Page 12 of A Forgotten Promise

“Principessa, I was going to call you. How are you?”

“Vito, the hotel claims my credit card was canceled.”

“But of course, I told you I’ll be canceling it.”

Did he? Fuck, what’s wrong with me? I don’t recall that conversation. “Why?”

“You can’t incur more debt until we understand what’s going on. Your checking account currently has five hundred euros.”

The elevator door opens, and its current occupants stare at me, shuffling to make room, but I don’t get in.

“What exactly are you saying, Vito?”

“Isn’t it too early there? Why don’t we talk after you have breakfast—”

“Stop babying me, Vito, what the fuck is going on?”

The heavy pause on the other side makes me want to throw the phone at the wall.

“Saar, it’s worse than I thought. I’m working with the auditor to prepare the evidence to press charges, but it may take some time. You need to be patient.”

“Patient? I’m staying at a hotel I can’t pay for.”

“Perhaps I can book a job for you while you’re there?”

I shiver at the idea. I’d rather live with my parents. Another shiver tightens the knot in my stomach. Or be homeless.

“No, I’m getting my brother’s jet to fly over there and deal with this shit.”

“Saar, don’t overreact. It’s better I find out all your options first. I’m going to wire you two thousand dollars to settle your current bill.”

“Vito, I can’t take your money.”

“Principessa, it’s the least I can do for you. You’re in this fucking situation because of me.”

“Vito—” I sigh. “Okay, please settle the bill for me here, and I’m going to stay with my friend.”

“Good call. I have business in the States in a few days, so we can sit down and review the situation.”

The idea of having him here gives me an unreasonable jolt of happiness. Vito, with his kind eyes, always stirring me in the right direction, subbing for my father without even knowing it. “Thank you. What would I do without you?”

He sighs. “Saar, I’m going to sort this out. It’s my fault I trusted that woman.”

“Stop it. She fooled me as well. I better go and pack.”

After a moment, he sighs again. “Saar?”

“Yes?”

“Maybe you need to look into accessing your trust fund?”

I can almost hear how much it pains him to even suggest that. He knows I want nothing to do with the van den Lindens’ money. Nothing that came from my parents.

“I don’t—”

“I know, I know how you feel about that. But it might be just a temporary solution, so you can settle.”

“It’s not that easy.”

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