"It's safety."
"In his world, maybe they're exclusive. You can be safe or free, not both."
The truth of it sits heavy in my chest.
"I’m falling for him," I say quietly.
"I know," Sarah responds. "That's what makes this so hard."
"He cares for me too, in his way. I can feel it."
"His way involves surveillance and control and possibly violence."
"And protection and devotion and—"
"And you having to edit your entire life for our visit. We’re your best friends and he won’t let you be with us the way we’ve always been."
I can't argue with that.
"What do you want us to say?" Jessica asks. "That it’s okay? That we support this? We can't."
"I don't want you to say anything. I just want you to understand."
"We do understand," Sarah says. "You're isolated in a foreign country, financially dependent on a dangerous man who's made you believe you owe him or need him."
"That's not true."
"Tell me one thing that's not true about what I just said."
I can't.
"Tomorrow, we leave," Sarah continues. "And you'll be alone with him again. No outside perspective, no one to question things. How long before you stop questioning them yourself?"
We finish the second bottle in relative silence, each lost in our own thoughts. When we hug goodbye outside the bar, it feels final in a way that breaks my heart.
"The consulate card," Sarah reminds me. "Keep it somewhere safe."
"I will."
"We love you," Jessica says, tears in her eyes. "No matter what happens, no matter what you choose, we love you."
"I know."
"Be careful," Sarah says. "Please."
I drive back to Monte Vento alone, the card burning a hole in my pocket. The village is quiet, most windows dark.
I park in front of my house and sit in the car for a moment, looking at the stone building that's supposed to represent my independence. The renovations Franco completed have made it livable, but it still looks fragile somehow, like something that could be taken away as easily as it was given.
My phone buzzes with a text from Enzo: "How did the evening go? Are your friends satisfied with their visit?"
The word ‘satisfied’ strikes me as odd. Like their approval was something that needed to be managed rather than earned.
I text back: "Everything went fine."
"Excellent. Will I see you later tonight here at the villa?"
I stare at the message for a moment before typing: "Actually, I'm tired. Maybe tomorrow?"
