Losing Francesca Page 4

  That sounds nice, actually. To have something so constant in your life as a child. My life was anything but constant. I'm not complaining, we are filthy rich and I have been given every opportunity. I spent half of my time away at school, but I've never felt unwanted. It was for my own safety. And I have a father who loves me and my stepmom, Sophia, who treats me like I'm hers. She was in Greece when all this happened in America and they wouldn't let her come see me after I was confiscated, so I have no idea how this is affecting her. I imagine she's pretty upset, I mean she's raised me since I was seven.

  We walk into the house together and the whole place smells like Italian food. I smile at everyone in the dining room and they laugh and start pretending to speak Italian, but all they can say are food dishes.

  We eat lasagna and pizza. The thin kind. Everyone is happy and chatty, even the boys, and I'm comfortable and if not happy, at least not sad. It's an improvement from last night when all I said was I'm not Fiona Sullivan.

  And… that's when the questions start.

  From Frank.

  "So where did you go to school, Francesca?" is the first one.

  I shake my head at him. "Privato," I say.

  "None of your business," Jake translates, laughing. But Frank is not amused.

  "Why can't you say?"

  My breath huffs out in annoyance. What part of 'none of your business' doesn't he understand?

  Lindsey changes the subject. "What do you like to study at school, Chessie?"

  "Science, I bet," Aimee snorts.

  "No, no. Io odio la matematica. Mi piace l'arte."

  "Art, she says," Sean translates.

  "Oh," Aimee squeals. "I got you paper and colored pencils. Did you see them on your desk?"

  I shake my head. "No, sono stata fuori tutto il giorno."

  "She was outside all day. Where did you learn to ride, Francesca?"

  "Ho dei cavalli e prendo lezioni. Sin da quando ero bambina."

  Sean nods at me. "She has her own horses. And she took lots of lessons."

  "Well, maybe you can tell us where you learned English, Francesca?" Frank's question comes out like a challenge, not friendly banter like the others.

  I scowl at him and simply answer, "Privato."

  Frank throws down his fork and it bounces along the table. We all jump and Angela is yelling at him, but he puts his hand up. "You know English, yet you refuse to talk to us? You make us do tricks for you, like pets or something? Do you think you can come here and make all the rules, Francesca?"

  "Frank, stop!" Angela scolds.

  But Frank isn't interested. "This is my house and I make the rules. So from now on, if you refuse to speak to us in English, then I refuse to let you speak Italian. You can be silent and say nothing for the next seven weeks because I'll be damned if I'll let you come in here and act like you don't care that you might be my lost daughter and Sean is your brother. I will not allow you to rip us apart again."

  He shoves his chair back, making an awful screech as he drags it across the floor, and then he walks out.

  We all sit and stare at each other.

  And then I say, "Mi scusi," and go upstairs.

  I pace my small room. It's really not anywhere near as big as the other rooms up here, but I guess that's the trade-off for the terrace. I'd like to go out there right now and pretend I'm on my own terrace back home, but I hear the boys even through the closed doors. Sean is talking to Jake and Quinn and then they go over to his carriage house.

  I lie down in the bed and the tears start to flow. Just a small leak at first, but soon everything that's happened to me over the past few months comes back in a rush. All the nights I had to spend in hiding so my dad couldn't find me and steal me away. And they did a good job, too, those FBI people. Because my dad never did find me. I'm sure he tried his best, but this is not our country and here they only see him as someone bad.

  He has no power here.

  I turn over in the bed and lie there until I'm so tired from crying I simply fall asleep.

  Chapter Seven - Brody

  I stay out in my garage for the rest of the day. Just doing stupid shit with the Jeep because I simply cannot think straight. Fiona. It's the only thing on my mind.

  How the hell do I come to terms with this? She's back.

  It's almost too much to accept, like the day my parents died. It will probably take a while for reality to sink in.

  I don't even bother to call for a pizza when Case and Parker start complaining about dinner, and if Renn was here, he'd be pissed that I'm shirking my duties over a girl. But they survive because if there's one thing we know how to do, it's survive.

  The thing that makes it wrong isn't the fact that I refuse to get them food, but that I don't care. I honestly, in all the time my mom and dad have been dead, have never not cared if my brothers had dinner to eat. Never.

  Until today.

  When Fiona came home.

  I sit on my dirt bike. I've been sitting here for a while, actually. Thinking I'm gonna ride right down there and demand to see her. What can they say, really?

  The laugh comes out automatically. Frank would definitely call the cops on me, that's what they could say.

  But I need to see her. I need to talk to her, to ask her questions. Where was she? Who took her? Why did she leave? Why does she refuse to be Fiona now?

  Because Fiona Sullivan is my soulmate. I knew it from the first time we played together. My mom used to babysit her and Sean back when we were all very small and they'd come over for a few hours a couple times a week. I remember looking at her when she was four years old and I was six, thinking to myself, I love that girl. That is the girl I will marry.

  And sure, little kids think that shit all the time, but I still felt that way when she started school the next year and we shared a bus seat on the way home.

  My head sinks down onto the handlebars again.

  I can't just drive up there on my bike. Frank would shit his pants and Sean really would want to fight me then, because he warned me. And maybe I can beat his ass and maybe I can't, but I'm really not interested in fighting him, because my Fiona would not want me to fight her brother.

  I pull out my phone and check the time. It's a little past eleven. I could walk over and try to see if she's on the terrace. It's only about a mile down the road.

  I cover the distance between our houses at a jog, and then regret it when I get there and I'm sweating like a mechanic under a car at high noon. I take off my shirt and tuck it into the waistband of my jeans to cool down and scope this shit out.

  Sean is definitely still awake because I can hear voices coming from his house near the back barns.

  Fiona's window is dark. Shit. Do I want to wake her up?

  Definitely.

  I jump up and grab the lowest limb of the old oak tree that leads up to her terrace and then shimmy my way up several more boughs until I'm even with the railing. And then I simply step over and I'm there. Mere feet from her sleeping body.

  I check down below to make sure Sean and the others stay put, then sneak across the terrace and try and peek in her window.

  It's too damn dark, so I have only one option. I knock. Softly. Just a little tap, tap, tap. Then lean in on the glass to see if this wakes her.

  Nothing.

  Quinn and Jake are coming out of Sean's house now and I sink to my knees and wait for them to go inside the main house. They are not quiet at all and I can hear them inside.

  Did this wake her? I peek in again, but I stay kneeling, just in case Sean is still outside.

  Nothing. Damn, she's a pretty sound sleeper. I knock again, but this time I make it count.

  I know she heard it this time because she falls right out of bed.

  Chapter Eight - Francesca

  I'm hearing things. Tapping noises, maybe the branches from the tree outside. Is it windy? I strain to listen for wind, but it seems still to me. I have no windows open because this room is air-conditioned, and I pref
er that at nighttime, even when it's cool.

  I close my eyes again and try to go back to sleep, but then I can hear the boys outside. They get loud when they come in. Maybe everyone is still awake? Because they don't seem concerned with the noise level. I open one eye and try and see the digital clock on my desk. 11:15. Not too late for summer, but still. There seems to be a lot going on and the boys are not settling down below me. I wonder if my room is above theirs?

  My eyes are still so tired from crying that I don't even care and try to go back to sleep.

  The knocking coming from my terrace door scares me so bad I fall out of bed and thump to the floor.

  I hear the boys downstairs telling me to keep it down and I shake my head. As if I am the one keeping everyone up tonight.

  But wait. Someone is definitely outside my terrace door. And they are knocking for me to let them in. I crawl over to the end of the bed and I can see a face in the darkness.

  My heart almost stops when I recognize him.

  It's dirt bike boy.

  He taps again and I panic.

  What the hell does he want?

  He can see me, and now he's waving at me to open the door, rolling his hand in an urgent gesture, then looking behind him.

  Sean! I bet it's Sean.

  I jump up and tiptoe over to the door and pull it open. He scoots past me real fast and then I hear Sean's voice. "Francesca?"

  I walk out on the terrace. "Sì."

  "You OK?"

  I walk over to the edge so I can see him, a little bit embarrassed by my bare legs and tank top. "Sì."

  "Need anything?"

  "No. No."

  "OK, well, sorry about dinner. Don't let Frank get you down, he's just… scared, that's all."

  "OK," I say.

  "Goodnight."

  "Sì."

  I go back inside and practically bump into the boy. I push him away and curse. "Chi sei? Che diavolo ci fai sul mio terrazzo?"

  He just stares at me with those shining blue eyes. I squint at him, but his stare is intense and it makes me uncomfortable.

  "Ciao?"

  "Uh," he finally manages. "Fiona?"

  "No! Io non sono Fiona Sullivan!" I hiss it out, but in a whisper.

  His stare is searing into me, his gaze serious, but something else too. It takes me a second, but I recognize the look. Wanting. "You sure about that?"

  I just shake my head and throw up my arms. I have a boy in my room, a very cute boy with muscles and no shirt, and he smells like a man who's been working all day and that is totally driving me crazy, and all he wants to do is talk about Fiona Sullivan. That's all anyone has wanted to talk about for months and I'm sick of it. I can't stand it anymore.

  "Detesto Fiona Sullivan, rivoglio mio padre, voglio tornare a casa! Io non sono Fiona Sullivan!"

  He laughs.

  He laughs at me! I stomp my foot and turn around, furious, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back to him, pulls me into him actually, and then I am flush against his chest, and staring up into his eyes.

  "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad."

  I shrug.

  "I get it, you don't understand me and I don't understand you, but I don't care. I just wanted to see you."

  "Io non sono Fiona Sullivan," I whisper.

  He takes his hands and holds my face, tilting it up so he can look at me, or make me look at him. His jawline is square and broad, the blond stubble still there from last night, only a little longer now. And his hands are rough, like he uses them for work every day.

  "Io non sono Fiona Sullivan," I repeat and I shake my head this time for emphasis.

  He continues to look at my eyes. Only my eyes. And then he exhales and I realize he's been holding his breath. "What. Is. Your. Name?"

  He says it very slow, like I can't understand English.

  And then it hits me, he doesn't know I understand English. The look on my face must be confusion, because he repeats it again, even slower. I almost laugh at him this time, but I hold it in. He's having a very serious moment and it would be extremely bad manners to laugh right now.

  "Mi chiamo Francesca Sabatini."

  He smiles. "Francesca?"

  "Sì."

  "You are like a flower, Francesca."

  I blush and try to look away, but his hands are still cupping my face.

  "You are so beautiful, I don't even know what to say."

  I try to change the subject so I point to his chest and say, "Come ti chiami?"

  He breathes out again and looks a little sad. He's disappointed that I had to ask but he catches himself quickly. "Brody, Brody Mason."

  "Brody Mason," I repeat, trying on my best Italian accent. Of the infamous Mason boys, I don't add. But it is a nice name.

  "Do you remember me?"

  I shake my head to pretend I don't understand.

  He drops his hands and I study his bare chest for a moment. He must not have realized he was shirtless because he plucks a shirt from his waistband and quickly tugs it over his head, pulling it down the way boys do, so that it slides past their stomach muscles and drives us girls crazy.

  He is a very beautiful boy. Man. He's definitely not a boy.

  And then it gets silent and soon after, it gets weird. He just stands there looking at me.

  I'm just about to wander over to the door and open it to get him to leave—because no matter how beautiful he is, he definitely needs to go, and soon—but then he starts talking.

  "I don't know if you remember me," he says softly. "But I would definitely like a chance to get to know you, Francesca."

  Well, that was nice. I smile and then he squints at me and takes my face in his hands again.

  "Have you been crying?" His thumbs caress the puffy skin under my eyes gently and I nod yes.

  "Why?"

  "Perché?" Seriously? "Frank," I say simply. It comes out so American it almost takes me back a minute.

  "Oh. Yeah, Frank can be an asshole. I can see that. Can I come over again tomorrow?"

  My eyes are transfixed by his gaze, but it's not enough to make this nightmare go away. I shake my head no.

  "How about I come over in the daytime?"

  I shake my head again. I'm pretty sure Sean will freak out if this guy comes calling for me, regardless of the hour. In fact, I'm pretty sure opening the door was a big mistake. He's beautiful, but I'm not interested. I have plans and a life and I'm pulling him across the room before I even get this thought together in my head, and then I push him out onto the terrace and close the door. Twisting the lock for emphasis.

  I am not Fiona Sullivan and I'm getting the hell out of here on August fifteenth and no man-boy who rides a dirt bike and has a beautiful muscular chest is going to keep me from doing that. I'm done here. I didn't do anything to deserve Frank's stinging words at dinner and I'm just no longer interested in pretending I'm a foreign exchange student or away at horse camp.

  Because the simple truth is, the more people know about me, the more complicated things will get.

  I need to keep it all very simple. One name, one father, one home, one everything.

  Because if they find out who I really am, my whole world might end.

  Chapter Nine - Francesca

  I sleep in the next day. I hear all the bustle of the barns and the horses and the riding lesson girls and their horse trailers and parents and all of that stuff that comes with a busy show barn in the summer. But I ignore every bit of it.

  I lie in my bed until ten and then get up and soak in my tub filled with bubbles. When I'm done I go through all the clothes in my closet but the only pants that fit me are the ones I wore yesterday.

  I could put shorts on, but I don't. I like to be dressed for just about anything so I put on the dirty jeans and a clean tank top, and leave it at that. I'll wear these damn jeans every day for the next seven weeks if I have to. Because you don't wear shorts unless you're comfortable, and I'm definitely not comfortable.

  I'm on edge. Totally, one
hundred percent on edge.

  When I don't show up for lunch Angela comes knocking. I wish I had a lock on the door, but I don't, so she helps herself to the doorknob and walks in.

  I shake my head at her.

  "You missed breakfast and lunch."

  Silence.

  She shoves a plate at me. "I brought you a sandwich."

  I am pretty hungry, so I take it and then make a shooing motion with my hand. It's rude but I don't care.

  "Mrs. Marco is downstairs. You'll need to talk to her."

  "Spero che tu decida di parlarmi in italiano, perché da questo momento in poi, io non conosco più l'inglese."

  Sean enters then and translates, explaining that I refuse to acknowledge anyone who speaks to me in English. This makes Angela sigh with frustration. "So how do you plan on getting by, Francesca? Just pretending none of this is happening? It is, OK? And you need to deal with it."

  "Io non capisco l'inglese."

  "Right," she replies dryly. "I forgot, we have to live in reality but you, for whatever reason, have been excused from it."

  I shake my head and feign ignorance. "Io non capisco l'inglese."

  She walks out. And I laugh.

  "It's not funny, Fiona," Sean says.

  "Francesca."

  "Fiona," he says angrily. "You know you're Fiona. You lied your ass off on those polygraph tests. We know who you are!"

  I walk over to the window just as Brody Mason pulls into the farm on a dirt bike. Sean is over at my window in an instant and then he's outside on the terrace.

  Then Mrs. Marco is at my door calling to me, and Sean is yelling down from the terrace, and Frank is outside screaming at Brody, and a horse gets loose and then all hell breaks loose and kids are screaming and the horse is screaming, and everything is a scream, and I run into the bathroom and slam the door.

  It's not enough to drown out the sounds on the other side, and then they are pounding and yelling.

  This place is nothing like it seemed yesterday.