Page 126 of Punishing His Runaway Bride
My fingers tightened on the strap of my bag. Birthday. Her sixth birthday. My daughter.
"What are you trying to do?" I looked up at him.
"Just trying to make her happy." His voice was flat, too flat to hold any emotion. "You don't want to disappoint your daughter, do you?"
Daughter.
When that word came out of his mouth, something in my chest got hit hard. Not touched, punched.
"Ezio," I said, "are you threatening me?"
"I'm asking you."
"Asking?" I laughed bitterly. "You're standing here, using our daughter's name, telling me you already promised her, that's asking?"
"I know," he said, "but I—"
"You what?" I cut him off, voice rising. "You want to say you're doing this for Juliet? You want to say this is for her own good?"
"Yes."
"Liar!" I yelled. "You're doing this for yourself! You want me to stay, you want—"
"I want you to stay," he interrupted me, every word precise. "I admit it. But Juliet really does want you to come."
He pulled a paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and laid it on the barre beside us.
It was a drawing.
Crayon drawing, all crooked lines, but you could tell what it was. A woman and a little girl, holding hands under a big circle, the woman with long blonde hair, the little girl with green eyes. In the bottom right corner, crooked letters spelled out: Vivi and Juliet.
My eyes burned.
"She worked on it for a long time," he said. "She said she wanted to give the prettiest picture to her favorite teacher."
I stood there, looking at that drawing, at those crooked lines, at the pink crayon dress Juliet drew for the woman, at the green crayon she used for her own eyes.
"You know why she drew this?" his voice came from behind me. "Because she thinks you'll always be there for her, like the mom she dreams about. But she doesn't know..."
I felt my chest tighten, couldn't breathe. I'd missed so many years of my daughter's life.
"Enough." I cut him off.
"She doesn't know you're leaving in three months." He finished anyway.
"I'll come."
The practice room went quiet. So quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.
"Ezio," I turned to face him, "you're shameless."
He whistled lightly, eyes gleaming with triumph, completely different from the cold isolation of five years ago. Of course, five years ago, he wouldn't have used tactics this sneaky either.
"This Saturday, ten a.m.," he said. "Walter Amusement Park."
He turned and headed for the door. At the doorway, he paused, didn't look back.
"Don't miss it."
