Page 109 of Broken Crown

My vision darkened around the edges, a suffocating tunnel that narrowed with each passing second as the thump, thump, thump of the wheels coasting over the centuries-old cobblestone road reverberated through my body.

Me: Actually things are not okay. I might need your help tonight.

Mark: Of course. Anything you need. Pick you up at 7:30.

If Mark went with me to the US Embassy, then maybe it would be okay?

I twisted the rings around my fingers, the metal bands cutting into my flesh with each nervous rotation.

But was it fair to involve Mark?

I'd seen what happened when someone got in Sebastian's way.

Me: Sounds good. I’m so glad you came to Italy.

Mark: What are friends for. ;) You’re not in trouble or anything? You can tell me.

The last thing I needed was Mark charging in to "save" me and risk a confrontation with Sebastian. Sebastian would destroy him.

Me: Just work stress. You know what it's like. It would be nice to vent to someone.

I added in a few laughing emojis just for good measure, my fingers leaving damp prints on the screen.

Mark: Then I'm your man. First round on me.

Me: I'll text you later.

He texted me a thumbs-up emoji.

My gaze clashed with the driver’s in the rearview mirror. I turned my phone to silent and shoved it back into my purse. As I stared out the window, the Sarah McLachlan song "Stupid" played over and over again in my head.

How stupid could I be?

I blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over.

It was fine.

Everything was going to be fine.

I'd return to New York and my life there.

And in time, Sebastian would just become a faded memory.

A faded memory that caused bitter pangs of sadness and regret but a memory still.

The girl who’d arrived in Rome three months ago would have trusted the Embassy man without question. She would have believed that official channels existed to protect people like her.

That girl was gone.

I wasn’t sure who had replaced her, but I didn’t trust her either.

Not for the first time, I thought of my poor mother.

The woman who had tried her whole life to protect me from just this moment.

All those warnings about men, especially Italian men. All those pleas to never go to Europe, let alone Italy. She must have known that if my father ever found out about me, he'd have me killed. And then probably hunt her down as well.

Part of me wished she had just been honest with me when I was old enough to understand.