Chapter 3 A Dinner, Not a Kidnapping

Seven Years Ago - Emília Gray 

The two hours of class had already ended, but I hadn’t left the room. I pressed the violin against my body, feeling the sound of the music floating in a melodic conversation with me. I didn’t understand it. I didn’t really know what I was playing, only that I needed to convey something.

I needed to deliver something to whoever listened.

Maybe that’s why I wasn’t the main violinist in the class. And I didn’t even try to be the best pianist because there were many students better than me.

It frustrated me a little because I loved classical music. I loved listening, feeling it, sometimes it even felt like it danced with me when I heard it through my MP3. But I needed more practice.

I was trying to learn a very difficult piece: Beethoven’s Kreutzer Sonata. It was complex, and not even our teacher could perform it perfectly. But I wanted to learn it completely. Maybe then I could earn a leading spot in class and perform it someday.

"Miss Gray, your mother is here."

My teacher knocked on the door as she called me. I nodded, wiping my forehead and fixing my tied curls.

I packed my instrument, grabbed my backpack, and ran out of the room. My mother was talking to Daniel’s uncle, Angelo Wayne. He was very close to my parents. As far as I knew, they had business together and tried to help each other grow the hospital and the city’s entire healthcare system.

"The meeting is set for Thursday, after midnight. We’ll go over the terms of the deal and, of course, serve a good dinner," I heard her say. "Invite your wife."

"I will. We’re starting Daniel’s integration as well."

"Oh, that’s great." My mother looked at me. "Emília still has a few years."

I smiled back, not fully understanding what they were talking about. Mr. Wayne noticed me and stroked my hair, which made me uncomfortable. I hated people touching it.

"I can’t wait to see you grown up and joining us."

I wasn’t eager to grow up and attend dinners and meetings like my parents. They were filled with the elite, and as expected, my family had been part of it for decades.

Before my patience ran out, Angelo said goodbye to me and my mom with a brief wave. She approached me and smiled widely.

"Why did you come pick me up, Mom?" I asked, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"I got worried when I didn’t see you at home. I called the school and they told me you were here."

"Mom, you didn’t have to."

"Last week, a three-year-old child disappeared inside the school. You know the city has been dangerous. There are disappearance cases no one understands."

"But I’m not three. I’m thirteen. I’m almost fourteen."

She laughed and kissed my hair.

"Even if you were a hundred, I’d still worry."

My mother was beautiful. Her dark skin tone, her hair just as curly as mine, her dark eyes, and her small but full lips were the highlight of her beauty. I liked to brag that I had the most beautiful mother. But I always had to hear comments from my classmates saying I wasn’t as pretty as her.

"Shall we go home? I’m cooking today," she said cheerfully, taking my hand toward the car.

I was excited. I loved when she cooked for me. My father and I would sit and wait for the dish to land on the table so we could devour it like animals. They worked a lot, but we were very close whenever we were together.

"Actually, Mom, I have to go to Kayleen’s house." Olivia Gray raised her eyebrows. "We have an assignment, but I’ll be back before nine!"

"Okay. Do you want me to take you?"

"No, no. I’ll go by myself."

I opened the car door and tossed in my backpack and violin case.

"Are you sure?" Olivia asked again, but I was already closing the door and running.

"No need! But don’t eat everything! I want dinner too."

I didn’t wait to hear her response and ran toward the park. I lifted my dress slightly to make running easier.

I hope he’s there.

That was my thought until I reached the park and heard laughter.

I recognized Dante’s among a few completely unfamiliar ones.

I headed to the court where I saw him among four other boys.

Two were fighting each other, and the other three, including Dante, were just watching, shouting and laughing.

Fear drove my eyes.

Wasn’t he going to stop the fight? Did he find it funny? How could watching someone get hurt be entertaining?

Dante seemed, among them all, to be the one encouraging the fight the most. Every punch, every kick, every block made him urge them on even more.

In fact, it was the first time I saw him show reactions, heard his voice at a higher volume, and studied his more aggressive and agile movements. But it was also the first time I discovered one of his hobbies: watching other boys fight.

I considered going back home and maybe never speaking to him.

I didn’t like blood or injuries. I hated action movies because I couldn’t stand watching someone get hurt, whether it was real or not. Apparently, Dante was fascinated by it.

But before I could turn away, one of the boys from the fight ended up hitting Dante. I couldn’t hold back the scream that left my mouth when he fell to the ground and pressed his hand to his bleeding nose.

The boys didn’t care about him.

Every head turned in my direction, their expressions confused and questioning as they saw me standing meters away from the court.

I locked eyes with Faulkner, whose gaze showed no emotion.

I felt like an idiot and decided to leave as quickly as I had arrived.

Before I could even step out of the park, an arm wrapped around my waist and pressed me against a body.

A squeak escaped my throat, but a warm laugh bubbled in my ear along with a pair of words:

"Do you have some kind of obsession with me or something, Gray?"

Hearing his voice after three weeks since that day sent chills down my spine.

Dante let go of me, and I turned to face him.

"No. I was just passing by."

"Your house isn’t in this direction," he pointed out.

"I like walking."

"And getting lost too."

I hissed at the remark.

Dante was so indifferent.

"What happened was—"

"Something you should learn from instead of following me," he cut in bluntly.

"I’m not following you," I protested, searching for plausible reasons to continue. "I just… I just want to talk to you."

Dante looked at me like I was an aberration.

"Don’t you get tired?"

"Of what?"

"Of getting yourself into trouble."

"Wanting to talk to you isn’t a problem," I defended myself.

"Insisting on it is."

I wrinkled my nose, crossing my arms.

I didn’t take a deep breath before continuing because his scent was too good and dangerously addictive. I couldn’t sniff him like a dog, or he’d think I was even stranger than he already did.

"I never insisted."

"You just come to the park at the same times I do and leave at the same time, not to mention asking the town’s gossips who I am, what I eat, where I sleep, and how I breathe."

"Oh…"

He knew.

Embarrassment flooded my body instantly. I had been exposed.

"I know how you breathe," I argued, though it sounded stupid.

Dante didn’t respond.

But I saw a half-smile break across his lips.

My stomach fluttered in a way I couldn’t ignore, but I forced myself not to dwell on it.

"Are they your friends?" I asked cautiously, calculations forming in my mind.

There are four boys…

Faulkner looked at me with a hint of confusion.

"Depends on what you consider a friend."

"Are they the boys you saved from the kidnapping?"

The question slipped out before I could stop it. I hated being invasive, but my curiosity begged for an answer. Clearly, Dante wasn’t comfortable. The lines of his expression sharpened, but he held his composure.

"What do you know about this so-called kidnapping?"

"Only what the rumors say."

He inhaled, his brow furrowing. Anger spread silently across his face.

"They’re wrong. It wasn’t a kidnapping."

"Then what was it?"

"It was a dinner."

What?

My thirteen-year-old self—and five months—didn’t know how to interpret that. Dante didn’t say much more, stepping toward the court.

He looked back, his dark, shadowed eyes saying things I couldn’t read, but somehow my body reacted. So I followed him, even though I could almost see a red warning sign on his back telling me to go home.

"I’m leaving," he told the four boys, who were now tossing an American football between them.

All of them turned their attention to Dante, but it didn’t take long for them to notice me standing there, small and waiting.

Even I was surprised.

He had decided to stay with me.

"Who’s this?" one of them asked, his voice deep for his thin body.

"Is she your girlfriend?" another one looked at Dante.

"Damn, Faulkner. I took you seriously when you said you loved me. Are you cheating on me?" another guy laughed and closed the distance between us. "She’s cute. What’s your name, princess?"

I swallowed hard, clutching my chest.

"Emília. Emília Gray," I said quietly, still intimidated by his towering height.

"Emília Emília Gray? Twice? That’s weird. Did your parents choke while writing it?" I opened my mouth to argue, but he didn’t let me. "I’m Asher Hawthorn, princess. You can just call me Asher. Or Asher Asher. The prince of your dreams. Or the villain. Maybe a vampire. Do you like tails? I don’t know what kind of fantasy you have. Whatever you prefer."

"Hawthorn, stop being an idiot. She must be twelve!" another one shouted, clearly the most injured from the fight. His narrow eyes, dark hair, and pale skin made it clear he had Asian features.

"Or you can just call me Hawthorn, even though not everyone knows how to pronounce it," he finished with a sarcastic smile.

"I’m thirteen. I’m almost fourteen."

"See? She’s twelve."

"No, I—"

"Are you and Faulkner dating?" I shook my head, slightly horrified and embarrassed. "If I were you, I’d run. He doesn’t like people."

Asher looked at his friend, annoyed.

"Cole, don’t intimidate Emília."

"I’m not feeling intimidated."

"Of course you’re not," Cole said dryly. "You’re stupid."

"And cute, man. Have you looked at her?"

Asher stepped closer as if to touch me, but Dante pushed him away, and a simple command stopped him:

"Don’t you dare touch her."

Hawthorn turned, clearly wanting to provoke Dante with a smile.

"I thought we shared."

His movements were so fast I didn’t even notice when he pressed his hands over my ears and turned toward the boys, who stopped and listened to whatever Dante was saying.

I was so shocked that I didn’t even try to catch any words. All I felt was the heat radiating from Faulkner’s body and my eyes darting between the four boys in front of me. Silent, their gazes fixed on the boy behind me.

When he released my ears, the click of his friend’s tongue was the only fragment of the conversation that remained.

"What happened? What did you say?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said seriously. "Jaxon, keep an eye on Vance!"

The other boy who had been fighting nodded and turned his head toward the only one who had stayed quiet.

It seemed Vance was leaning against the wall with a notebook in hand and a pen. If I looked closely enough, I could see it was a small crossword puzzle book.

He was the only one who hadn’t even looked at me, much less paid attention to the boys’ conversation.

"Campbell isn’t a child," Jaxon complained, wiping his forehead with his T-shirt.

"Exactly why I’m asking you to keep an eye on him."

Dante reached into his apparently empty backpack and grabbed my hand, pulling me away from them.

It was so warm. It felt like it could fry my bones.

"Aren’t you going to the orphanage?"

He glanced at me from the corner of his eye.

"Didn’t you say you came here to talk? That’s what we’re going to do."

I was sure my eyes lit up.

"Actually, I don’t know exactly what to talk to you about. I didn’t expect to manage it today," I admitted.

"You’re weird as hell," he said, but I was too happy to feel offended.

"I have homework to do. You can help me."

Lines formed on Dante’s forehead.

"What’s the homework about?"

"Shakespeare. I have to read something and write a summary. Do you know who he is?"

"I do, but I’ve never read it."

I took a few steps forward, trying to match his pace.

"Do you want to read with me?"

Dante took a moment to respond.

"I don’t know how to read or write. Even if I wanted to, it would just be meaningless drawings to me."

I was surprised for a moment, but quickly hid my unease.

He didn’t go to school. As always, there were rumors explaining his absence from any educational setting, but nothing confirmed beyond the fact that, apparently, he didn’t want to. His other friends, especially Jaxon and Cole, attended the same school as me.

"I can teach you." Faulkner glanced at me sideways. "I don’t know exactly how, but we can use Shakespeare. That way I do my homework and you learn."

Dante exhaled through his nose.

"You stalk someone for months and at the first opportunity you get, you invite them to read Shakespeare?"

I couldn’t hold back my silly smile.

"I’m very smart, right?"

I saw his mouth curve, and a strange sound came out of it.

Dante wanted to laugh.

He laughed. As if it were confirmation of all that madness.

That made me happy. It felt like many good things were coming.