Page 19 of Dark Truths

If ever there was a more dangerous way to stoke a fire, it would be with my words. It's throwing gasoline on the damn blaze.?

Dimitri stares at me with an intensity I feel everywhere. The emotions swirling in his eerie ice-blue eyes are so erratic, it’s hard to define one before another takes its place. It feels like I’m suffering from whiplash. My breath catches in my throat when I’m finally able to identify one emotion.

Grief.

And it takes me by surprise.

“Believe it or not, Gabriella, but I would never lie to you.” He trails off like he meant to say something more, but then stops himself. Like he’s at war with himself and the grief transforms into pain. The sight extinguishes the fiery tension between us, leaving only remnants of smoldering embers behind.

I open my mouth to say his name, but he’s already turning away. Panic fills me, like if he walks out of this room, that’ll be it. Like whatever this is between us will be over. Funny. I came in here intent on doing that very thing, but now I want to fight for it. Because the thought of losing the chance to explore this thing between us is heart wrenching.

Rushing after him, I grab his arm, tugging hard enough until he stops and turns around. His eyes drop to my hand and then back up to me. The pain from before is gone, replaced now by anger. I pull my hand away immediately, like his skin is suddenly on fire.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Dimitri, please.” My voice is soft as I try to plea with him. “I haven’t even turned the new phone on. I swear.”

His face remains hard, but the honesty in my words seems to break through a little of his anger. “Turn it on and decide.”

Poor Grace O’Leary. On her wedding day, her younger sister disappears. It’s still unclear whether she was taken or escaped on her own. I’m not a betting woman, but if I was, I’d definitely bet on the latter. If I was being forced to marry a man three times my age, I would have run, too.

I only met her younger sister, Rosaleen, once. At their mother’s wake, of all places. I remember seeing a little girl about my age run upstairs in tears. She had the most brilliant red hair that I thought looked like fire. And I was jealous. At that age, I thought my brown hair was dull and wanted something cool like red hair, even purple too, at one point. Mom indulged me with hair extensions of fun colors, but as I grew older, I learned to appreciate the natural beauty of my dark hair and have never colored it once.

I followed her up the stairs and to a bathroom, where she locked herself away inside. When I knocked, she yelled at me to go away. Her attitude for such a small person impressed me. I wish she had stuck around instead of going to stay with her uncle in Dublin. I think we would have been great friends.

It’s late in the evening by the time I make it home. These functions are exhausting no matter the reason for it. Personally, I’m surprised the wedding went on. If my sister disappeared one hour before I’m due to walk down the aisle, I would have been unable to get married. But my father isn’t a bastard like Grace’s. Patrick O’Leary is only interested in what Patrick O’Leary wants, and he wanted to see his eldest married to his second-in-command today.

Grace put on a brave face during the reception, and I wanted to comfort her, but we’re not the best of friends. We’re morelike acquaintances who greet one another pleasantly at family events, but we’re not the pair to go get coffee casually. No matter though, I still whispered my congratulations and prayers for her sister in her ear before I leave. My only desire after that was to hurry home and switch on the phone, but as a DiAngelo, I had no choice but to remain for the family’s sake.

However, the moment I step inside my home, I hurry into my bedroom and then the nightstand. I open the drawer and take out the black phone. For a long second, I hold it in my hands and just stare at the dark screen. Am I a fool to hope there’s a message waiting for me when I turn it on? He said he would never lie to me. Am I a fool to hope that was true, too?

Feeling like the cat in the Schrödinger experiment, I won’t know either way until I turn it on. Pressing the power button, I watch as the screen lights up and the phone goes through its usual startup routine, finally revealing the generic home screen.

I wait with bated breath for the truth to reveal itself. Am I a fool? Or was he telling the truth?

A second later, a message appears with the familiar dinging alert sound.

Without hesitation, I click on the message.

Unknown: Yes or no?

I frown at the three words. Yes or no? What the fuck does that mean? Yes or no to what?

It could mean anything.

It could mean everything.

Dimitri said to decide.

So I do.

Me: Yes.

10

Dimitri

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