“Thank you.”
“What are sisters for?” She pinched my big toe. “See you downstairs! Oh, and if you want breakfast before we start, mamma made a ton. It’s all out on the counters in the kitchen.”
Excellent, my stomach thought.
She paused with her hand on the doorknob. “It’s so good to have you home,” she whispered.
I smiled and she smiled, and the moment felt so honest and so warm. I felt like melted goo. She disappeared, shutting the door behind her. I hopped out of bed, but almost hopped right back in. My bones and muscles were not made of goop, even if my heart was. Every bone and muscle were sore and screamed out at me when I went to move them.
Matteo had worked my body hard the night before. Not just my body. But even deeper. I could feel him in my veins, all the way inside of my heart. If I thought he was in before, I couldn’t have imagined how much deeper he could have gone. Not until I experienced him the way he was the night before.
The thought made me smile and turn into goo again.
Grabbing the stretchy clothes Mia had set out for me—such a beautiful blue, they were almost silver—I stopped before I made it to the bathroom. On one of the tables next to the bed, a set of wire flowers and a watch rested on a piece of paper. The fan lifted it but couldn’t carry it away because of the two weights. The watch had a silver band and a square, oversized white face, and the wire flowers were...
“Forget-Me-Nots,” I whispered, picking up the fake bunch. The stem was made of green metal, and maybe the flowers were too, but I could stretch them into positions like I wanted. I made a noise like a sob and sat down hard on the bed. I reached for the watch, and the screen came to life, but beyond that, I was lost on how to use it.
With shaking hands, I picked up the paper. It still smelled like him. I could understand his handwriting, but it was a thin scrawl.
Stella,
I couldn’t save your flowers or your watch, but I’m returning them, in a way. Press the side button on the watch. What you’re looking for should appear.
Going for a run with my father, then to the gym and pool after.
Ti amo, la mia stella.
Teo
P.S. Beware of the yoga group. It’s a front for morning drinks and the gossip train.
My hands shook so hard I had to keep them between my thighs for a second to still them. Once I felt strong enough, I took a deep breath and pressed the button on the side, like Matteo had said to do in his letter. An alert popped up, and it asked me if I wanted to ping Mom again in computerized writing. I pressed it again and the watch vibrated, then a confirmation appeared in the screen. It asked me if I wanted to do it again.
I pinged her eleven times while tears ran down my cheeks. I wiped them away, securing the watch on my wrist and setting my flowers against the vintage-looking box fan. I couldn’t find it in myself to move yet. I felt weak, like all the years of being trapped by the Nemours was catching up to me. I was becoming soft because Matteo was spoiling me. I loved it, but I wasn’t sure if I was going to be able to survive the emotional storm inching toward me every second of every day without the hardness of my shell. I kept buying and burying, and as horrible as it made me seem, forgetting and forgetting. It was like I was trying to cram all my happiness into what felt like seconds, because in the days to come, I knew I’d have to look all that happened to me in the face and deal with it.
I’d have to learn the truth about my mom.
Matteo not taking me to her spoke the words he didn’t have to, but…I’d have to hear the words sooner or later. I’d have to accept that she was gone forev?—
Forcing myself up, I wiped my eyes and rushed to the bathroom. If I was going to get sweaty, it didn’t make any sense to take a long bath, so I decided on a quick shower to get my hair to stay in place and to wash away all the dirt from the night before. A little blood from my thighs swirled around the drain, but it was light. And a reminder.
I’d given myself, fully, to Matteo Fausti the night before.
The decision to do it was mine, and it made me feel powerful. In control. And even though we couldn’t seem to stop all night,thoughts of the way he looked at me, those hooded dark eyes drinking me in, the way he touched me, like he couldn’t breathe without me, the way he kissed me, like he might die without the connection…it was making me shiver and the pulse between my legs throb. I could still feel his fingertips gliding across my skin…
As I was drying off, the ring on my left hand, ring finger, caught the light and sparkled. It was the most beautiful ring I’d ever seen, and I never wanted to take it off. Matteo had said it was a claim, that no man would buy me jewelry but him, and something about the possessive way he’d said it made me shiver again. The man could do things to my body with his voice alone that usually only the weather could.
That was exactly what he was. A force of nature.
After fixing my hair, adding tinted moisturizer to my face, and applying lightly scented cream to my skin, I put the watch back on and got dressed. I headed downstairs barefoot. Two men, Donato and Placido, seemed to be doing a sweep, as Matteo called it, of the hall.
Donato was the son of an older Donato, except his real name was Armando. Matteo told me they called him Donato Jr. or Donato the Younger in America. When I asked why the two names, Matteo told me that in Italy, having a junior wasn’t the norm. Armando’s mamma, Chiara, thought it was a good idea when she went to America to have a Jr, and she called Armando that, even in Italy. I’d decided to just call him Armando—it was easier that way. With so many names to remember, I might get confused with two Donatos. Placido was the son of Lourdes, the hairdresser, and Guido.
Matteo had told me not to be creeped out—he used another term, but I couldn’t remember it—if they followed me around. I guess they were my guards? I didn’t mind it. They were not telling me where to walk, how fast or slow to move, and theywere not making those creepy fucking faces, like they knew a secret I didn’t.
Armando and Placido both greeted me in Italian, and I repeated the greeting. They both seemed to watch me as I walked down the stairs, and once I was on the main floor, a bunch of people from yesterday were strolling in and out of the kitchen, grabbing breakfast to go or lounging around.
Something soft and vibrating touched my ankle. When I looked down, Figaro looked up at me. “Oh man!” I whispered to myself. “I forgot about my cat!”
