Jethro caught the bag, glaring at the man. "Don't forget your place. I'm not late according to my rules-not yours." Manhandling the duffel, he said, "You did as I asked?"
The man nodded. "Everything. Including photographic evidence. It all went smoothly, and the tickets are inside. I'll take care of the bike, just leave it there. Cushion and Fracture are tracking the Weaver men until you tell them otherwise."
Jethro pulled out an envelope, then flicked through the contents. He looked up, something resembling a smile gracing his lips. "Good work. I'll see you back at Hawksridge."
My ears pricked at the name. It sounded familiar-reeking of old money.
He's from nobility? The concept of Jethro being a duke or an earl was preposterous, and yet … uncannily perfect. Everything about him was deceptive and … bored. Was that all this was? A game to pass the time for some rich brat who got sick of killing puppies?
I couldn't stop my teeth from chattering-both from disgust and cold. The man named Flaw glanced my way. His eyes narrowed. "He's expecting you and the woman. I'll message and let him know it's gone well."
"Don't," Jethro snapped. His English accent thickened with the demand. "He doesn't need to know. He'll see us soon enough." Dismissing the man as if he was the hired help and no longer required, Jethro stalked toward me, holding out the bag.
Flaw dissolved back into the shadows like a scary apparition.
"This is yours. Get dressed. You won't be allowed in the building half-naked and shoeless."
Taking the duffel, I muttered under my breath, "I was dressed in an outfit worth thousands of pounds before you tore it off me." The loss of my showpiece smarted like an open wound.
I had two wishes-one, that he'd heard me and knew just how pissed I was. And two, that he didn't hear, because I was afraid of his reaction.
Jethro smirked before turning to his bike.
I opened the bag and promptly dropped it.
Oh, my God. I had to be dreaming. Wake up, Nila. Please, wake up.
My knees buckled, following the bag to the floor. Shaking, I collected the photos sitting on top of a mound of clothes. My clothes. Everything I'd brought to Milan-minus the fashion show apparel and my work tools-running gear, a bikini, sweat pants, pyjamas, and a simple collection of blouses, jeans, and maxi dresses.
But on top of it all rested strewn photographs.
Photo-shopped images that never happened.
Doctored snap-shots of lies. Such horrible, horrible lies.
No one will come.
Jethro was right. The police would laugh if anyone asked for their help. What I held cemented my new life being Jethro's plaything.
Shuffling through the deck, I couldn't stop a hot tear searing down my cheek.
There was me-smiling, glowing. I remembered the day. V and I had headed to Paris for a local mid-season show a few years ago. He'd beaten me at poker in a silly pub tournament and a patron snapped an image of us. Laughing, overly warm, arms wrapped around each other in sibling affection, we'd been so happy.
Only Vaughn didn't exist in this photo. The background had been amended to show a fancy restaurant while the man who clutched me was Jethro.
The smile on his face was the warmest I'd seen. His attire of open-neck black shirt and jeans made him look young, in love, and dashing.
I couldn't study it anymore. Flicking to another one, I slapped a hand over my mouth.
This one pictured my father and me. Or had. He'd splashed out for the annual staff retreat, and we'd gone on a one week cruise around the Mediterranean. We'd stood with the setting sun dancing on the orange tinted waves, dressed in loose fitting ‘cruise wear' that I'd created only days before. I'd planted an adoring daughterly kiss on his scratchy face.
That kiss now belonged to Jethro.
The ship had been tweaked to show a luxury yacht rather than commercial liner. The sunset cast a different glow. Jethro stood broodily, staring into the camera with such an intense glare of sexual power, no one would disagree that there was chemistry and need between us. The way my body curved into his, the sweetness and trust I displayed, only helped confirm the illusion of a couple besotted with each other.
The photos wobbled in my hands; another tear stained the glossy deception.
I looked up, not caring my heart was ripped out and beating coldly on the car park floor. "How-" Gritting my teeth, I tried again. "Destroying my dress wasn't enough? You had to steal my past, too?" I held up a photograph of a half-naked Jethro holding my chin as he kissed me. That wasn't based on my dateless life, but it was so lifelike, so true, so incontestable.
How did they make it so realistic?
Jethro shook his head, rolling his eyes. Locking the bike, he pocketed the keys before turning to face me. Dropping to his haunches in front, he whispered, "I not only stole your past. I've already stolen your future."
I breathed hard, hating the look of enjoyment in his gaze.
Never breaking eye contact, he tapped the photographs in my hands. "You didn't see them all. Flick to the back. They're especially for you."
I couldn't unglue my lungs. I didn't think I'd ever be able to breathe without pain again. Splitting the tower of pictures, I glanced at the last ones. Immediately, I looked up. All sense of decency and pride gone.
"Please, you can't. This-it will break their hearts."
Tears scalded the back of my throat. My eyes burned, glancing down again. This one showed my empty hotel room-exactly as I left it with last minute ribbon and feathers littering the bed before rushing to the show-but now my toiletries from my nightstand, my laptop, and belongs were gone. Including my carry on and suitcase.
The room was abandoned. It looked as if I'd packed up and left my dreams, livelihood, and family without so much as a backward glance.
This would break my brother and father's heart, because it was the exact same way of how my mother, Emma Weaver, left us.
But unlike my mother, there was a simple note placed upon the dresser.
"Turn it over. I took the liberty of asking for a close-up, so you can read what you wrote as your final goodbye," Jethro murmured, stealing the photo from my fingers and tapping the fresh one revealed beneath it.
I curled over my knees, cradling the glossy replica of a goodbye letter penned in my hand. The writing was exactly like mine, even I couldn't tell the forged sweeps and cursive from reality.
It's time I came clean.
I've been lying to you for a while now.
I've fallen in love and decided that my life is better with him. I'm done with the deadlines and unachievable pressure placed on me by this family.
I know what I'm doing.
Don't try and find me.
Nila.
I looked up. My heart collided with my ribcage, bruising, hurting. So much pain. I couldn't contain the sorrow when I thought of V reading this. To be left behind by both his mother and sister. …
"They won't believe this. They know me better than anyone. They know I wasn't in a relationship. You said Tex knows all about you and why you're doing this. Please-"
Jethro laughed. "It's not for your family, Ms. Weaver. It's for the press. It's for the world stage who will make this fiction a reality. Your brother will find out the truth from your father, I'm sure. And if they behave, they'll both remain untouched. Believe me, this isn't to hurt them-if I wanted that, I have much better means." He cupped my cheek, brushing away long strands of my hair. "No. This was just an insurance policy."
"For what?" I breathed.
"So no one believes your family when they break and try to find you. They'll be all alone. Just like you. Controlled by the Hawks who've owned the Weavers for almost six hundred years."
Six hundred years?
"But … "
Jethro sniffed, his temper building like a ghost around us. "Stop crying. The images portray the truth. It proves you did what you did and no one can be angry or distrustful."
"What did I do?"
"Ah, Ms. Weaver, don't let shock steal your intelligence. You. Left. Voluntarily." He waved at the photo. "This confirms it."
"But I didn't," I whimpered. "I didn't leave-"
Jethro tensed. "Don't forget so soon what I taught you. You are the sacrifice and you … " His eyes dared me to finish his sentence, to admit to everything I'd done by protecting my family. His fingers twitched between his legs, looking like he wanted to strike.
I'd never been good at confrontation-not that my father yelled often or Vaughn and I argued. I'd grown up with no need to fight. I knew how precious my family was. My mother left, proving just how heartless someone could be if they didn't hold onto love. So I'd held on with both hands, feet, every part of me. Only to have it torn away so easily.
You'd rather they lived and never saw them again than die because of you.
Hanging my head, I murmured, "A sacrifice comes of their own free will, therefore I left voluntarily."
Jethro nodded, patting my thigh like the pet he thought I was. Covering the photos with his large hand, he pressed down until my elbows gave out and I lowered them. "Good girl. Keep behaving and the next part won't be too hard to bear."