Page 19

Brooklyn

NINETEEN

After we say goodbye, I enter my children’s room. The lamp is on because, according to Eleanor, neither of them likes to sleep in the dark. I take the opportunity to look around carefully.

Silas’s bed is designed to look like a Formula One car, while Soraya’s resembles a princess carriage.

Jesus, beds! When everything happened, they were so tiny, just starting to sit up on their own.

The people who invaded our home stole months of precious time with my children from me, time I’ll never get back.

I walk over to check if they’re covered properly, and after kissing each of them, I sit down in the rocking chair to think. I know I won’t be able to sleep anytime soon, even though I feel utterly exhausted.

I’ve barely been on my feet today, yet it feels like I’ve run a marathon.

I’m tired and scared too—of both the past and the future.

Who was the father of my children? I have no idea, but now I’m certain he had enemies. No one breaks into a home in the middle of the night, armed, without intending to kill.

And who goes around killing people randomly?

No, I agree with the detective. It wasn’t a random crime. There’s much more to this than what we’ve discovered so far. The detective refused to give us any clues about the status of the investigation, so I’ll wait for Zeus to dig for answers on his own. Maybe then we can unravel this mystery. I need to know, or I’ll never find peace. I’ll never truly believe my children are safe.

I’m not the type to dwell on regrets about the past. There’s no point in being stuck in the “what-ifs” of life. But ever since I woke up from the coma, I’ve repeatedly wondered what would’ve happened if I’d left the moment I realized my relationship with Moses was an illusion.

I’ll never know for sure, but I think I would’ve started over with the kids on my own. If I’d been braver, I could’ve spared them the pain of enduring months without me.

I sigh and get up. After kissing them again, I slowly make my way to my bedroom. I need to rest. They’ll certainly want to play tomorrow. They’re too young to understand that I’m still recovering.

I change into my pajamas and lie down on the bed, staring at the ceiling, reflecting on today—from leaving the hospital to what happened in the car, and then dinner with my new extended family.

I wish Athanasios had stayed. As foolish as it may seem for someone in my current state to make room for a man like him—a man who could crush my heart without effort—it still felt wrong that he wasn’t here.

It was only cowardice—the fear of hearing him say he’d leave even if I asked him to stay—that kept me silent during our goodbye.

I reach out and grab my phone from the nightstand.

Days ago, he saved his personal number on my phone, but I’ve never messaged him.

I check the time: almost ten.

It’s not very polite to send messages or make calls after nine, as Eleanor always taught us, but I’m tired of being the good girl.

I type quickly before I can second-guess myself:

I wish you had stayed.

I’m about to set the phone down, uncertain if I should’ve sent the message, when the screen lights up.

I’m so nervous it takes me a moment to realize it’s not a text but an incoming call.

"Hello?"

"Why did you want me to stay?"

"I . . . don’t know . . ."

"Good night, Brooklyn."

"No."

"No what?"

"Don’t hang up yet. I know why I wanted you here. I liked when you kissed me."

"But . . ."

"I’m scared."

"Of me?"

"Of what you make me feel."

"I won’t take advantage while you’re still unsure. Rest. Be with your family."

"And then what happens next?"

"I’ll pursue you until I get what I want."

"And what do you want?"

"I’m a man of action, not words, Brooklyn. I’ll give you a week to adjust to your new routine, and then I’ll take you out to dinner."

"And if I say no?"

"You won’t say no, or you wouldn’t have called me. You want this too. You can’t deny the chemistry between us."

"I’m not denying it; I’m just being honest. If all you want is to take me to bed, find someone else, Athanasios."

"I want you in my bed too. Don’t doubt that for a second. I want your thighs around my waist while I take you hard and deep. But more than that, I want to get to know you better. I may not make promises, Brooklyn, but I never lie."

"One week?" I repeat what he said, my heart pounding so hard I fear I’m having a panic attack.

"Yes. That’s enough time for you to start settling back in."

"You’re so . . ."

"Arrogant?"

"That too."

"And what else?"

"Controlling."

"Nothing I haven’t heard before. You’ll have to try harder, Brooklyn."

I take a deep breath to summon my courage. "It was the best kiss of my life. I didn’t want it to end. Good night, Athanasios."

I quickly hang up, unable to believe I had the nerve to say that, but I’m smiling. A warm, delightful sensation spreads through me.

I’ve never flirted before, and I can say with absolute certainty that I’ve never been this bold. I’d give anything to see his face right now.

Did I surprise him?

I hope so.

"One week," I whisper to myself, "and then he’ll come after me."

Fear and anticipation mix in equal parts within my chest, bringing a sweet, warm feeling.