Fate Book Two (20 page)

Then it hit me.
Paolo.
I covered my mouth. Had he been with my father? “Turn it up!” I yelled at the nurse. “Turn up the sound.”

Oh please, God. Please. Not Paolo, too.
The reporters rambled on and on for what felt like an eternity until they repeated the names of the dead. I didn’t recognize any of them except my father’s, but Paolo wouldn’t have been traveling under his real name.

I stared at that screen for what felt like endless days, waiting for any information that might give me hope. But there was nothing. The Internet, the news channels—no one had released photos of the passengers. All I knew was that there was one Italian man in his early twenties, my father, the pilot and copilot, and the two flight attendants.

Four days later, the photos came out, and there were the faces of my father and Paolo. My mother and I had lost everything.

Part Four

Carrots Aren’t

Always Orange

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ten Months Later

After my release from the hospital, my mother and I decided we didn’t want to leave the country again. We both wanted the familiarity of our home country, where it would be easier to pick up the pieces of our tattered lives. But everywhere we looked, there were memories of my father and Paolo. So we ended up landing in Miami, the only city where neither of us had ever really stayed. Also, my mom said she wanted me to be somewhere fun, surrounded by lots of people my age. I didn’t care about that, but I did appreciate being in a warm place. I also appreciated that this time we didn’t bother trying to hide or use our fake identities. We were tired of running and tired of living in the shadows. If someone wanted to come after me, well, then I just didn’t really care anymore. It was funny, but Paolo had been right. It was easier getting over being dumped than it was having someone being taken away from you.

Shortly after we settled into a furnished high-rise condo overlooking the always busy, always lively Miami Beach, we received a letter early one morning. It had been left at our doorstep anonymously, but I assumed it was from someone who’d once worked for my father. The letter was addressed to us and said it should be opened upon his death.

My mother had set it on the small glass breakfast table in the kitchen. Untouched coffee cups in hand, both of us stared at the thing for almost an hour before my mother worked up the courage to open it.

“What’s it say?” I asked, but she didn’t respond.

I watched her set down the letter and then go to her room to cry. When I forced myself to read it, my only thought was that this still didn’t feel real.

Girls,

If you’re reading this, it’s because the worst has happened. I want you to know that no matter how hard and painful things might be, it will get better over time. While I lived, you two made the sacrifices and hardships worth every moment, and I want to thank you for that. There are few people in this world who truly know what I did and what it cost me, but you do. And you knowing that I did my best to make this world a better place is all I can ask for.

Dakota, be good to your mother. I’d tell you to stay out of trouble, but I know that’s just not possible.

My Dearest Love, please don’t forget to stop and enjoy life every once in a while. You’re strong and beautiful, and this doesn’t need to be the end of your happiness. With me gone, you are safe now.

I loved you both with all my heart.

Jim

I must’ve read that one line ten times before I put the letter down. “With me gone, you are safe now.” That’s when I suspected that he wasn’t dead. My father had used his real name on that plane. He had absolutely no reason to do that unless he wanted the world to know he’d been killed. But why hadn’t Paolo used his real name, too?

Anyway, it was the moment that I began hoping again. But ten months later, there were still no signs of either of them. Horse had also dropped off the face of the planet, dead for all I knew.

So with my mother deciding to go back to work at a local hospital, I had no choice but to begin facing facts: The miracle I’d longed for wasn’t going to happen, and I had to start thinking about doing something other than waiting and driving myself mad with grief.

“Dakota, you have to come visit me in New York before school starts,” my friend Mandy said as I walked barefoot along the beach in late August, talking on my cell. It was the only saving grace out of this entire situation; I was able to have Mandy back in my life, and my mother had her sister, Rhonda, who lived in the Hamptons. I’d even tracked down my college roommate, Bridget, and caught up with her over the phone. It was a little strange explaining to Bridget why I’d disappeared so suddenly from school, but I told her there’d been a family emergency I couldn’t really talk about. Mandy, on the other hand, knew something was up. We’d had very little contact other than me sending her the occasional message to let her know I was all right, and my measurements for my wedding dress. She also knew that my father had “died”—it was all over the news—and she had probably seen the same picture of Paolo as everyone else. But like a true friend, she knew I didn’t want to talk about it, so she didn’t ask questions. Mandy was simply happy to have me back. I thanked my lucky stars for her, too.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Classes begin in a few weeks, and I have a lot to—”

“Uh-uh. No way. You’re coming to see me. We’re having a weekend of fun before you get sucked into Miami U life. Seriously, I can’t believe how lucky you are. The guys down there must be haaaawt.”

I didn’t know and, frankly, I didn’t care. I was just thrilled I’d gotten into a university close to home. It was the first step I’d taken to get myself out of the dark hole I’d been living in, and it felt good.

I laughed. “You can have all the guys in Miami; I’m going to be focusing on studying.”

“Okay. Deal. In the meantime, how’s next weekend?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure about leaving my mom.”

“You just said she’s working. She won’t even know you’re gone.”

I gave it some thought. Yeah, I really did miss Mandy. And seeing her might keep my mind off of my ghosts. “Okay. I’ll check flights and text you later.”

She squealed on the other end of the phone. “I’m so excited! Ohmygod!”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. “But no shopping unless it’s a thrift store or antique shop.”

“Boo. Okay. We’ll see a play and go to some museums. Oh! And I know the best veggie burger place ever. You’re going to die.”

Jeez, I hope not.
I still wasn’t sure who might be lurking in the shadows.

“Looking forward to seeing you, sweetie.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Mandy lived with three other girls in a small two-bedroom, one-bath, first-floor apartment on Manhattan’s East Side. For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine how they didn’t kill each other sharing six hundred and fifty square feet of living space, but she assured me it was the best experience of her life. And most of the time, they were out and about anyway, and her roommate spent most weekends with her boyfriend up in Connecticut. I had to admit, a part of me felt a little jealous. Mandy was getting the full college experience while I tried to make sense of the violent, unpredictable world we lived in, where crazy people plotted to wipe everyone out.

In my eyes, Mandy had it so, so good. Ignorance was bliss. Though I suspected she wasn’t as ignorant about my real life as she let on. I mean, we’d grown up together, and she was like a sister. How could she have not caught on that my life was like a bad spy novel? People didn’t go into hiding just for the fun of it.

Anyway, with the roomie gone, I set out my small suitcase on her bed, preparing for the fashion shunning. All I’d brought with me were jeans and T-shirts, and from the look of the walls—covered floor to ceiling with pictures of models (both male and female) and drawings of cool dresses, pants, skirts, and blouses—I knew Mandy was going to make me play dress up.

Right on cue, she started digging through my clothes, throwing them on the floor. “Uh-uh. You’re not going out looking like you just found your clothes in a bag on the side of the street. But that’s why you have me.” Her twinkling brown eyes, lined with navy blue eye shadow, and her stylish A-line bob gave her a look of retro-sophistication. And her clothes, though they were mismatched plaid and floral patterns, and deliberately clashing, gave her an edgy urban look. I had to admit that she had the antifashion look down to a science.

“I thought I’d just wear what I have on,” I said to mess with her.

She looked at my very nondescript green tee and loose-fitting jeans, and scowled.

“What? I’m comfortable,” I argued, watching her prepare to detonate.

She shoved her finger in my face. “I have dreamed of this moment for two whole years—you, me, roaming Manhattan on a Friday night, not coming home until the sun comes up. And you,” she shook her finger, “are
not
going to rob me of my dream.”

“I guess,” I said with a dramatic sigh, “I can pretend to be someone else tonight.” Obviously, I knew that coming to see her would mean “fashion makeover.” That was just how Mandy rolled.

She clapped excitedly. “You won’t regret it.”

Yeah, right.
But I loved Mandy, and that was more important.

Two hours later, seven o’clock at night, I was coiffed with the straightest red hair I’d ever seen, wearing the world’s highest frigging pair of powder pink platform pumps, and a drapey, tent-style blue dress that was so short my inner thighs cringed. Mandy had personally designed it, so I dutifully smiled and told her how awesome the dress was. I left out the part where it was awesome for someone a little more adventurous. She wore a short, black satin dress with lace trim around the neckline and the sides cut out—exposing her sexy lace bra—belted at the waist. Of course, Mandy, with her Italian curves, looked amazing.

As we left her apartment and hoofed it to the corner, I caught her smiling.

“What?” I said, more as an accusation than anything else.

“Nothing.”

“I know that look. It’s the same one you had when you convinced me to sneak out to see Rocky Horror.” Of course, we’d gotten caught and ended up grounded, but it had been fun.

“All right. My friend at school works nights at this really cool martini bar. I thought we’d pop over and have a few drinks.”

Both of us had turned twenty this year—not old enough for barhopping. Nevertheless, I wasn’t about to ruin Mandy’s fun because of that. I’d committed much worse infractions, such as presenting forged documents to U.S. officials, laundering money (for honorable purposes such as self-preservation), and traveling under a false identity. Sneaking into a martini bar was like lawbreaker kindergarten.

“Fine. Just for a little while, though.” As a surprise, I’d gotten us tickets to the last seating of
50 Shades!
, the Off-Broadway musical. Mandy loved Broadway shows, especially funny ones, and I owed her for a few missed birthdays. I figured a bunch of women singing about how horny they were would be right up her alley.

She squealed. “You’re going to love it, Dakota! All sorts of famous people go there. In fact, the last two times I’ve been, I saw Nikki Hunt. Can you believe that? Frigging Nikki. Hunt.”

Nikki…
I’d completely forgotten about her these past months, and I suddenly wondered if she was still working with my father’s people.

I found myself ignoring the pain of my pinched toes, walking a little faster.

When Mandy and I entered the bar—a gleaming palace of glass, including the bar counter, barstools, and walls, with a DJ in the corner spinning velvety ambient house music—my eyes immediately went to work. It was still pretty early and Nikki was a night owl, so I wasn’t shocked not to see her. But that didn’t mean I wouldn’t be on pins and needles the entire time.

“I need a drink. Something strong,” I said.

Mandy blinked at me. She knew I didn’t drink hard alcohol. “Uh. Okay.”

We walked over to an open spot, and the bartender immediately gave us his undivided attention. The entire establishment—the men especially—also seemed to be looking our way.

I began tugging at my hem, trying to ignore the strange vibe. I still wasn’t used to being looked at. My usual MO was “wallflower.” Just blend in.

“And what would you like this evening, my princess?” The voice came from behind me.

I spun around and saw a pair of beautiful green eyes. “Horse?”

He grinned with a sly little twitch. “
Si.
Princess Leah. It is I.”

I cupped my hands over my mouth before launching my entire body at him and wrapping my arms around his neck for an epic bear hug. “Ohmygod. You’re alive!”

“Eh-hem.” I heard Mandy clear her throat.

I pulled away from the blond, lean, and overtly handsome man dressed in a gray sweater and black skinny jeans. “Horse, this is Mandy, my best friend. Mandy, this is Horse.”

When Horse swiveled his head toward Mandy, I witnessed the charm machine go into action. He stared into her eyes and then lifted her hand to his lips. “It is a pleasure, Mandy.”

“You’re Italian,” she said.

“Yes. I am.”

“My father is Italian. Giorgio Giovanni. I’ve always wanted to travel there, but—”

“Sorry to interrupt,” I said, “but I need to talk to Horse for a moment. It’s important.”

“Sure,” Mandy replied. I knew she was a little annoyed, but that she’d understand.

I dragged Horse off to the corner. “Okay. What happened to you? Why didn’t you ever show up in Chicago? Do you know anything about Paolo? Is he alive? Were you involved with the plane explosion?” The questions spilled from my mouth in an endless stream.

“Slow down, princess.” He held up his palm.

“You have no idea what I’ve been through. Your cousin shot me.” I pointed to my abdomen. “And then my father and Paolo—why didn’t you call me!”