Page 66 of The Silent Princess

Ashford Building.

At least driving myself gives me privacy and space to think. Paul needed some time off anyway. Running my fingers on my thigh like playing an invisible piano, I look away at the streetlamps glowing in the dark of the city. Tomorrow, I will gather all my associates in a meeting, presenting our numbers and growth strategy, an annual meeting I would normally be eager to attend, considering the amount of growth Ashford Enterprises has been going through.

Only my mind is tugged from another side, where the unknown prevails, along with a series of data, information on the whereabouts of Cole’s men calling me from all corners, turning my usually multitasking brain into one close to burnout. Looking back at the road, I notice a car, a black one, foreign plates, that has not changed lanes in the last five minutes. Two cars behind. Shit. I’ve got company.

I check my mirrors, grip tightening around the wheel. One foot on the accelerator, I am pushed back in my seat as we slalom between cars. The amount of traffic allows me to be harder to follow, but the car behind does not lose me. We are now on a tighter road, aiming at the city center, right where I should normally slide under the Ashford Building parking lot, but I am curious to see who is behind those smoked windows. Cole would not be stupid enough to expose himself in such a way, but what are they expecting? A collision? Is this truly how he wishes to threaten me? Or is it purely mind games, the result of a cat trying desperately to catch a mouse with its big, clumsy paws? Up Jefferson Street, first right, straight through. It will be rough, but I will lose them here. I drive way past city-center limits, slaloming between cars and obstacles. In one swift motion, I wrench the car to the right, praying my tires stay silent, and circle back around the building until I can see the vehicle in front of me.

Their car stops, searching for me, before moving left after losing my track. With their plate memorized, I text it to Matt immediately, then lean back. What was that?

Ten minutes later, once the coast is clear, I drive to the second entrance of my building, one made for the staff only that I rarely use. It is in the back, leading to another underground parking lot. Parking the car, I rush out straight into the elevator, pressing the button for the thirty-third floor, hoping not to bump into Ella if I am still being followed. That is the last thing I want. I will stay on the 33rd floor, watching her through the cameras until I am sure it is safe for us to meet without anyone knowing. The last thing I need is a target on her back. I would lose my mind.

Her proximity permeates the air, and even inside the small metallic box, I can almost feel her aura getting closer as the floors climb higher.

Just like when you know someone is watching you in a room without even glancing back, there is an invisible weight to a gaze, like a gun aimed straight at you. You’re on alert, aware. And I am. God, I am. Aware of her presence in this very same building, of her body moving in my office, of her light steps covering my territory with her scent, her very essence. Or perhaps I should stop on the thirty-second floor now and… No. I need to calm down, let the adrenaline leave my body, and make sure I am not followed once again. Cole could have a tracker or have hacked into the building, surveilling the elevator pattern. Or perhaps I am turning into a full-blown paranoid. Better safe than sorry, though. I will take the stairs later to find Ella. First, I’m going to watch her for the next hour, and that, for sure, will help me unwind before seeing her. She does not want to see a beast heaving at her. Not when she needs me composed and calm, showing her she can trust me.

In the meantime, I will be here.

Watching.

Ella

“So good to see you,” Anja says, hugging me tightly, comforting me in a mist of vanilla. “Feels like I haven’t seen you in ages!”

“How are the kids?” I sign, knowing she understands the last word since I taught it to her.

“Same old, though they are arguing nonstop. Doesn’t matter if it’s a toy or a pair of shoes, Troy always wants what Jessie has. And jeez, the tantrums…” She gasps, looking at the ceiling as if God were hidden between the neon lights. She is in a full lilac velvet set, with a glitter butterfly on the back. Beautifully straightened, her hair is light and glossy, black shining above her shoulders. She must be fighting men off with a stick, with her feline yet feminine aura. I smile at her remark, picturing her kids driving her crazy.

“Other than that, Carol came for a few days. She finally got days off from the salon. We’re thinking about going partying Friday night, karaoke and all,” she says, talking about her older sister, who lives not so far from her. “Hey, can you sing? Like, even in your head, humming and such?” We enter the lobby, with Ronny on our right, behind the counter, in his spotless, perfectly fitted concierge outfit. I stop, considering her request and her refreshing bluntness.

Could I sing?

I can hear perfectly, and on occasion, I hum songs to myself, but they have no sound. It is more a matter of…colors. When I sing, despite the silence, I still feel the music, its melody dancing inside me, as if fireworks were exploding in the corners of my eyes, full of colors and different shades, expanding and retracting and melting into one another. I wish I could explain it to her right now, but I have no pen and paper, so I simply shrug and wave my hand, hoping she understands that it is neither a yes nor a no.

“So a bit?”

“I don’t really know,” I say slowly, as she reads my lips.

“Maybe we should try.” She winks, elbowing me in the ribs. “I got this top, yellow and green stripes, backless. On you, man, man, those men would fall on their faces.” She waves her hands as if motioning something being too hot, and I burst into laughter.

“Hey, I wanted to ask, um…” She looks at my cheek, which has now healed. “How are things at home?”

“Better,” I lie, pressing my palm to my face. Anja has enough worries at home. It would not be fair to confide in her. Sometimes lying is okay, right? If it is meant to protect those you love from sorrow and worry? Her children must be worrying enough for her. How does she do it? Could I be capable of caring for children without being mean like Mara? Would I have it in me to be kind and patient? I mean, I always am, but…can you be a good mom when you lost yours so early in life?

“I wanted to tell you, I…I met someone.” I type on my note app. The only person I’d be okay to share such a private piece of my life is Anja and I gather all the courage I can find as she gasps audibly.

“What’s his name?” she says with urgency as the elevator climbs.

“Tristan,” I type, and as soon as she reads the screen, a muffled scream fills the elevator, palm on her mouth.

“No way.”

“Way,” I say silently, not so brave anymore to look at her.

“Oh, you gotta tell me, ‘cause right now I’m picturing a hell of a lot of bad things, with predator and abuse being at the top of the list.”

“There is nothing of the sort, really,” I type fast. “He’s not a predator.”

“I saw him on the TV, Ella. He’s thirty-two and you’re, what, twenty?”