admit.

  "That's all?"

  I nod.

  He releases a long breath. "I would've understood, of course, but I'm so glad."

  I'm not, is all I can think. I'm not glad at all. "I will never love you, Nic. Not the way you want."

  "You will," he says softly. "Eventually. Because I'll be good to you and I know you love me in another way already. So you will. And I can be patient."

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box. "I picked it out. And I paid for it too, so don't think I plan on taking care of you with your dad's money."

  I take the box and look up at him solemnly. "I never thought that."

  He smiles. "Open it."

  The diamond is perfect. It catches all the dying light of the setting sun. It's so large it's like fire in the approaching night.

  "Will you marry me, Faina?" he asks as the perfect Fijian day turns into the perfect Fijian evening.

  Do I have a choice? I ask myself. And all I hear in my head is Brody's voice, Of course you have a choice! Just tell him no!

  But I did say no, and it did not matter.

  So I say yes instead. "Yes, I'll marry you, Nic."

  He takes the ring out of the box, holds up my left hand, and slips it on. Then he leans over my shoulder and brings my hand to his lips. "I will make you happy again."

  "I hope so," I reply honestly. "I really do."

  Chapter Forty - Faina

  Last night after my engagement I actually was happy. Nic and I walked up to the house together holding hands, and Sophia cried, and my dad hugged me and clapped Nic on the back, calling him son. We drank some champagne and my dad scheduled the helicopter to take us to Nadi on the big Fijian island of Viti Levu today for shopping and a special dinner with all our local friends.

  It wasn't until I went back to my room alone that the ache came back.

  And this morning it's not any better.

  It has been six weeks since I left the Sullivans. Since I left Brody. I look at his picture every single day. I stare at it at night, and I had to steal an old phone charger from Nic's office a few weeks ago so I can continue to look at us.

  I imagine what I'd be doing right now if I was back there. I check the date on the phone and let out an ironic snort.

  It's Fiona's birthday.

  I should've had all this time between that day of the horse show and now to get to know Brody better. To relish in Sean's overprotective brotherly ways. To talk horses with Frank, and muck stalls with Aimee, and go shopping with Angela, and pound on the floor when the twins made too much noise at night, and maybe even take lessons on Sweetness in Lindsey's arena every morning.

  There should've been all those family breakfasts, and all those family dinners, and all those perfect nights on the beach with Brody. There should've been a trip to that island he talked about, and that amusement park rollercoaster he wanted to ride, and fishing at night in his boat. There should've been dirt bike rides, and meeting his older brother Renn, and maybe even camping, and dinners out, and swimming, and kissing, and sex.

  There should've been all those things between that day and this one.

  We should be so tired from smiling right now, our cheeks should hurt. I should be asking him to pinch me to make sure this is real and make that stupid smile stop, give my cheeks a break.

  And I should've lost Faina, not Fiona.

  Because no matter what anyone says, I feel like a fake girl. Living a fake life, in a fake world, with fake parents, and a fake fiancée.

  That life with Frank was not a dream, this one is.

  But regardless, it's this dream life I live in, so I need to come to terms with it. I need to put this stuff behind me and just think ahead for now. I can't walk around in this half dazed state forever. And it's been weeks. It's over, I'm here now. I promised myself to someone else, I have a wedding to plan, and a family to think about.

  I wander out of my room, past the other hallways that lead to each of the other bedroom wings, and into the main house, but it's barely six AM, so the entire place is quiet. I want to upload the photo of Brody and me to my blog and tell people goodbye. I want to tell him goodbye the way I should've when I left. Maybe he'll read it and he'll understand and be able to let me go, not waste his life looking for me like he did his childhood. I'm not going to update the blog after today anyway—this is it for me because my well-traveled feet need a rest. I need a rest. I'm tired of being other people, I just want to be me now. And maybe I'll never get to actually be Faina Saburov, but I need to be someone.

  I cross the open living room, step down the stairs that lead to the courtyard, and walk past the pool to Nic's little house. I let myself in and find him snoring peacefully in his bed. I sit down next to him and whisper in his ear. "Nic?"

  He turns, immediately awake. "What's wrong?" he asks, sitting up.

  "Nothing, I just want to know if I can use your computer. I want to go online and close som
e accounts."

  "What accounts?" he asks, groggy and irritated with my sudden revelation.

  "Rule-breaking ones," I answer back. "So you better let me do it, or I'll tell my dad you never even knew I had them."

  He grabs me and pulls me back onto the bed with him, still half asleep. "You're bad, Faina. You could've been hurt with those accounts."

  "Consider it my rebellious phase. Can I use it? Or not?"

  "No," he says as I pout. "Mine has all sorts of stuff on it you can't see. But you can use my internet code. It's impaler1476, no caps."

  "That's so lame. It screams, I am Romanian and I have no imagination."

  I laugh and squirm as he pokes me in the ribs and then he nuzzles into my neck and whispers softly in my ear. "I love you."

  "I love you, too," I say back. I've decided to say it every time he says it to me, because I said yes to his question last night, and maybe I could've said no, and maybe not. It doesn't matter, because I did say yes. And I refuse to hurt him, so if he tells me he loves me, I will say it back. And maybe I don't really love him like that right now, but I think he's right. I will probably learn to love him in that way over time. I kiss him on the cheek. "Now go back to sleep."

  I wiggle free and skip back to the main living area, sneak my laptop out of my dad's office, then take it to my room and access the internet with Nic's password.

  I log into Facebook first and I have twenty-seven messages. All telling me happy birthday. Because apparently I posted that it was my birthday today.

  What the hell?

  All the update says is, It's my birthday! Send me good wishes! With a pink heart and a yellow smiley face.

  I never wrote that.

  I delete the account before Nic or my father find out it was compromised and then log into my blog.

  I have twenty-two comments waiting for approval. Since I hardly ever log in, I only allow automatic comments for one day after my last post.

  When I check the front-end the top post is titled Happy Birthday To Me, dated yesterday, and it has thirty-three comments. But that's not the part that stuns me. It's the picture at the top of the post that makes me forget to breathe.