Page 55 of Diamond in the Rough (The Diamond Trilogy 1)
“Everything about you is a distraction,” he says, sounding frustrated, even angry, and then he kisses me, soothing away the sting. His lips offer regret and apology. His kiss promises to care for me even as he holds himself apart. “Carson is going to stay here with you.”
He enters a long code quickly, and the door latches open. Then he’s gone, and the security system beeps to let me know that it’s active. I wander into the living room, where Carson stands at attention. He gives me a very official-looking nod, and I wave back.
I go back upstairs, hoping to see if someone has responded to one of his inquiries, but of course the laptop is locked. Instead I wander around, touching a small figurine of a dairymaid on the carved fireplace mantel. It would be nice to have a phone, to at least call my parents and let them know I’m okay. They know my sister well enough not to be surprised when she doesn’t answer for a few weeks, but my mom and I have a call every Friday like clockwork.
It was too much to hope that this place would be luxurious and fully complete with a wardrobe for me and have a phone or laptop for me, but I make a mental note to ask Elijah about it when he gets back. Plus, now that I’m safe again, I’d like to start writing.
In the shallow drawer of a desk I find a pad of paper and a pen.
It’s been years since I wrote any of my books this way, but needs must.
Ruby Crouch had seen hundreds of families flow through the front parlor. Some were angry, still in denial about their visit. Others sobbed their goodbyes. Mrs. Crouch guided, comforted, and issued dire warnings—whatever was necessary to ensure enrollment.
The School for Ordinary Girls was not an ordinary school.
This particular family had an air of mourning. There were two children. Only one was eligible to attend. She sat on the armchair in a new dress and patent leather shoes, her feet hanging a few inches above the floor.
Her mother insisted she was a good child, that she always obeyed the rules, that she was kind and good and smart. The room trembled. Her father made threats about what good treatment he required of her. The fire in the fireplace hissed sparks. Her older sister simply cried silent tears that matched the rain outside.
Then it was time for them to leave.
They went down the steps and climbed into their car and drove away. The little girl ran to the window to watch the taillights turn blurry and fade away.
“Come along,” Mrs. Crouch said, for she had learned that it was best for children to become acclimated to their new environments sooner rather than later. “Your room is waiting.”
This is where the child belonged.
Her mother could move the earth. Her father could change fire. Her sister, water. But this child had no special abilities. She was and always would be ordinary.
I sit back and shake out my hand, which isn’t used to writing so much so fast. There’s a lurch in my stomach as I study the words I’ve written. Every story has small pieces of me—what I ate for dinner and how I feel about willow trees. But the characters are made up. The world is made up. And yet I can’t deny the similarities to this family and mine.
Even the parlor where they sat reminds me of the room I’m in. The rain-beaten window looks like the one here. I can almost imagine the Eiffel Tower existing in my story.
Which is ridiculous, for so many reasons. The girl in the story is trapped in the school. She has no options, no way out. I wasn’t left here by well-meaning parents.
This is a safe house. I’m here by choice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Elijah
Lieutenant Colonel Mark Jefferson is waiting for me at the embassy.
His face is already red. He’s evicted some poor diplomat from their office so he could sit behind a desk which has photos of someone else’s family. Two privates stand at attention on either side of him, props that he uses to emphasize his power. They’re also there to make sure I don’t kill him if he pushes me too far. It’s a perverse sign of respect that he knows I might.
He gives me a dressing down that would reduce a greener soldier to tears. I’m a disgrace to my country, disgrace to my rank, disgrace to my family. He doesn’t even know if I have a family. He moves on to threaten me with a court-martial. He’ll strip my rank and put me in jail.
“Yes, sir,” I say when he takes a breath.
Then he gets to the good stuff.
He’ll have me killed. He’ll have me disappeared. No one will find the body. One of the privates widens his eyes. Surprise. That means he’s new to this detail. Which means he’d be the first person I’d attack if I wanted to take Jefferson down.
