As fast as I could, I tried to grab the picture, but Mr. Jones was one step ahead, snatching it away. Pooled water in his eyes wavered. His jaw was locked tight, and anger radiated from his whole body. “My son is in love with you, little girl. Giving you this picture would mean killing,” he closed his eyes as rage eased from his body, “the girl he plans to marry.”
I gasped. M-Marriage? At the time, the thought felt idiotic to me. I believed myself to be only half human. I had no idea whose child I truly was, and I hadn’t been raised by happily married so-called parents. My one and only boyfriend was murdered merely weeks earlier. Marriage? Impossible. I felt my past made me unworthy of such devotion. I was so caught up in rage that I’d been blind to see that it was already mine.
Mr. Jones almost begged, “Don’t chase this evil. You won’t win. Nor will my son.”
Thinking Mr. Jones may have hidden feelings, I spit back, “It doesn’t bother you that Link is not yours? And that he’s born from… from rape?” Like me?
Link’s father’s legs half gave, forcing him to sit in the chair behind his desk. “What does DNA have to do with love?” He folded his hands in his lap as he looked up to me. “Marina would willingly experience those rapes again to have the son she adores with every fiber of her heart.” A tear finally dripped from sad, tired eyes. “Reether would relive any horrible event for you. I told him to let you go, that he’s going to have the best years of his life in college. He laughed at me.” His lips trembled as he slightly smiled. “Laughed, claiming he will never be with another. Yet, here he is, letting you go. A true sign of love—”
I slammed my hands over my ears. “Please stop.” My heart was screaming for me to heed this truth, but my alter ego demanded I ignore common sense.
Mr. Jones leaned his head back against the headrest. “Okay. I’ll stop. Just tell me you are hearing me.”
“I hear you.” I let my hands fall, slowly. “I do. I just think your son is wrong.”
“I used to agree. By God, he’s so young! How could he possibly already know his forever?” He exhaled wisdom. “But not anymore. You are the one for him. So, I’m begging. Don’t do this, Whitney. Please.”
I wiped at tears I didn’t know I was crying until they dripped from my chin.
“Please. If not for yourself, give up this revenge for Reether. He’s still punishing himself for his brother, for Constance—” Mr. Jones covered his mouth as if sharing the blame, as if wanting to stop himself from saying too much.
The agony I was witnessing made me want to spare him more guilt. This man raised and cherished my best friend. Him trying to divert my insanity was even more proof. I was grateful for such dedication. A forced empty chuckle escaped me. “I guess I could go to Hawaii instead.”
He half-smiled as if not convinced I was speaking the truth. Which I wasn’t. “Hawaii is a beautiful place to get your thoughts in order.”
Avoiding his silent judgment, I quietly admitted, “I could use a little self TLC.”
The worn man sighed. “Couldn’t we all. Couldn’t we all.”
I so wish I could say I went home to pack my bags full of bikinis for a Hawaii vacation, but enough lies had been told. I ran through my empty home, up the stairs and into my bedroom, opened my laptop, and scouted the web for the lion with the Egyptian head. I finally found it in St. Petersburg, Russia.
My hands shook as I purchased the ticket, changing my life forever.
After giving my suitcase to the car service driver taking me to the airport, Link reached his strong football hands into his pocket. Towering over my petite self, he pulled out a silver chain with a charm. It was his water symbol, the one he had carved into my boat dock years ago. The same one Crash traced with his finger to let me know where Yury was keeping him by force.
“I’m always with you, Whit.”
Crying from deep in my soul, I was too choked up to speak because…
One: the part of me who treasured our friendship wanted me to scream about my intended madness so he would stop me.
Two: the part of me who adored Crash warned me to stay true to my plan.
So, I said nothing.
A soft smirk crossed his full tan lips. “Will you wear this for me?”
Already missing the young man in front of me, I turned from Link and lifted my long, unruly red hair so he could attach the gift I already treasured.
When I turned back around, he asked, “Why won’t you look at me, baby?”
Staring at my sneakers, I shrugged.
“Hawaii will be a blast.”
Chastising myself, I continued the lie.
“Will you at least promise to take care of your ankle?”
The contract my father had on my life went awry, and the hit-and-run he had intended ended up shattering my ankle instead of killing me. I suppose it was still a win for my dad. He wanted me to pick a ‘real’ career and be a doctor. Allowing me to dance at a performing arts program in high school was only to keep my bitching to a minimal.
Warm, perfect arms surrounded me, and I almost caved. But I am Whitney. According to Link, my picture is next to the definition of stubborn. So, after a tearful goodbye, Link smiled at me, clearly unaware of my conversation with his father and my true plans. He wished me luck, believing I was off to travel the world after Hawaii. It hurt to be deceitful, but it hurt worse to think of Crash hidden in the ground somewhere. Marina, Link and Crash’s mother, not so willing to be forced to give up Crash again, refused to tell where her son was buried.
Upon landing in Russia, my ignorance had me thinking I would waltz off the plane in the Pulkovo International Airport and into the Four Seasons Hotel in St. Petersburg without speaking a word of the Russian language. And, I also didn’t realize Pulkovo is the fourth busiest airport in Russia. Following the crowd from the plane was how I found my luggage. After that, I kept repeating, “Four Seasons’ shuttle?” Many passengers didn’t speak English and shook their heads no, but the ones who did understand me—or simply took pity on my terrified expression—would speak in a very strong accent, “That way.” I would head in the direction of their pointed fingers until lost again and start the process over again. “Four Seasons’ shuttle?” I eventually found the bus and rode approximately thirty minutes to my lavish hotel. I had dirty money in my bank account and planned on burning every penny before it tainted my conscience.
Standing in front of the Four Seasons, I couldn’t help but experience a haunted sensation when seeing the lion statues at the entrance of the block-wide hotel. It was the first time I second guessed what I was doing. Being in a foreign country is scary, especially alone at the age of eighteen. On the sidewalk, I held Link’s water charm and wished for him to magically appear. He didn’t. Maybe that is why I was utterly relieved to hear a few of the hotel employees speaking English. At the counter, I sighed in relief and gawked at the breathtaking lobby as they checked me in. An incredibly high vaulted ceiling was being supported by marvelous marble pillars, showing the architecture of a whole different era that had been expertly preserved.
My hotel room wasn’t huge or grand, but it was beautiful with light colors and plenty of space for me. I instantly favored the grand windows that began at my knees and reached the ceiling. The sun was rising as I pulled open the window doors to hear the city’s morning hustle and bustle. The temperature was similar to home in Connecticut, brisk in the morning, so I shut them and faced my bed. It had a white blanket, a light blue canopy above that had been drawn back, and was promising lullabies.