Page 57 of Stolen Princess

“Of course, Mrs. Murphy. I’m so sorry to hear your wallet was stolen.”

“Yes.”

That’s all I’ve got.

“Your husband called, and everything is in place for you. He wanted us to make sure you were aware that anything you wanted to eat or drink would be charged to your room and he’d take care of it.”

I short-circuit a bit at that. My husband? What the absolute fuckity-fuck? “He did?” The words are a squeak.

“Yes, ma’am,” the desk clerk tells me with an eager smile. “He was worried about you. He told us he wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.”

That motherfucker. What is he doing, and why would he do it? I realize it’s a fake credit card or whatever, and he likely doesn’t pay the bill—thief and all—but still. I wish he hadn’t done this.

“Best husband ever.”

Who will die in cold blood if I ever see him again for messing with me like this.

Except the room he has me in is a suite with a living room and a view of the green area I was sitting at today, and there’s a note on the coffee table that tells me there’s a car service at my disposal, and it’ll take me anywhere, including the festival in two days.

I sit on the sofa with my head in my hands. It would have been so much easier for me if he’d driven off and never looked back. Why did he have to do all this? I pull my phone from my purse, tempted to text him back. To thank him. But I don’t.

Nothing good will come of it.

If he doesn’t reply, I’ll be hurt. If he does, I’ll have stupid hope for something there is no hope for.

I look around the suite and sigh. It’s better than sleeping outside.

But now I’m alone again. It’s quiet when it hadn’t been. I had someone to talk to. Someone to smile at and laugh with. Even when we were silent, it wasn’t ever fully that. I was always aware of him. I can’t go back to nothing, but how do I become something? Or have I been something all this time?

Someone else. Someone who was hidden from me?

I have so many questions.

My eyes close, and I lean back against the sofa. I thought about it all afternoon while I was outside watching children play with other children and hug and kiss their parents. There was no gang warfare. No violence.

Was Rhys right? Did my mother kidnap me? And what if she wasn’t the first to do so?

I hold my phone in my hand and stare at the screen.

Would she even tell me the truth?

As if she knows I’m thinking about her, my phone pings in my hand.

Mother: He’s using you.

That makes me pause. Then gasp. She knows. My heart starts to race, and I flip around the room as if she’s going to materialize from behind the curtains. How? I rub my hand over my mouth and reread her text. How can she know?

Me: Who?

Mother: The man who took you.

I laugh. The man who took me. More like I blackmailed him.

Me: How do you know about him?

Mother: The exit chime. You didn’t think it only alerted you, did you?

Mother: I’ve been worried sick about you and searching everywhere.