Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92873 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“Will your brothers worry if you don’t go back?”
“They don’t really miss me.” She adds with an air of pride, “I sometimes stay away for a few days. I know how to take care of myself.”
Smoothing a hand over her head, I ask, “How old are you?”
She shrugs again. “I don’t know.”
The tightness in my chest increases. I can’t let her return to that cave, but I don’t want Angelo to drag her back to her grandfather either. Will he let her stay at his house? Will he let Heidi take care of her?
When both plates are empty, Sophie helps me to tidy the kitchen, seeming to enjoy the task. I lured her inside with the cake, but she needs a healthier dinner than the sugar I just fed her. After fixing her an egg-mayo sandwich that she devours with a glass of milk as if she hasn’t eaten in years, I heat up a carton of soup.
“Are you still hungry? I’m going to have soup. Will Beatrice like a bowl?”
“With bread.” She adds quickly, “And butter,” before climbing on a chair by the table.
After serving three bowls of soup, I sit down opposite her.
She spreads a thick layer of butter on a slice of bread and dunks it in her soup.
I cup my bowl and draw it closer, considering my next words carefully. “I don’t want you to go back to the camp if that’s not what you want, but I can’t let you roam around alone and live in the cave. It’s not safe.”
She stops eating and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “My brothers take care of me. They bring food.”
“Which they find where?” I ask gently.
“They slip into people’s houses or take vegetables from their gardens.”
My God. Those poor children. “If they’re stealing, they’ll get into trouble. It’s not right.” Reaching over the table, I cup her hand. “You do understand that, don’t you? It’s not your job to take care of yourself. It’s the job of the adults who are responsible for you.”
She pulls away. “I’m not going back to Grandpa.”
“Sweetheart, I’m only saying we have to speak to Mr. Russo and make an arrangement.”
“No,” she says, clenching her small hands on the table. “Beatrice doesn’t like that man.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you or Beatrice. But you can’t carry on living alone.”
Her voice climbs in volume. “I’m not alone. I have Beatrice. I have my brothers.”
Getting up, I come around the table and brush a hand over her stubbly hair in a soothing gesture. “Why is Beatrice so afraid of the men?” I continue in a soft tone. “Did something happen to her?” My chest constricts as I ask the question on the forefront of my mind. “Did they hurt her?”
“No.” She scowls. “She just doesn’t like them.”
I heave a sigh. “It’s getting dark now, but can you take me to your brothers tomorrow? I’d like to meet them too.”
“They’re not always at the cave. Sometimes, they leave food and come back after a few days.”
“Can you show me the cave then?”
She purses her lips.
“Sophie?”
“Beatrice is full. She doesn’t want to eat anymore. Can I brush her hair?”
“How about you?” I ask, trying hard not to show my worry. “Have you eaten enough?”
She bobs her head.
I smile. “Shall we braid Beatrice’s hair? Maybe we can find her pajamas to wear. What do you think?”
“Okay,” she says, hopping off the chair.
A car pulls up outside. It’s not Heidi’s car. I learned to distinguish between the sounds of the engines.
Sophie stills. Her eyes widen. She looks like a frightened rabbit as she grabs Beatrice to her chest. She glances at the backdoor. Even before she presses up on her toes like a sprinter about to take off for a race, I know she’s going to flee.
“No, wait.” I raise my hands and put myself in her path, cutting off her escape route. “It’s all right. It’s only my husband. He won’t hurt you.”
Angelo is many things, but he won’t lay his hands on a child. I know it with a deep-seated certainty. He tried to give the children a home. It’s the only reason this house exists. That says a lot about his intentions where the kids are concerned.
Before Sophie can act, the front door opens with a squeak and closes with a click. I turn toward the doorway, bracing myself to face my husband while Sophie all but blends into my shadow.
Steps fall on the floor, advancing to the kitchen. My husband comes into view, filling the doorframe with his tall, broad body. His dark hair falls messily around his face, making him look way too hot. For a change, he’s wearing jeans and a leather jacket over a rollneck sweater. The ensemble is casual, yet on him, it looks fancy. Expensive. The clothes mold to his strong frame. Or rather, he fills them out well. He wears them with the ease of a man who’s certain of himself and his destiny.