Three and a Half Weeks(187)
A few days later, Daniel’s father-in-law insisted on making a gift of the small sculpture he and Ella had selected from his studio. Ian knew the piece had to be worth, at a minimum, thirty thousand dollars. How could he possibly say thank you to the man?
Girardi is a rare kind of guy. His wedding gift to his daughter and her new husband deserved the label of spectacular. And their father-daughter dance together that followed was so poignant, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. It was clear that he adores his daughter, sometimes to Daniel’s detriment.
So, the thank-you is on his mind. Scouring his brain for details about Derek Girardi, he recalls Daniel mentioning that Derek shared his son-in-law’s obsession with vintage cars and motorcycles and that’s when Ian came upon the perfect way to show his gratitude. An old friend from high school owned a shop and occasionally came across the rare vintage bikes. He’d give Lars a call, see what he had currently, and send Derek a wheeled surprise to show his appreciation.
That out of the way, the only worrisome thing he had to do before his own wedding was to come clean with Ella about Natasha’s fate. Recognizing that he is stalling, he reluctantly heads back in the direction of the hotel. It’s time to get it over with.
Ella is furiously tapping on her laptop when he gets back to the room. “And what are you doing so industriously?”
She looks up as if she just this instant noticed him. “Oh, nothing. How was your outing?”
“Very good. And your facial?”
“Excellent. I feel refreshed. So,” she pats the seat of the sofa right next to her, “sit. Let’s talk.”
“About?” He’s playing dumb and they both know it.
“Ian,” she says in an exasperated tone, her hand reaching over to his. “Secrets are like cancer: they eat away at a relationship, replacing healthy tissue with rot.”
“Yuck. Lovely turn of phrase.”
“Exactly.”
The week before, Ella had insisted they sit down to talk or she refused to continue with their wedding plans; however, as obstinate as she could be, he’d managed to postpone “the talk” until after Daniel’s wedding. Now, he knew there’d be no more deferments.
“Ella, the only thing I haven’t shared with you is what happened with Natasha. You know everything else. I hold no secrets from you.”
She closes her eyes, as if in frustration. He wants to see the blue again; he hates when her eyes are closed, depriving him of their vibrant depths and whatever emotion she’s telegraphing at the time.
Ian carefully measures his defense, sifting through arguments that might sway her. “Ella, once the words are out, I can never retract them, never expunge them from your mind.”
Again, she says nothing but her obstinate expression indicates her position is resolute: she wants to know.
Sighing with the unfathomable weight of guilt, he continues, “Daniel asked me if I really wanted to know what happened to Natasha and I thought long and hard before answering. I’m still not sure if I gave him the right answer. I’d like to spare you the ambivalence.”
“Is it really that bad?” Her voice is strangled, as if each word is a burden.
“It’s not great but it was the lesser of two evils. She’s still very much among the living.”
Eyes wary, she says, “So far, so good. I’m going to push my luck and continue.”
“Allow me to say the idea originated with Lucien Phillips who contacted Daniel for assistance. Daniel gave it to him… uncomfortably.”
“It doesn’t sit well with Daniel either? He seems impervious to everything.”
“Yes, well…”
“Just blurt it out, Ian. I need to know.”
Both of his hands rake through his hair several times before he rests them on his knees. “Natasha was taken by force to Saudi Arabia to become a concubine to a wealthy Saudi national.”
Her mouth drops open but she quickly closes it, straightening her posture as if that would aid her in digesting the information. “Like a sex slave?” she asks, eyes wide and face paler than chalk.
“Essentially. However, the sheik called me last week to ease my mind. He told me she would not be physically harmed and would live in luxury.”
“Still…” She gets up and begins to pace, to and fro, one hand holding the other arm’s elbow, both arms behind her back. “Ugh, I see what you mean. There’s no doubt it’s better than being murdered—but it’s just barely better. Will she be liberated after he tires of her?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think so, not willingly. However, I suspect Natasha will succeed in finding the best in the situation and manipulate it to her advantage. I really do, Ella.”