Page 63 of The Crimson Lily
“We’re going to infiltrate the meeting,” Giovanni adds to her words. “We’ll gather as much information as we can.”
Wait. Am I supposed to join? This isn’t a concrete plan. This is just the title of it! Am I the one who’s supposed to come up withthe plan? Next Thursday, Maksim will be there. That fact makes everything better. I don’t know what else to say. At this point, I’m just saturated. I need to be alone, to be by myself, to do some thinking. I need to process everything I learned just now.
I plant my elbows on the table and plunge my face in my hands, then let out a loud sigh and rub my eyes.
“I just need a moment,” I plead.
Chiara and Giovanni take the next hour to discussthe plan. Thank goodness I don’t have to say a word. I don’t make an effort to understand it either. I sit there, blank, staring into the bottom of my whiskey glass. I want to leave. I want to go back to the hotel and hide in bed for the rest of the evening.
I rise to my feet, both of them looking at me with expectant eyes.
“Let me get you a taxi,” Giovanni offers when he realizes I’m leaving.
He dials a number on his phone and takes off to the back of the bar, where the jazz isn’t as loud. Chiara, on the other hand, searches through her bag again and grabs some paper and a pen.
“Liliana, I know someone who…” she hesitates, then clicks the pen and jots some numbers down. “His name is Alberto Rossi. He’s a therapist who could help with your memory.”
I accept the paper, mechanically thanking Chiara, unsure whether I even want to look at it. I fold it in two and shove it in my jeans pocket.
Giovanni returns a minute later with my coat, which he places around my shoulders himself, like a true gentleman. He walks with me upstairs, through the pasta shop, and into the narrow street of Rome’s center. A black car rolls up to us the minute we’re outside.
“Get some rest,bella,” Giovanni soothes. He hands me yet another piece of paper I have to deal with. “This is my number. Call me if you need anything.”
I thank him and vanish into the taxi. My head is about to blow. I haven’t had a migraine since Paris. Now it’s back with a vengeance.
I am spinning my phone around with my fingers, thinking about Maksim, checking every five minutes to see if he texted or not. Nothing. My stomach is clenching itself at the idea of something bad happening to him. I can’t help but focus on that feeling, which spreads through my body like a poison. I squeeze my phone like my life depends on it, doing my best not to let worry invade me. Then, as if Maksim heard my call to him from miles away, my phone rings, and I immediately answer the unknown number.
“Thank goodness!” I exclaim and swallow my worry. “Maksim, where are you?”
Stupid question.
“I’m still in New York,” he replies.
“Shouldn’t you be on the plane?” I question and immediately regret it. My tone is way too inquisitive. I don’t want to sound like a control freak.
But Maksim remains unmoved. “I’m boarding soon.”
My worry is surging out of my throat again. I can’t control it. I really don’t want to cry. I don’t want to be weak, but everything I’ve discovered today is overwhelming. It makes me feel powerless. How do these people expect me to stop an international crime organization with access to a freaking anti-satellite weapon system? How am I, little Liliana Springfield, supposed to go up against this behemoth that even mafias all over the world haven’t been able to destroy yet?
I want to tell Maksim about my day but figure the taxi driver has better things to do than listen to this crazy Hollywood script.
“Just…” I stutter. “Just come here.”
I hear him sigh on the other end. “I need to meet with a local contact first when I arrive,” he discloses. “I’ll be with you in the night.”
Sure, as long as he’s with me tomorrow evening, all the rest doesn’t matter.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Maksim, asking a question like that, out of the blue? That’s a first! I’m so surprised that my worry disappears into thin air.
“I’m just…tired and overwhelmed, that’s all,” I answer.
“I’ll make you feel better tomorrow,zaya,” he comforts. “I promise.”
His husky voice sends warm shivers down my spine. I don’t want him to hang up. I want him to keep saying these beautiful words to me, but he has to leave. He has to board the plane and come to me. Oh well, that’s a decent excuse. I send him a digital kiss goodbye and hang up. Right here, I have another chance to tell him how I feel about him. I could take the opportunity to open my heart to him. But I don’t, and now I feel stupidfor chickening out yet again. What am I afraid of? That he won’t return my feelings? Yeah, that’s probably it. That’s most definitely it.
Only when the taxi pulls over at the Grand Hotel Flora do I notice I still have Giovanni’s number on the paper in my hand. I look at it, asking myself for a second if that Italian man gives his numbers to allbella biondinaladies. I smile at my own thought, greeting the man wearing a patrol cap at the entrance, then disappear through the door and rush to my room, where I’ll crash onto the bed and never get up.
