His brow rose. “That’s not an answer.”
“It’s my final one.” I glared at him.
He leaned back into his seat. “You have a favorite flavor,” he deadpanned. “But for an unknown reason, you refuse to say it.”
I scoffed with a bravado. “And how would you know that?”
“Your eyes.”
“What about my eyes?” I snapped.
“They’re the windows to your soul.” My heartbeat tripped over itself. Where had I heard that before? “They tell me when you’re lying, when you’re sad or scared, when you’re excited.”
My cheeks heated, and I inhaled slowly.
“It’s my turn,” I rasped, my words tumbling from my mouth on a tremor, eager to move the topic away from myself.
“Then ask, ice princess.”
I gritted my teeth at the nickname. Answers first. Kill him later.
“What was the deal with you and Louisa?”
“I won’t be answering that.”
Frustration chafed beneath my skin, but it wasn’t as if I could call him out on it when I just did the same.
“Where were you when my sister was taken?” I asked, my voice cracking.
His cool gaze slid to my neck, probably squeezing invisible hands around it.
“I was right there, dying alongside Louisa.” He shot to his feet abruptly, causing me to flinch. “Where in the fuck were you? We talked about leaving for ten fucking years. Where were you, Liana?”
Then he turned around and left me staring after him. It had become a pattern—one of us was always leaving.
Chapter 43Liana
Ten years.
Kingston Ashford was our bodyguard for ten years, and judging by his tone, he blamed me for her death. And I… I couldn’t remember him. Except maybe in my dreams. I shook my head side to side. No, that couldn’t be him. Not if he was my sister’s lover.
My heart only ever thundered like this when I dreamt about the faceless man or was with Kingston.
Being here, effectively stranded on this island, I was faced with the fact that my mother was at the epicenter of my life’s worst moments. I’d known this for years, but the way she’d weaponized my loneliness made it second-nature to overlook. But I wouldn’t run from it—from her—anymore.
The great Sofia Catalano Volkov.
I brought my cold fingers up, rubbing my temples and closing my eyes for a moment while flashbacks I couldn’t piece together sliced through my mind.
My sister. The video of her torture. Santiago Tijuana’s words giving me hope. The man I dreamt about whose face I never saw.
Could that be Kingston’s face? It would line up with his time under my mother’s control but… How was it possible that I didn’t remember him? Or the events he spoke about? Could I trust him? Jesus Christ, was I attracted to my sister’s man?
I couldn’t stay here. I couldn’t go home. Damn my mother. Damn this man who’d snatched me. All I knew was that if there was even the slightest chance I could save my sister—that she was alive for me to save—I had to try.
Rain streaked across the large windows, blurring my view of the ocean.
I loved the smell in this space; it had become my safe haven. Leather, firewood, and cigars. After sifting through the books and being unable to focus on a single book, I took a seat on the windowsill and stared at the horizon.
My breaths were quiet but my thoughts were loud. I couldn’t forget Kingston’s words, the accusations. Somewhere in the corners of my mind, warning bells went off, but I couldn’t understand them.
Maybe I was going crazy.
I propped my head against the cool glass and closed my eyes. My body trembled as I was dragged back to the broken images playing in my mind.
I stared at the bowl of ice cream in my hands and let out an exasperated sigh. “Will they ever get this right?”
“Probably not.” I looked up to find my sister already handing me hers. “Do you prefer vanilla sex?”
“Hey!” I glanced around to ensure nobody heard us. “Bring your voice down a notch.”
“Jesus Christ. It was a joke.”
I rolled my eyes.
“A bad one.” She shrugged, studying me. We both sported high ponytails. It made it easier to fuck with guards who couldn’t tell us apart. “This is exactly what I was saying—you need to focus on what matters. Be ready to leave.”
“Are you sure?” Worry was etched on my twin’s face, and it had the desired effect of snapping me into seriousness. “If we get caught, there’ll be hell to pay.”
“She won’t catch us.” Did I say those words or did my sister? “I’m not leaving without you.”
“I’ll be a third wheel.”
“Never.” My forehead rested against hers, our hearts beating as one. “Mother can’t be saved,” I whispered. “We both know that. Papa said so himself.”
“He’s not much better,” she spat, bitterness lacing her voice. “He left us with her.”
My lungs squeezed and my hands holding the ice cream bowl became clammy. “You know she threatened his life. His children’s lives.”
“We’re his children too, and he had no issue abandoning us.” Distress on her face clawed at my chest. “Why are they more important than us?”
My stomach churned with nausea. Of course she was right. Papa had sons and one other daughter who lived a life of being loved and cherished while we witnessed horrors and lived in fear of Mother’s men, husband, and enemies.
“They don’t matter,” I said, trying to calm her down. “And when we’re far away from here, we’ll forget them all. It’ll just be you, me, and—”
The rumbling sound of thunder beyond the window startled me awake, my mind grasping at straws. No, no, no. I was so close! You, me, and who? Was it Kingston? I wasn’t sure, but if they were together before she—she… And after everything he revealed about wanting to run away before she died… God, I was unraveling, and it only felt like the beginning.
I was still no closer to trusting him. After all, he’d purchased me at an auction like I was a slab of meat. He yanked me away from Perez, taking away my chance to find out what happened to my sister.
I hugged my hands around my waist, studying my surroundings, but the library was empty. I slumped against the window, the dream still fresh in my mind.
Agony licked at every fiber of me as I dug through the memory. I had every reason to believe it was a real memory—the images of my sister so vivid it made my heart hurt.
I wiped my sweaty hair off my forehead and heaved a sigh. This was the most I’d remembered since her death. We were talking about running away. Just like Kingston said.
Peering through the fogged-up window, I noticed the remnants of the storm were finally clearing. I watched the clouds slowly drift away—for minutes, maybe hours. I couldn’t help but feel envy; they came and went, enjoying their journey, while I remained stuck here. Confused and troubled.
Sliding off the windowsill, I quietly made my way out of the room. The hallway was empty, the home eerily quiet as I made my way down the stairs.
I clutched the handrail for balance, almost expecting for Kingston to jump out from the shadows like a ghost and push me to my death. Or back into my room. The jury was still out on his intentions.
Once at the bottom of the stairs, I swung the front door wide open. The birds chirped, calling me to freedom. I followed the call, and as soon as I crossed the threshold, my eyelids fluttered shut in bliss.