Page 24 of Blood Heir

I reach for my toothbrush, the bristles fresh and clean. The mechanical act of brushing my teeth grounds me, something so simple in a world that’s now anything but.

Then I hear it—the knock.

Knock. Knock.

I rinse my mouth, the minty taste sharp against the lingering confusion in my chest. I look up at myself in the mirror. I inhale, steadying myself, thinking it’s Serevin.

I remember, unexpectedly, caressing his scars. My fingers on the raised skin of his ribcage, the way his body felt beneath my touch. I shake my head, kicking myself mentally for letting myself get so close. For letting him, even for a second, make me feel something that I don’t fully understand.

Another knock—louder, more insistent this time.

I grab the towel from the sink and dry my face quickly, then walk toward the main door. My hand rests on the handle, and I take a deep breath, steadying myself. I open the door, already irritated by the intrusion.

Emilia steps inside without waiting for an invitation.

I roll my eyes. “What do you want now?” I ask, the words coming out snarkier than I intend.

Emilia smiles at me with that infuriatingly sweet, overly polished look of hers. It makes my teeth clench. “Didn’t you know, Fee?” she says in that voice—the one that makes me feel like I’m being patronized. “We have a fundraiser to attend today.”

Fundraising? I blink, confused. I feel my frustration rising, the urge to snap back building. “Gee, the thing is, little Miss Sunshine, that I don’t fucking know who I am or who you are, and I certainly don’t remember any fundraising.”

Emilia’s eyes sparkle with amusement, and she laughs—a soft, tinkling sound that makes my skin crawl. “You’ve gotten so much funnier, Fee. I like it.”

I narrow my eyes, suspicious, but she keeps talking, her voice almost too sweet. “I’m your cousin. Your father and mine are brothers, and Serevin was my childhood friend. I stay here because my parents are late too, and Serevin protects me.” She pauses, her lips twitching into something that almost looks like mockery. “I know you don’t recall, but I want to help you jog your memory. The doctor said it would help.”

I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow at Emilia. “And how do you know that?” I ask, my voice thick with suspicion. My eyes narrow, examining her with a careful scrutiny.

She flinches slightly, but hides it quickly behind her overly enthusiastic smile. “Oh, umm, I just…in movies, these things help.” She waves her hand, like it's no big deal, trying to play it cool. “Oh, come on, it’s a chill event. You’re fundraising for kids, and it’s at the beach.”

The beach?

I feel a slow tightening in my chest, something pulling at the edges of my mind. Something about that sounds familiar, but I’m too disoriented to place it. “The beach?” I repeat, the word tasting unfamiliar on my tongue, though there’s something in me that wants to latch onto it.

She’s already bouncing with unnecessary energy, practically vibrating with excitement. “Yes! In fact, you were theone who suggested the venue. You thought it would be perfect for the kids to have fun while the adults had their meeting.”

I pause for a moment, my gaze flicking to the window, as the words swirl around in my head.

It sounds like something I would do, I think.

A small flicker of recognition, a brief flash of a woman who isn’t here anymore. The feeling passes as quickly as it came, leaving only the vague sensation that maybe, just maybe, I used to know what I was doing.

But the reality hits me hard, and I shake my head, snapping back to the present. I toss my hands up in frustration, my tone sharp. “I don’t have any clothes for the beach. Whoever I was, I dressed like a depressed nun. No offense.”

I can’t help the dry laugh that escapes me. It’s bitter, but it’s the truth. I take a step back, rubbing my temples as I think about the outfits that line the closet. Modest. Uncomfortable. Stiff. Nothing that screams freedom.

Emilia’s eyes widen, and she claps her hands together like she’s just won some kind of battle. “Oh, don’t worry, I have you covered.” She practically skips out of the room with childlike energy, leaving me alone for a few moments.

A few minutes later, Emilia’s back, holding up an outfit like she’s presenting me with a prize. It’s a yellow net top, cropped just enough to show skin, paired with a long, floral beach skirt. I stare at it, taking it in as if it’s the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.

A huge sun hat completes the look, and the sunglasses are practically the size of dinner plates.

I give her an incredulous look, but it’s hard not to be at least a little impressed. “Not bad,” I mutter, though I can’tsuppress the sarcastic edge in my voice. I study the outfit one more time. Not something I would pick, but it’s something.

Emilia stands there, grinning, her eyes glittering with anticipation. “Will you come?” she asks, almost too eagerly.

I pause for a beat, my eyes flicking to the door, to the wide-open space outside this villa. It’s all been too confined.

My mind races as I weigh the options. I could refuse, stay here in this gilded cage, locked away from everything. But then again, I could go out there, to the beach—a place I can’t remember ever wanting to go, but feel strangely drawn to. Maybe there are people there who could help me, people who knew the real Fioretta.

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