Page 83 of The Crimson Lily
“Are you okay?” Of course she immediately notices something’s wrong.
“Yeah, I’m just…waking up.” I fake a yawn.
She’ll probably take that as a:I’ll tell you when I’m ready to.
“How are you doing, Bea?” I ask in a smiling tone. “What’s new?”
I could say anything on the list of last words you should say to your best friend, but in reality, I just want to hear her voice. I rejoice at simply hearing her tell me about how her days have been since the last time we spoke.
“I’m dating someone,” she announces.
“That’s great!” I cheer. “What’s his name?”
“Lucas,” she says. “He’s American, and he’s a painter!”
I’m so happy for her. I say nothing else, hoping she’ll keep on talking while I keep on crying silently.
“So! Tell me, how’s Rome?”
“It’s…beautiful,” I murmur. “Maksim…” I can’t speak anymore. Saying his name is simply too difficult.
“Lili, what happened? Did he do something?”
I shake my head, holding the phone, pressing it against my ear. “No, no, he’s…perfect. He’s just…sleeping right now. I don’t want to wake him up.”
Lie. She knows that, but she doesn’t pursue the myth-debunking any further.
“Did you see the Pantheon?” she diverts. “If I remember correctly, that was your favorite!”
“Yes, and I might even go back there today!” I lie.
“Send me a picture!” Béatrice pushes with a lively voice. “And don’t forget to eat gelato for me.”
“I won’t.”
She pauses. I hear some movement around her. “All right, I need to get going,” she informs. “Last day of the week before theweekend!” She sings the wordweekend.
I squeeze the phone a little harder like I don’t want to let it go. “Have a good day, Béatrice.”
If she had suspected something was wrong, now she knows for sure, but she doesn’t act on it. “You too, Lili.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
She hangs up, and I stay there, silent, staring at the paved road. I only notice Giovanni has returned once he hands me a disposable cup of Italian coffee. He smiles when I accept it along with the croissant he has in his other hand. I eat without hunger, my eyes back on the road, empty of all thought. Numb. Blank. Disconnected.
I can’t even pee properly. The loud noise of the toilet’s flush whirs between my ears, almost deafening me. I wash my handsand take a look in the small, dirty mirror hanging in the bathroom in the café down the road. Oh, look at that, I look like shit. I take my silver necklace between my fingers, pinching it, refusing to let it go. It’s almost 2 p.m., and Giovanni and Chiara wait for me outside. I stare at myself like I’m staring at a convict about to head for the chair, but it’s not the idea of death that’s on my mind. It is that of resolve. With my act, Maksim will be saved, and he can help take the Syndicate down better than I ever could. It doesn’t feel heroic; it feels necessary.
I am about to leave the bathroom when a clacking sound behind my steps catches my attention. On the damp and probably moldy floor, I spot the little triangle that was clipped to my sweater. My GPS tracker. It probably slipped when I put my faux fur coat back on. At that exact moment, the seed of an idea germinates in my brain. If there is a chance that William won’t kill me on the spot, where will he take me? What if he takes me to the Syndicate’s lair everyone’s been talking about? What if that tracker is a way for Maksim and the rest to find that prized location? To find me?
No, I can’t. William will most certainly have me searched if he takes me there. That tracker won’t make it out alive, and it’s too big to swallow. If my time has come, I’d rather not choke on my own death. Yet maybe there is a way. One chance, that’s all I have. I have to take that chance.
I pick up the triangle, notice how small it is, and brainstorm how I can best smuggle it.
Jeans pocket? Too risky.
Bra? What if they takeallmy clothes?
