While my peers give a raucous cheer of celebration, excited for the future, it’s the opposite for me. Mine appears muddy, out of my control.
I hug Evie, and my chin quivers as I say, “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll see you soon,” she says, her lips tilting up in a small smile.
I nod, letting a bit of hope seep through my barren chest, waving goodbye.
My sister appears next to me, and we walk hand in hand to the waiting car. Getting in with her, my niece, and Cato, we drive to the private airport.
Jet loaded, I sink into my seat with Dario next to me. Around me, everyone shares a good mood. It’s a day of celebration, so I play along, while missing Tristan with every battered fiber of my being.
I am such a liar, deciding not to tell him the truth. There’s nothing I could have said that would have made our breakup easier.
He won’t be able to reach me in Boston. I am forever out of his grasp.
“You did it. I’m proud of you,” Dario says, a big smile stretching across his face.
I nod, not in the mood to talk, needing to preserve my energy to face my engagement tomorrow.
I will finally meet my fiancé and make it real. My freedom is ending.
He sighs, leaning back, appearing dejected, just like me. “I’m sorry, Viv,” he says, emotions clear in his voice.
I find his hand and offer a small squeeze. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
“Yes, too late now, huh?”
I shrug, not affected in the slightest, refraining from saying I prefer to be married to a stranger than to him. I can’t shake the feeling that being married to Dario would have been worse. Friendship is fundamental to a successful marriage, but ours would lack the passion, the love, the faithfulness. Not that I expect that from my future husband, but at least with him I enter the arrangement with no hope, shielding my heart from possible heartbreak from the beginning.
Once we land in Boston, I walk toward one of the cars on the tarmac with my sister by my side.
The sun is high in the sky, reigning with an unyielding grip and threatening to melt the cement, but it does nothing to warm my chest—it offered itself to winter like a loyal mistress turning into an ice block.
“I’m so proud of you,” Chiara says once we climb in the car while I hold Celia’s hand as if strengthening myself for what’s coming.
“Thank you,” I say, offering a small smile, exhausted to keep a fake one plastered on my face.
“You don’t have to pretend to be fine with me, Viv. Just…It shouldn’t be like this,” she sighs.
I nudge her. “Yours worked out amazingly.”
She snickers, and we intertwine our fingers. “If he mistreats you, I’m going to kill him,” she whispers.
I am sure my sister would do it without a second thought, making the entire ordeal bearable.
Once we reach my parents’ house, I watch the grandfather clock in the dining room, wishing time to pass faster and not at all.
I need a moment to gather my thoughts, but my hope of retreating vanishes when I notice the celebratory dinner my parents organized.
My father wears a delighted expression, and I don’t know if it’s more because I graduated or because I am getting married.
He pulls me into a bear hug. “I’m so proud of you. I knew you’d never disappoint me.”
I stiffen, but force a smile onto my face. “Of course, Papa.”
The words taste bitter, insincere. If he only knew. But if he knew… The thought alone sends a shudder down my spine. The only small grace. My secret is safe, buried in the beach house, along with my dreams.
When everyone leaves for the night, I sigh in relief, dragging my exhausted body upstairs.
