“You’re doing this for the money?” I questioned, stunned. “You literally kidnapped and drugged me…for money?”
“Obviously. When it became clear that you had no intentions of choosing any of us for the stepmother of the century award, we had to take things into our own hands,” Denise said.
“By kidnapping me and tying me up with fuzzy handcuffs.”
“Exactly.” She nodded. “Now, don’t think that we are evil for this, really. If you would’ve given us a chance, you would’ve seen the goodness in each and every one of us.”
It was kind of hard to see the good in insane women who went as far as kidnapping a person for money. Not much of a good girl angle to hold on to.
I thought about how I could get out of those handcuffs. I considered trying to stand and snap the chair in half, but it was made from metal, too.
“If you untie me, I’ll give you my portion of the money,” I offered.
“It’s a little too late for bargaining, Damian. Don’t worry. Forty-eight hours will be over before you know it, and you’ll be able to get back to your life before you knew any of us even existed.”
Just then, my phone began to ring on the countertop. Rosalina walked over and rolled her eyes. “That’s like the fifth time Stella’s called. Talk about co-dependency issues,” she said.
“Give me the phone,” I ordered, feeling a tightness in my chest.
Rosalina shook her head. “What? No way. You’ll get it after forty-eight hours. Besides, Stella needs to learn how to stand on her own two feet. This is the exact reason that Kevin and I broke up—because Stella was too needy.”
“Plus, you slept with Kevin’s best friend at the time,” Denise added in.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot about that.”
“You can’t do this,” I argued. “You have to let me go.”
Denise stood from her chair and went to pour herself a glass of wine. “Yeah, we can, seeing how we are currently doing it. Don’t worry your little head, though, Damian. We’ll take shifts watching you.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll see you tonight for our time together. Rosalina, you’re up first.”
Denise and Catherine got their things and left me with Rosalina.
“Rosalina, please,” I begged, looking at her with nothing but pleading eyes. “Stella needs me. She’s—”
“Shhh,” Rosalina said, shoving a designer silk scarf into my mouth. I almost gagged as she patted me on the head. “Be a good boy and shut up.”
36
Stella
* * *
I couldn’t get ahold of Damian.
At first, I figured he was just at work late, finishing up some paperwork, yet it wasn’t normal for him not to respond to my text messages.
I rang his phone a few times and received no answer.
When nightfall came, and he still wasn’t home, my anxiety rose even more. What if he was in a car accident? He was a new driver, and Los Angeles drivers could be a bit aggressive on the roads. What if he was hurt? What if something terrible happened?
Oh, my goodness, something happened.
I knew it did. My mind was spinning as I lay in the bed. I wasn’t supposed to get up, but I couldn’t think of what else to do. So I called Grams.
She didn’t answer, either.
My nerves were shot as I pulled myself up from the bed. My ankles were swollen, even though they’d been up on pillows for the past few weeks. I tried my best to keep my thoughts as calm as possible because I knew my anxiety would raise my blood pressure, and I couldn’t have that because it would put my baby girl at risk. Still, I was scared. I’d been scared for so long that I wasn’t even sure what to do with the fear anymore.
I slipped into my slippers and headed out of the house to go over to Grams’s guesthouse to check in. It was late. I was certain she was probably just sleeping. Still, I needed her help to find Damian. She’d know what to do. She always knew what to do.
As I walked up to her door, I knocked a few times before using the key Grams had given me years ago. Coming and going from her home was second nature for me. I walked into the living room, which was dark, and was prepared to go straight to her bedroom to crawl into bed with her for comfort, but my heart dropped as I looked down the hallway and saw her motionless body lying in the hallway.
“Grams!” I shouted, rushing over to her, bending down. I shook her body, trying to wake her up. “Grams, get up! Grams!” I cried out as panic shot through me. I pulled out my phone and called 911. My hand shook as I spoke into the receiver. “Hi, yes, it’s my grandmother. She’s unconscious.”
They asked me to check for a pulse.
It was there.
Faint.
Faint.
Faint…
She was still breathing, but her breaths were short and low.
An ambulance showed up, and they hurried us to the hospital. They took Grams toward the back, but I wasn’t allowed to follow. I yelled, I screamed, and I cried, but I wasn’t allowed to follow.
I was placed in the waiting room to wait.
Wait.
Wait.
Wait…
My stomach was in knots as I sat, tapping my fingers against my thigh. I needed Damian. Where was he?
I walked over to the receptionist’s desk. “Hi, I have a question. I was wondering if you could search a name in your system to see if they have been admitted to the hospital.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not really allowed to do that.”
“Yeah, okay, but see”—I placed my hands around my stomach, feeling out of breath— “my grandmother is in the ICU, and I am supposed to be on strict bed rest, but I cannot get ahold of my husband, and my husband isn’t one to ever go missing, so my head is spinning, and I am panicked and scared and—”
Tears streamed down my cheeks as the receptionist reached across to me and placed her hand on top of mine. Her eyes were filled with care. “What’s his name, sweetheart?”
“Damian.” I swallowed, wiping at my eyes. “Damian Blackstone.”
She began typing on her computer and frowned. “He’s not here.”
Then where are you, Damian?
“Thank you.”
I went back to the waiting room and sat down with shaky legs and swollen ankles.
Hours passed, and Grams was still unconscious. They wouldn’t tell me anything because she wasn’t my grandmother by blood, and sometimes, family by heart wasn’t enough to pass. The next day during a break from waiting at the hospital, I headed to Damian’s work office to see if he was in. I’d never been there and didn’t know the receptionist, but when I walked in, he smiled largely.
“Hi there. You’re Stella, right?” he asked, looking up toward me.
“Yes. I’m sorry. How did you know…?”
“Oh, sorry. I’m Peter. We haven’t met, but Damian has talked a lot about you. Your artwork is amazing.”
“My artwork? You’ve seen it?”
“Yeah, every day. It’s all over Damian’s office.”
“What? Can I see it?”
“Of course. I doubt he’d mind. Follow me.” Peter stood from his desk and led me to Damian’s office. When I walked inside, I gasped, seeing five pieces of my artwork hanging on Damian’s walls from my gallery night months before. On his desk sat business cards for me, too, that he had made up to give out to clients who came into his office.