Chapter 24~

(Carter) It is two days before my birthday and Rosie is still gone. I'm imagining the worst. I can't even sleep at night anymore. I just toss back and forth, drifting between visions of Rosie and her kidnapper. Every time, the man laughs maniacally while Rosie begs for her life, which I know is ridiculous. She's probably dead by now.

I hate thinking about it, but I can't seem to stop. I don't want to tell Armando or Ed cuz I don't want them to worry any more than they already are. Rosie was their friend too.

Dona Sophia is beside her with worry, but she puts on a good face. Unlike Ed and me who have stopped eating, sleeping or talking. I wish I was more like Rosie's mom. I wish I could put up a braver front.

I sit up in bed and stare at the lock. It's past one in the morning, but the last thing I want to do is sleep. I wrap my robe around me and tiptoe downstairs. The gelato machine sits glowing in the corner of the dark dining hall. I creep over and make myself a bowl, wincing at the whirs of the machine, seemingly magnified by the surrounding silence. I swear, if I keep stress eating gelato like this, I'm not going to be able to fit into the birthday dress Mr. Elegante made me. Not that I even want to go to the party anymore. Not without my best friend.

The kitchen light is on. Weird. I walk over and poke my head in. Petros is holding a giant mixing bowl and mumbling to himself as he stirs ferociously. I ease the door open and step inside. His face goes red when he sees me.

I smirk. "Hey stranger."

"Sorry. I…" His face turns an even darker shade of red. "I cook when I'm nervous."

I walk to the closest counter and hop on top, swinging my slippered feet back and forth as I eat my gelato. "Whatever… loser."

He keeps stirring. "Thought I'd try out some recipes for your party. Maybe you wanna try some when I'm done."

"You're joking." I stare at him. "I would like to actually make it to seventeen."

Petros doesn't say anything and I realize it's not funny. Not since Rosie disappeared.

"She's gonna be okay," he says as if reading my mind.

"I know," I insist, but I know it's a lie and I can tell he does too.

"So what are you making?" I ask in a desperate attempt to steer the conversation toward safer waters.

"Real Italian pizza." Petros spreads the contents of his mixing bowl across a pan of dough. "Rosie told me pizza was your favorite, but that North American crap has nothing on the real thing."

"Crap, huh?" I raise an eyebrow. "Is that the technical term?"

"Assolutamente." He winks.

I laugh, then stop. It feels wrong somehow with all that's going on.

Petros slides the pizza into the oven, then grabs a spoon and joins me on the counter.

"Sure, you can have some." I glare at him as he digs his spoon into the side of my chocolate gelato mountain.

"Thanks," he mumbles, mouth full.

I shove him. He shoves me back. I almost fall off the counter and start to laugh hysterically for some reason, laughter that very quickly turns into tears I can't stop. Before I know it, I'm rocking back and forth and crying uncontrollably. Petros wraps his arms around me and holds me close, stroking my hair yet letting me cry. I want to push him away, to tell him I'm okay, but I'm sick of lying to everyone.

"Where is she?" I whisper. "Why doesn't she come home?"

"She loves you," Petros says softly. "She loves you so much."

I can't reply. There are no words. I just cry and Petros holds me and somehow it's all okay, even though it's not.