Chapter 7
I lied to Roman Duca for approximately twelve seconds.
“No.”
His eyes narrowed.
It was a terrible lie.
I owned a bakery. I negotiated with suppliers, employees, inspectors and customers who insisted gluten-free and sugar-free birthday cake should still somehow taste exactly like buttercream and childhood.
I could bluff.
Usually.
But Roman had spent his adult life reading rooms.
And I had looked directly at my phone before telling him it wasn’t Lily.
“Clare.”
I sighed.
“She’s safe.”
Every muscle in his body changed at once.
His shoulders lowered.
Barely.
But enough.
“You heard from her.”
“Yes.”
“Where is she?”
“She didn’t say.”
His relief vanished.
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
He stared at me.
“You understand she is sixteen.”
“Yes.”
“She is alone.”
“She says she’s safe.”
“That does not answer where she is.”
“No.”
His voice remained controlled.
“Clare.”
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Become the man everyone is afraid to tell the truth to.”
The words landed.
Roman looked away first.
I softened slightly.
“She asked me to meet her tomorrow morning.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
“What time?”
“Roman.”
He exhaled.
“I’m not trying to control her.”
“You’re trying to gather enough information to control what happens next.”
“Because I’m responsible for her.”
“And because you’re scared.”
His gaze snapped back to mine.
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
One word.
Nothing hidden behind it.
He was scared.
That changed the conversation.
I moved around the counter.
“Call Elena.”
“She already knows Lily contacted someone?”
“No.”
“Then tell her Lily is safe.”
Roman’s jaw tightened.
“She’ll ask where.”
“Tell her you don’t know.”
“I dislike saying that.”
“I’ve noticed.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
Then he called.
I listened to half the conversation.
“Yes, she’s safe.”
“No, I don’t know where.”
“No, I am not hiding her.”
A pause.
“Elena, stop.”
Another pause.
“No. We’re not doing this tonight.”
His voice softened.
“She contacted someone she trusts.”
His eyes met mine.
“No, not me.”
He listened.
Then quietly:
“I know.”
When he ended the call, the room felt different.
“She’s angry?” I asked.
“At herself.”
“That’s probably useful.”
Roman gave me a look.
“I didn’t say pleasant.”
He slipped his phone into his pocket.
“What exactly did Lily say?”
I showed him the first two messages.
Not the third.
His eyes moved across the screen.
I just need somewhere nobody gets to decide for me.
He read it twice.
Then nodded.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Because tomorrow morning you’re not showing up here with six cars.”
“Two.”
“Roman.”
“One.”
“No.”
His mouth tightened.
“She asked for you alone.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t like it.”
“I know.”
Another long silence.
Then he said, “All right.”
I blinked.
“All right?”
“I won’t come.”
“That’s surprisingly reasonable.”
“Do not sound so disappointed.”
“I had prepared an argument.”
“Save it.”
He reached for his coat.
At the door, he stopped.
“If she is in danger—”
“I call you.”
“If she asks you not to?”
I considered that.
“If she’s genuinely unsafe, I call you anyway.”
He nodded.
“Thank you.”
Then he left.
I barely slept.
At five thirty the next morning, Honey & Rye smelled like coffee, yeast and orange peel.
My bakers knew nothing.
Milo arrived at six, saw my face and wisely did not ask questions.
At six ten, the bell above the door rang.
Lily walked in.
Alone.
Relief nearly took my knees out.
I crossed the room.
“You’re okay?”
“I’m okay.”
“Where were you?”
“My friend Maya’s.”
“Did her parents know?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I wanted to hug her.
I didn’t.
She had spent the previous day surrounded by adults deciding things for her.
So I let her choose the distance.
She sat at the corner table.
I brought hot chocolate without asking.
She accepted it.
“Roman knows I messaged you?”
“Yes.”
Her face tightened.
“I told him you’re safe. I didn’t tell him you asked me to come alone.”
She studied me.
“Why?”
“Because you’re sixteen, not invisible.”
Something in her expression softened.
I sat.
“What do you want me to know?”
Lily reached into her backpack.
She pulled out a thin blue folder.
Inside were photographs.
Not her photography.
Documents.
Printed emails.
A letter.
My stomach tightened.
“What is this?”
“My mom’s.”
I didn’t touch the pages.
“Does she know you have them?”
“No.”
“Lily.”
“I didn’t steal them.”
“How did you get them?”
“She gave me an old laptop when she moved. She forgot these were saved.”
That was somehow both better and worse.
“Did you read everything?”
“Not everything.”
She looked guilty.
May you like
“Enough.”
I glanced at the top email.
