Page 92 of The Madman and his broken Princess
A stone seemed to weigh down my stomach, and I felt a little nauseous. What was Nestore doing?
He had looked unhinged, and without me to anchor him, what would he do? When I sent him a message, it didn’t go through, so he must have turned his cell phone off.
Sighing, I headed downstairs. Two of my bodyguards waited for me in the foyer, one of them was Rodolfo, the man whose gun I’d stolen.
His expression was tight, but he didn’t say anything. I considered apologizing, but could you apologize for something you’d do again?
I followed them toward the black limousine in silence. My mind tried to revisit what I’d done, but I blocked any thought of my father. I felt too fragile, too unstable to think of it now.
Flavia lived only a five-minute drive from the mansion, a fact that made me incredibly happy.
My bodyguards parked the car in the tree-lined driveway of the bungalow that was Flavia and Luciano’s new home. I gotout but had to wait for Rodolfo to ring the bell. Another man, Flavia’s bodyguard, opened the door. After a short exchange, I was allowed to enter.
Flavia and Luciano were at the kitchen table, drawing with crayons. Sunshine flooded the rooms through the floor-to-ceiling windows, offering a view down the Hollywood Hills.
Flavia got up when she saw my face and rushed over to me. She wore jeans and a tank top, no shoes, and pulled me into a hug, then regarded me with a deep frown. “You look pale.”
I gave her a weak smile. We were alone. Our bodyguards waited in the background to give us privacy, so I whispered, “I killed him.”
Flavia’s eyes widened. “Achille?”
I nodded. Luciano put down his crayon and raced toward me, colliding with my legs like a tiny wrecking ball. I lifted him and kissed his cheek, glad for the distraction as I felt a suspicious prickling in my eyes. He scrunched up his face. “I’m a big boy.”
“You are,” I agreed and set him back down. He returned to the table and picked up a black crayon. Most of his pictures were in black and white, something that worried me. Was it a reflection of his young soul? The darkness of our world had touched him, like it did everyone eventually.
“Amelia,” Flavia hissed under her breath. “What happened?”
“I shot him. I ended it.”
My voice sounded hollow and unemotional. Flavia narrowed her eyes. “You’re freaking me out a little.”
“Because you didn’t think I was capable of killing someone.”
“Of course not, you and I were both capable of killing our tormentor, but you seem…off.”
I forced a smile, not wanting to give in to the tears. I wasn’t even sad. I didn’t mourn my father. I’d despised him, but a tiny childish part of me mourned a father figure I wished I had had. Someone who had never existed and now never would. Not thatmy father would ever have become a decent father. “Aren’t you relieved?”
“Of course, I am relieved he’s dead, but I wish it hadn’t been you.” She squeezed my hand. “Will you be all right?”
“I hated him.”
She nodded, then smiled sadly. My eyes felt too hot. “Sometimes our emotions don’t make sense. Sometimes we can mourn the end of something even if we’re glad it’s ended.”
I closed my eyes because I wouldn’t cry—not with Luciano in a room with us, and not because of my fucking father. “I’m fine,” I pressed out with a glance at Luciano, who was bowed low over his drawing.
She gave a small nod, then looked toward the window, her face full of disbelief. “But what about your husband? Won’t he be mad?”
“He already knows, and he’s mad, but mainly he’s confused. It’ll be fine.”
“Oh, Amelia.”
I gave her a brighter smile. “It’ll be fine. Now we can move on.”
She touched my shoulder. “I hope so. I want nothing more than for you to get the bright future you deserve.”
When we pulled away from Flavia’s house, I felt a tiny bit more hopeful, even if I still worried about Nestore. My messages hadn’t gone through yet.
Nestore didn’t come home that night, and when I woke the following morning with my messages still unanswered, a deep sense of unrest overwhelmed me. I understood that Nestore needed to unleash his demons after what I’d done, but I wished he’d keep me in the loop.
