Tristano grabs my arms and I extend my other hand in his direction to keep him away. “Leave me alone,” I choke out. “I don’t deserve your comfort, not after what I allowed to happen.”
He overpowers me with little effort on his part, and next thing I know, I’m weeping while pressed against his chest. The image of my sister doing the same to him not too long ago flits through my mind and now I understand why Carina acted that way. There’s something about Tristano that offers feelings of security, and his confidence in himself allows you to lean on him because you know he’s strong enough to handle it.
I cry until I’m nearly dehydrated, but once the tears stop flowing, I stay right where I am. For me, there’s nothing that compares to Tristano’s embrace. And I’m really glad my sister doesn’t see him the way I do, because if she did that would kill me.
I want him for myself.
Allto myself.
That realization startles me, causing me to jump in his arms.
“Violetta?” His concern is deeply threaded in every syllable of my name and those same threads are slowly weaving around my heart, binding it. Half of me is ready to bolt in order to avoid this emotional tether, but the other half wants to be tied to him, to be woven into his life.
And sown onto his heart.
This is dangerous in many ways and he doesn’t allow me to assess the risks because he interrupts my thoughts by taking my face between his hands and lifting it.
“Give me his fucking name.” He says this with an eerie calm that’s not congruent with the rage shining in his gaze.
“Ugo Nardone,” I say on a wheeze, my breath lost in Tristano’s fury.
His grip on me tightens and then he brings his forehead to lightly rest against mine, his eyes still boring into me. “I give you my word that he’ll be dead before you wake tomorrow.”
My entire body goes limp with relief and I sag against Tristano’s body, pressing my cheek against his torso. He has to wrap an arm around my back to keep me upright and I can’t say that I’m sorry for my show of weakness.
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Make him suffer.”
His lips brush the crown of my head and then he murmurs, “To the fullest.”
I close my eyes and let some of the imaginary weight that’s been dragging me down fall away from me. “Thank you. So much.”
“Did he touch you?” He pauses and takes a deep breath, his chest briefly expanding.Ever?”
I shake my head and Tristano’s body relaxes against mine. “Just her and only that one time. But it was enough…”
“Is there anything other than retribution that I can give you?” he asks, his voice strained. He continuously sweeps his thumb over my cheek. I’m not sure he’s even aware of it, but he’s comforting me subconsciously. Or maybe he’s doing it to soothe himself because he’s upset on my behalf? The thought has warmth stirring in my chest.
“What I want is for you to accept my apology,” I say quietly. “I shouldn’t have brought up your situation with your mother. And I know my behavior has been trying lately, but I’ve realized some things that are…” I wave a hand in dismissal. “Never mind.”
He stays silent for so long I start to worry I’ve offended him somehow, disregarding the fact someone like him could care less what I think. However, he eventually nods his head. “Tell me your problems,ribelle, and if I can solve them, I will.”
The warmth already swirling inside me spreads until it wraps around my lips, molding them into a smile. The first one that’s full and not restrained or disingenuous. It’s freeing in a way I didn’t think was possible.
“You can’t help me figure out my identity,” I say. “That’s a journey I have to travel alone.” I sigh and give a little shrug. “I don’t know who I am outside of ‘Carina’s younger sister’ and now that I’m eighteen and my own adult, it’s time for me to do that. But thank you. This entire ordeal has been…enlightening.”
He dips his head in agreement. “Very much so.” After that he drops his hands and folds his arms over his chest. “You need to sleep and I trust I can leave you to your own devices, knowing you won’t do anything rash during the night?”
“I won’t.” The unspoken words at the back of my throat nearly clog my airways when I repress them. I’m very close to asking Tristano to stay with me and keep my nightmares at bay, but I’m sure he’d view that as me being emotionally clingy.
“I’ll be just outside if you need anything. Sleep well, Violetta.”
“Goodnight.”
He closes the door behind him and instead of feeling relief I’m lonely. Tristano forcing me to say the things festering in my soul helped me so much. I always thought if I talked about that awful event then it’d have a bigger presence in my life, as though I’d be feeding it every time I mentioned it. But the opposite is true. As painful as it was to put words to the ugliness of it all, I actually feel like some of it has been released into the atmosphere where it’ll diffuse until completely gone. The wound is still there, but without the poison inside it can finally begin to heal.
I pick up the nightie from the floor and go through as much of a nighttime routine as I can manage, given the toiletries available in the guest bathroom. I’m too tired to shower, deciding to do that first thing in the morning, and quickly slip out of my clothes and into the silky purple material. Then I climb onto the massive bed and slide in between the cool sheets. They help relax me, as does the fluffy pillow.
And then I proceed to lie there, unable to sleep.
