said …
You sound weird, Princess. Worryingly weird.
The Dark Princess said …
I’m sorry. Just wanted to log on, talk to you, get some normality back.
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
Am I helping?
The Dark Princess said …
You always help.
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
Wish I was with you. Why is Australia so far away? Wish I could just hop on a plane to Florida.
The Dark Princess said …
Not in Florida anymore.
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
Gone travelling?
The Dark Princess said …
Yep.
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
Where?
Amber hesitated. It was practically inconceivable for her parents to check these boards. They didn’t know she chatted here, didn’t know what her user name was … but even so. Even so they scared her so much that she wasn’t about to take that chance.
The Dark Princess said …
Not far. Damn, have to go.
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
Something I said?
The Dark Princess said …
Course not. It’s late though. Need sleep. Early start tomorrow.
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
Take care of yourself, OK? And check in regularly. U got me worried now!
The Dark Princess said …
Sorry! TTYL
Balthazar’s-Arm-Candy said …
Peace.
Amber logged out, turned off the iPad, and let it drop on to the bed. Little by little, they were robbing her of every last semblance of normality, stripping her of every last link to her old life. She didn’t even know who she was anymore. Everything her personality had been built on was a lie, and the more she examined it, the more it crumbled beneath her gaze.
If she wasn’t a beloved daughter, and if she wasn’t an only child, then who was she? Ten days ago, Amber Lamont had been a good person. But now she was someone who’d bitten off a finger. Now she was someone with a pair of jeans soaked in the black blood of a man whose chest she’d caved in.
Now she didn’t know who she was.
WHEN AMBER CAME DOWN for dinner, her place was set at a large, long table, next to Glen’s and across from Milo’s. Another guest was joining them, an attractive, dark-haired woman in her thirties.
“Company!” the woman said, clearly delighted. “I haven’t had company while eating for ages! Are you staying long?”
“Probably not,” said Amber. “We’re on a family road trip. This is my cousin Glen, my dad Milo, and I’m Amber.”
“Very pleased to meet you,” said the woman. “I’m Veronica. Have you travelled far?”
“We’ve been on the road for a few days,” Milo said. “What about you?”
Veronica gave them all quite a beautiful smile. “I actually live here. Not in the hotel, but Cascade Falls. Well, I did. I thought I’d bought a place but it fell through at the last minute, and I’ve already sold my old house, so here I am, destitute. Destitute in a lovely hotel, but still … destitute.”
“Why are you moving?” Amber asked. “It’s such a beautiful place.”
“It is,” said Veronica, “it really is. And I’m going to miss it, but sometimes you just have to –” she fluttered her fingers – “leave.”
“I noticed some closed-down stores,” Milo said. “Does that have anything to do with it?”
Veronica shrugged. “Maybe. A few of my friends have moved away recently, a few more are about to follow them … No single reason, though. It’s still a great place to live. We just … I don’t know. We want somewhere new. So where are you from?”
“Georgia,” said Milo. “My wife and I split up, and this trip is our father-daughter time.”
“Father-daughter and cousin,” said Glen quickly.
“How nice,” Veronica said. “And your wife was okay with taking Amber out of school for this?”
Milo hesitated for just a moment too long, and Amber jumped in. “When he says they split up, what he means is, Mom passed away last year. Visiting all her favourite places is our way of saying goodbye.”
“Oh no,” said Veronica. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
“Not at all,” said Milo, shooting a look at Amber.
“I’m from Ireland,” said Glen.
Veronica nodded and smiled, and didn’t say anything to that.
Glen looked mystified. He started to speak again – probably to repeat what he’d just said in the hope of a different reaction – when the doors opened and a man entered. Tall, astonishingly so, with broad shoulders and narrow hips, accentuated by the grey fitted coat he wore – tight around the midsection, then flowing to the floor. His trousers were black, his legs long, his arms long, even his fingers were long. He was handsome, had the complexion of a man who spent his time indoors, and his black hair was swept off his high forehead in an exaggerated widow’s peak. He had a long nose, cheekbones like knife cuts, and twinkling dark eyes under a heavy brow.
“Miss Cartwright,” he said, smiling. His accent was foreign, and unfamiliar to Amber. “It is a pleasure to see you, as always. And our newest guests – my deepest apologies for not being here to greet you upon your arrival. My name is Johann Varga, the owner of this hotel. I trust your time with us so far has been pleasant?”
“It has,” said Milo. “Thank you.”
“Have you travelled far?”
