“I don’t think she’s talking.”
“No shit, asshole,” Conner says as he pulls out a smoke and lights up. I grab his cigarette and plop it into a water-filled glass in the sink. He just shrugs and pulls out another one. I let him win that battle. I have better things to do than police my little brother’s smoking habits.
“And I don’t want her talking either. She’s not ready.”
“It’s been ten years. This guy made a direct threat, Vaughn. I think if we tell her that, she’ll get ready real fast.”
I consider this for a moment. He might be right. She held herself together very well when she told me about it last night. But then again… “No,” I say, coming back to my senses. “Let’s just get through this interview with Sam and take it from there. Agreed?”
He takes a long swallow of coffee and says nothing. But I’m running this show and his silence is the same thing as an agreement, even if it’s a contested one.
“Let’s go then. I’m sure they’re ready for Sam and I just want to get this over with. Did you prep her on what to say?”
“No,” Conner says as the three of us walk out the door together and cross the lawn. “I went up there to do that a few hours ago, but she said she had it all planned out. I figure this is her deal, right? She should get to explain it any way she wants.”
“I hope to God we’re not making a mistake.”
“I hacked into Buzz Hollywood’s email this morning,” Conner says. “And the video is already there. They’re prepping it for an internet exclusive this afternoon. We’ve got our own cameras set up in the room, secretly, of course. And we’ll be taping the interview as well. We’ll release it before the Grapevine Hollywood reporter leaves the premises.”
“Grapevine? Fuck, I hate those assholes.”
“Well, they just hired a new reporter who went to school with Sam and since this is her thing, she got to choose the reporter she wanted to talk to.”
Fair enough, I guess.
We step inside the atrium and I almost have a heart attack when I see the interview has already started.
Only it’s not Sam in the hot seat getting grilled.
It’s Grace.
Chapter Eleven
#BadAssPrincess“WHAT HAPPENED to you, Miss—do you like to be called Kinsella? Or Bryndle?”
“Daisy Bryndle no longer exists,” I tell the reporter calmly. “That name has been erased from my life. I am Grace now. Please call me Grace.”
“OK, good to know, Miss Kinsella, errr… Grace. Can you tell us where you were for those eight months you were missing?”
I shake my head. “No, I can’t.”
“You can’t?” the reporter prods. “Or you won’t?”
“Can’t. I was never allowed out of the house.”
“What about when you escaped? Didn’t you know where you were at that point?”
“I didn’t…” I swallow hard and take a cleansing breath. “I didn’t escape. I was… let go.”
The reporter just stares at me and I get uneasy. Maybe this was a mistake? Sam seemed so confident when we were talking up in her room a few moments ago. She said she needed to tell her secret because it would set her free. Allow her to move past it and take away the power these reporters had over her.
I agreed with her. I still agree with her.
But this is hard. It’s a lot harder to talk about than I thought. But it’s too late now. I started this. They’d air this unfinished if I get up and walk out, so I might as well get on with it.
Just then the door opens and Vaughn walks through with Conner and Felicity. He’s about to burst through the wall of media people and put an end to this, but I put up a hand and shake my head. He stops.
I clear my throat. “I didn’t escape. I was let go.” I wait a beat to find the right words. “I was let go because… well, I’m not sure, really. I think he got a call. A job offer, actually. I heard him talking on the phone one night and it was about a job. But it sounded like he had to move someplace far. Pick up and go, he said. I’m pretty sure. So he had three choices. He could take me with him, and clearly he was not going to do that. He could let me go, and that didn’t seem to be an option either. Or he could kill me.”
I stare at her, and then my gaze pans the room. No one makes a sound. No one moves. They are riveted.
I take another deep breath and continue. “I figured I’d be dead that night because I knew he was leaving in the morning. So I just… gave up.”
“What’s that mean, Grace? What did it mean for you to give up?”
“I just accepted it. And when he came to my door, I told him as soon as he opened it, ‘If you just let me die peacefully—drug me,’ I remember requesting—‘if you just drug me so I go easy, I’ll forgive you for everything.’ I figured that’s the only weapon I had in my arsenal, you understand?” I wait for her nod, but it never comes. She does not understand. No one will understand.
Grace, the terrified teenager named Daisy says in my head. Make them understand.
“He was… is… not well. But even though he really messed with my head, he never touched me sexually. And he could’ve. At any time, he could’ve. So I spent a lot of time thinking about this. Why didn’t he do that? What did he really want? And I came to the conclusion that he wanted me to want him. So if I told him he was forgiven, maybe he’d see that as a fair trade to let me die in peace.”