The Illusion of Annabella

  Luca: Isn’t that stealing?

  Me: Nah, not technically since it’s a picture of me. But u might not want to let anyone c u.

  Luca: R u sure it’s okay? I feel like I’m being watched.

  I bite back a giggle and slap my hand over my mouth in shock.

  Me: Yeah. Just grab it and put it in your pocket. No one will notice.

  Luca: Wow. Instructions from an expert thief. I feel so lucky.

  Luca: Dammit, I did it again, didn’t I? I’m such an ass.

  Me: Yeah, but I’m used to it by now.

  I wait for him to answer, but he doesn’t.

  Me: Did you get the pic?

  Luca: Running out of the studio right now with it in my pocket.

  Me: Walk. Don’t run. It’ll make you look more suspicious.

  Luca: Too late for that.

  I restrain another damn laugh.

  Me: And FYI, I was never upset by anything u said.

  Luca: Wow, I totally got schooled. I feel like a sucker.

  Me: Sorry. But I really wanted that pic down. It doesn’t belong there anymore.

  “Who are you texting?”

  My gaze rises to Zhara who’s standing in the doorway. “No one.”

  She nervously fiddles with the bottom button of her cardigan. “You looked really into it.”

  “It’s just a text.” I toss the phone onto the cushion when it buzzes, even though my fingers itch to read the reply Luca sent.

  “Okay, if you say so,” she says, but her tone is scrutinizing.

  “I do say so.” But really, I was so caught up in texting that I forgot about everything going on in my life.

  She sits down on the armrest and crosses her legs. “I just came down here to check on you. Are you okay? Do you need anything?”

  “I’m cool, but thanks.”

  I hear a man on the television yammering about his undying love, so I reach for the remote to change the channel.

  “How about something to eat?” she asks. “I think there might be some pizza in the fridge that I could heat up.”

  “I’m fine, Zhara. Stop worrying so much.”

  She angles her head to the side, her cat eyes analyzing me from head to toe. “Are you sure? Because I can cook you something if you want. Just name it and it’s yours.”

  “You don’t cook, though.”

  “I used to not cook, but I took home ec last semester and I did really well. Plus, Jessamine’s been giving me a lot of tips over the phone.”

  “How often do you talk to her?”

  She seems shocked by my question, and honestly, so do I. It’s been a while since I’ve showed any signs of caring about anyone.

  “Every couple of days.” She gives me an encouraging smile. “You should call her. I know she misses you. Plus, she heard about what happened and is super worried.”

  “She doesn’t need to be.” I surf through the channels again. “I’m perfectly fine.”

  “No, you’re not,” she whispers, her eyes wide.

  I train my gaze on the screen, unblinking, and it takes all my strength not to cry.

  Zhara springs to her feet, her face lit up like a firecracker. “You know what? I’m going to go cook some chocolate chip fudge brownies for you.” She pats my foot. “I know they’re your fave, so just stay put, and I’ll let you know when they’re done.”

  “Those aren’t my favorite anymore—” I start, but she’s already gone.

  I concentrate on the movie until I start to smell freshly baked brownies then I get up and sneak outside to get a breath of fresh air.

  I stare at the road as the wind blows through my hair. God, what I’d give to just take off and run.

  “Plotting your escape?” Luca asks as I’m edging toward the front lawn. He trots down the front steps of his house and strolls down the sidewalk toward the fence that divides our properties. “Or are you just living up to your wandering tendencies.”

  I gather it into a ponytail and secure it with an elastic from my wrist. “A bit of both actually.”

  He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans, assessing me with his head tilted to the side. “You know that’s a stupid idea, right? The police would find you the moment you stepped out of range.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “You say that like you’re an expert.”

  He shrugs. “I’m just giving you a warning. Trust me, don’t try it.”

  “Have you had an ankle bracelet before?”

  He gazes dazedly out at the street, his jaw set tight. “No, but I know someone who has.”

  “Your sister?” I wonder, thinking about what he said the other night.

  He swings his gaze to me, and I almost fall back from the intensity in his eyes. “Can you keep a secret?”

  I panic. No, no more secrets.

  But when he frowns, looking deflated, I sputter, “Fine. Y-yeah.”

  “Good, because I really need to talk to someone about this.” He grabs onto the fence and leaps over it with the grace of a high jumper.

  There used to be something magical when someone trusted me with a secret. Although I was never a huge fan of them, I was so great at keeping them. I heard a ton of whispered stories and wishes that my friends and family told me over the years. But that was then and this is now, and the secret I’m carrying for my mom is hard enough to lug around with me all the time.

  I open my mouth to retract my answer, but his eyes zone in on my leg, and I’m reminded of another problem. Feeling super lazy this morning, I’d thrown on a pair of cut-offs. I haven’t worn shorts since the accident. Right now, my scars are on full display, telling my story without my permission.

  I splay my fingers over my scars, concealing them the best I can. “Did you bring my pic?”

  “Yep. I sure did.” He retrieves the crinkled photo from his back pocket. “Just so you know, it was way more complicated to steal it than you said.”

  “Hmm . . . really?” I ask, but I’m not surprised. My old dance instructor watched anyone who wandered into her studio like a hawk.

  He nods, handing me the photo. “The dance instructor chased me down and almost made me give it back. She thought I was being a creeper, when she was the one who chased me down in ballet shoes and tights, doing some sort of weird shuffling thing.”

  I rub my hand across my face to erase a smile. “That’d probably be a chasse.”

  “Well, whatever it was, she looked ridiculous and super creepy doing it down the sidewalk.”

  My fingers wrap around the photo, curling the edges. “Sorry to break it to you, but the fact that you were hanging around a dance studio, with no intention of dancing, makes you a creeper, too.”

  “Hey, I was there for a good reason. I swear.”

  “Okay. What’s the reason then, creeper?”

  He chuckles at me then shakes his head before glancing from left to right then lowers down to the bottom step. “It’s part of the secret.” He pats the spot next to him then rests his hands on his knees. “Come sit with me for a minute.”

  My heart pitter-patters as I keep my hand over my scars and plant my ass on the step beside him. “Before you go spilling your guts, you should know that I suck at keeping secrets.”

  His gaze glides to me and he raises a brow. “For some reason, I have a hard time believing that. You seem like the kind of girl who knows a whole lot more than she lets on.”

  I ease against the step behind me. “Believe what you want, but it’s the truth, so don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Warning taken and dismissed.” He removes his glasses and cleans off the lenses with the bottom of his shirt.

  “Why do you only wear glasses half the time I see you?” I ask, wanting to avoid hearing his secret for as long as possible.

  “Because I’m only this awesome half the time,” he jokes, slipping his glasses back on. I shake my head, stifling a smile, and he winks me. “I wear contacts when I’m trying to impress someone.”

  “So you�€
™re not trying to impress me now?” I aim for a bored tone but fail epically.

  “You don’t need to sound so sad about it.” He playfully nudges my shoulder then tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear.

  The movement is so casual—so comfortable—that my muscles lock up. He did the same thing to me when I vomited on the road. I have no doubt Luca is a nice guy, and God, what I wouldn’t give to have met him six months ago when I was the nice girl he deserves to be with.

  “I’m not sad,” I say, which causes his grin to expand. “And if that’s the real reason then you tried to impress me that night you picked me up.”

  He holds up his hands in front of him, the goofy grin still on his face. “You caught me. But the question is, did it work?”

  I kind of prefer the glasses, but I’m not about to tell him that.

  He gives me a knowing smile, like he can read my mind, and my heart does another pitter-patter, only quicker—more intense. It freaks the shit out of me.

  I scramble to my feet. “I need to get back inside.”

  He snags the bottom of my t-shirt and pulls me back down. “Wait, I haven’t even told you my secret.”

  “You’re still stuck on that?”

  “Of course. I won’t be unstuck until I get it out.”

  I exhale exasperatedly. “Fine. Spill it. Tell me all your secrets, Luca Benton.”

  “Wow, I got a freebie secret pass. I feel so special.”

  “You should be. I never hand them out.”

  He skims over the two-story homes and grassy lawns around us before leaning in toward me. “I need you to pinkie swear that you won’t tell a soul.”

  “Didn’t we already go over how bad of a secret keeper I am?”

  “I know. That’s why I’m getting collateral.”

  “By getting me to pinkie swear?” I question with cynicism. “You do get that there aren’t any real consequences if you break the promise

  He presses his hand to his heart, amusement playing at his the corners of his lips. “Pinkie swears are like the most unbreakable vow ever, Anna. Seriously. Never, ever question the bond between two people and their pinkie promises.” He sticks out his hand with his pinkie hitched and waits with the most serious look on his face.

  I roll my eyes at his absurdity, but hook my pinkie with his. “Fine. I pinkie swear I won’t tell anyone your silly, little secret.”

  “It’s not a silly secret.” he says, aghast. “Take that back.”

  I give an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, tell me your dull, normal sized secret.”

  He smiles, but his lips falter when he glances at my thigh, completely exposed again. I pull away to cover the scars, but his pinky tightens around mine. I awkwardly cross my left arm over my right and place my free hand over my thigh.

  “It’s about my sister,” he says in all seriousness. “And my mom and my dad. I guess it includes me, too, if you really want to get technical.” His entire mood has plummeted in the snap of a finger. “I was at the dance studio with my mom today because she was looking into classes for my niece since she’s coming to live with us in about a week.”

  That secret doesn’t seem too bad. Although it does hurt thinking about how lucky his niece is that she gets to do that, learn to live and breathe music.

  I clear my throat as sadness sweeps over me. “Is your sister coming, too?”

  He shakes his head. “That’s where things get really complicated. My mom’s still being really persistent that no one knows Rowan exists . . . Rowan’s my older sister. She has . . . some problems.”

  We still have our pinkies latched, so I pull away again, but his fingers clamp down on mine as he lowers our hands to his leg, trapping them there.

  “Since she was about sixteen, she’s struggled with drug addiction.” He scratches his forehead. “Bria—her daughter—used to live with us, but then Rowan got pissed at my mom one day and took off with her. My parents searched everywhere for her for over a year. It was crazy. They even filed a police report and everything.” He cracks his knuckles against his leg. “Rowan’s not a good mom, so I get why my parents were so dead set on finding her, but I felt like I was invisible half the time.”

  “I feel that way sometimes, too,” I say without thinking, and he offers me an empathetic look. “Don’t feel sorry for me. I bring the feeling on myself.”

  He squeezes my hand. “Still, you should never feel that way.”

  “So, why’d you guys really move here, then?” I put the focus back on him, not wanting to fixate on me.

  “That part was actually true—we really did need a change . . . Our lives got too caught up in Rowan. Even though I loved LA, I was kind of excited to get the hell away from that house where all the shit went down. But then, about a week ago, Rowan called, crying to my dad that she couldn’t handle being a mom anymore and that he need to come get Bria, but in Rowan style, there’s a stipulation before she hands over Bria.” He sucks in a breath, and I wonder if he’s on the verge of crying. “She calls every freakin’ night, trying to blackmail my mom and dad into giving her money before they can have Bria.” He shakes his head, grinding his teeth. “We all know she only wants the money to buy drugs.”

  “I think I’ve heard your dad talking to her at night,” I tell him, because I can’t think of anything else to say.

  His Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows hard. “Yeah, he talks to her outside because he doesn’t want to upset my mom . . . She’s not the best person at handling the hard stuff. She has this real issue with being overly nice and cheerful all the time.”

  “That doesn’t sound so bad.” My pulse thuds madly when he strokes the back of my hand with his thumb, and butterflies flutter inside my stomach. It’s the exact opposite of how I felt with Miller. I hate that Luca makes me feel this way. Loathe him for it. But most of all, I despise myself for wanting him to do it again.

  “It doesn’t sound bad, but it is. Imagine never getting angry over anything and holding it all in.” He stares down at our hands as he caresses the back of my hand again. “Eventually, you’re going to explode.”

  I shiver, from his touch, from his words. Is that what’s going to happen to me? “Has she ever done that before? I mean, exploded because she held too much in?”

  “Yeah, a couple of times, and it’s really started to take a toll on her. Plus, when she’s in one of her crazy nice modes, she almost becomes too helpful and turns into Rowan’s crutch.” He finally frees my hand, and I breathe in a huge gulp of air as the butterflies settle down. “Can you believe that she actually wants us to tell everyone that Bria’s her daughter? It’s fucking nuts.”

  “So, they’re giving Rowan the money?”

  “It’s not really a choice. Crutch or not, this isn’t about Rowan. It’s about Bria . . .” He shudders. “God knows what she’s gone through over the last year.”

  “Luca, I get why they’re letting Bria live with them, but won’t it seem really weird for you to suddenly have a little sister when your mom’s been telling everyone you’re an only child?”

  “That’s pretty much what my dad and I told her.” He picks up a pebble and chucks it across the grass. “But, like I said, my mom’s sanity is really questionable sometimes. She hates people knowing about Rowan. She says it’s because she doesn’t want anyone to know about our problems, but I think she really does it because it makes it easier for her to ignore the problems.”

  I trace my bumpy scars. “I can kind of see where she’s coming from.”

  “You don’t really mean that.” He adjusts back on his elbows, his gaze following the movement of my fingers. “When people act like that, the people around them suffer. My dad, even me, has suffered from the crazy choices she’s always making. It makes it hard to be happy sometimes.”

  His words strike me hard. I know that’s what I’m doing to my family. Making them suffer because I won’t deal with my problems; instead, I get arrested, refuse to go to physical therapy, and run away from my feelings
. But hearing what it’s like from the other side of the fence, makes me realize just how bad it’s probably been for my brothers and sisters. I thought they weren’t happy because our parents died, but maybe I’m the cause behind some of their misery.

  I shake my head then shrug, not sure what to say, what I believe anymore. “Luca, I’m sorry you’re life’s been hard, but I need to know . . . why are you telling me this? It doesn’t make any sense. You don’t know me very well, and it’s not like I’ve been very nice to you.”