Page 4 of Lost Prince
He bites his lower lip, and he’s probably thinking I’m naïve and don’t know about his family.
“I figure a family like yours is the safest place to be.”
He grabs another cookie and the milk. “Or the most dangerous.”
I shrug. “Nowhere is free from danger. I could fall in the tub or be hit by a drunk driver crossing the street. But you can’t dwell on it. Otherwise, you miss all the fun of life.” I return to my vegetables.
“What fun have you had?” He leans against the counter next to me.
I share a few stories of my travels, recounting the colorful characters I'd met and the odd jobs I'd taken along the way. To my surprise, Lazaro listens attentively.
"There was this one time in New Orleans, I ended up working at a voodoo shop. The owner insisted I had 'the gift'. Turns out, I just had a knack for reading people."
He arches a brow. “Can you read me?”
I give him a glance and smirked, deciding not to answer that. "Then there was the summer I spent as a rodeo clown in Texas. Talk about an adrenaline rush! Nothing quite like distracting an angry bull while wearing oversized pants and a red nose."
Lazaro's mouth twitches. I wish I could make him laugh again because I’m sure it’s a rarity. So, I keep on, launching into more tales. My brief stint as a dog walker for New York's elite or the month I spent picking grapes in a Napa vineyard. Most of my jobs, though, involved cooking. Short order cook. Baker in a café. Lunch lady in an elementary school.
As I talk, Lazaro's posture slowly relaxes. The furrow between his brows eases. “Is this all true?”
I look at him with feigned offense. “Of course. You’ve gotta grab life, Lazaro.”
He studies me like he’s not sure. He sets his glass in the sink. "Thank you for the cookie.”
Oh. He’s leaving? Of course he is. I’m just the help. “Of course.”
He strides out of the kitchen, leaving me alone with a sinking feeling in my stomach. Had I said too much? Acted to familiar? Pushed too far?
I return to my chopping, reflecting on what just happened. Lazaro’s abrupt exit left me feeling unsettled, like I'd glimpsed something raw and vulnerable beneath his gruff exterior. Something he may not have wanted me to see. Or maybe it’s frustration that I can see something he has no clue about.
What must it be like to wake up one day and not recognize your own life? To have everyone around you expecting you to be someone you can't remember being?
As much as everyone is afraid of him, I feel drawn in by him. Maybe it’s the lost look in his eyes or the way he fights against himself. Whatever it is, I want to know more about him. The realhim, not the one everyone around him wants or expects him to be.
2
LAZARO
Islouch in my chair, arms crossed, glaring at the group assembled in the living room. Lana's latest bright idea to jog my memory. A family meeting. As if being surrounded by these strangers who claim to be my family will magically make everything click.
Elio, my supposed older brother, paces near the fireplace. His dark eyes flick to me occasionally, a mix of concern and wariness. Matteo, our cousin, apparently, leans against the wall trying to look casual, but I catch the tension in his shoulders.
Then there's the outsider, Henry Lutz. Lana's boyfriend. Former detective. He sits next to her on the couch, arm draped protectively around her shoulders. His presence irks me for reasons I can't explain.
“Lazaro, you didn’t just get hurt and lose your memory,” Lana says. I’m the most confused by her. I feel a strong sense of protectiveness about her, but I don’t know why. She's a fierce woman. One I’m finding more and more annoying with each attempt to jog my memory.
“You were abducted. Maybe if we go over what happened the night you disappeared, you’ll be able to remember your life.”
“I remember my life just fine,” I mutter.
Lana’s eyes fill with hurt. It makes me feel like shit because it’s clearly important to her that I remember my past life.
“I mean your life with us.” She looks at Elio who takes a deep breath.
“Dad sent you out on a mission before you disappeared.”
Dad. I’ve learned about parents I don’t remember who died in an accident after I went missing.