“Be careful,Cattivella, you almost sound like you care.”
“I was just wondering if I should shoot you in the other leg to even it out.”
He chuckles. “All stitched up. It’ll heal just fine. Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve dealt with a lot worse.”
I think about the scars on his back. Before I can ask about them, his other hand comes to stroke my arm as he says, “You’re not really going to let Lorraine’s mother win, are you?”
A harsh breath whooshes out of me. Of all the things he was going to say, I wasn’t expecting that.
“Do you want me to kill her?” he asks.
“What? No. And that’s not ever an option with me, okay? You can’t just go killing people because I dislike them.”
He shrugs. “It’s always worked for me.”
My jaw drops. “No. I just—” I exhale again. I’ve been running away from this like my life depended on it, but I’ve reached the point of exhaustion. I have to face this head-on now, I know that. But to do that, I truly have to begin saying goodbye to Lorraine. And it hurts coming to this conclusion, but the tighter I hold on to her, the more suffocated I become, and it’s not the way to honor her.
“My mother is getting lawyers involved for a defamation case against Meredith, but honestly, I don’t want to deal with any of it. I don’t want to focus on her mother, when it has nothing to do with her. I want people to remember Lorraine forher, notbecause her mother is trying to capitalize on my growing fame or my parents' money.”
I think about my poor agent, who’s been dealing with this on her own for so long. I’ve been selfish by putting her on edge, but everything up until now has been so foggy.
“I don’t want to set out to destroy Meredith. I don’t want to take from her. I just want Lorraine’s memory to be cared for, not dragged out in this ugliness. I need to continue living, even without her.”
He continues to trail his finger over my arm, as if transfixed by soothing me.
“What about your exhibition coming up?” he asks carefully, and I’m surprised he even remembers it. I wonder how trivial my career as an artist must be to someone who literally thrives on the blood and suffering of his enemies. “You should start there first.”
“Why do you think that?” I’m curious, yet again trying to gain insight into the way this man thinks.
“Because you need to find yourself again. Painting makes you happy, so maybe you should use that platform to remember your friend.”
My mouth opens and then closes again. “How do you know my art makes me happy?”
“I might be a monster, but I can appreciate art, sweetheart. And also, because I’ve seen your work. This is just another story to express, isn’t it?”
I narrow my gaze. When did he get so clever with words? So endearing in his presumption of knowing me, even though he's scarily accurate. How would I express this grief, encompassing a way to remember Lorraine, even when I’ve decided to continue living without her?
29
DANTE
“You’re to return and see me immediately.” Those were the only words Luca spoke when he called me when I was picking up baked goods for Romi two hours ago. I’m going to get my ass handed to me, that’s for sure.
I’d always been a focused individual and diligent worker—arrived before I was supposed to, worked the hardest, and stayed the latest–but it would seem that has changed slightly since coming here and stepping into the role that, for as long as I can recall, I wanted to have.
That hasn’t changed, but the rough edges of it have, and it's because of only one woman. I’m like a madman trailing her scent. I just can’t think clearly if she’s not by my side or at least within my vicinity. Romi is definitely a woman to be watched, but she’s also like a small child; defiant, reluctant to give in and allow herself simply to be held, even if that’s exactly what she needs.
It's strange that she’s the only one I’m willing to sit with and listen to cry, the only one I genuinely care about how she's feeling, giving her all the time in the world, even at my own detriment.
Hopefully, Luca doesn’t have my head for it, but even if he does, Romi will always be worth it.
Even now, as I ride us out of the rural town, she sits on the back of my bike, her arms wrapped around my midsection, and I’m still making an exception for her. I can sense the moment she recognizes the road I’m turning down because her hold tightens and she stiffens behind me.
I come to a stop outside the property, where in the distance we can see a large farmhouse at the end of a long dirt driveway. On either side are empty paddocks where livestock might’ve once thrived.
She removes her helmet and looks at the property with bewilderment. “How did you find out about this place?”
I shrug as I remove my own helmet. “I might’ve done a little research, but it was only because I was curious about the man in one of your pictures.”
