She’s my guardian angel, although there’s nothing she can do to change my fate or to protect me.
She doesn’t know a lot about my family’s dark side, but she knows enough to figure out I’m not at liberty to do the things she does.
Travel, live wherever I want to, and still figure out my life.
She wears a red long gown reminiscent of the disco era. Made of soft jersey, with an open back, a plunging neckline like mine, and straps that tie behind her neck, it’s the epitome of sexiness.
She’s sexy in an innocent way, and from what I know, she’s never been with a man.
She’s not interested in someone who’s not seriously interested in her.
I wish I were more like her.
“Other than being late for your party, my trip was fine.”
I laugh as I lead her down the corridor.
Luckily, this side of the house is dim and empty of guests. It’s also my favorite part of the house. It has secret doors, rooms, and corridors. It has an inconspicuous back door, where a footpath connects the house to a secondary road leading to the historic beach town.
Sometimes, I ride my bicycle downtown.
Other times, I walk in the sun, wearing a summer dress, scrappy Roman sandals, sunglasses, and a wide-brimmed hat with a ribbon.
Nona pretends she doesn’t see me taking the steps to the dirt road, and she never makes a fuss about me returning late.
I could do anything during that time. I could meet strangers, accept some rich man’s invitation to join him on his yacht,and dance the night away, but she knows I’m not doing any of that.And it’s mostly because of him, my blessing and my curse.
The man with eyes made of gemstones.
“Late? Don’t be silly.I am late, and it’s my own party. Did you have anything to eat?”I ask as we round the corner and the clamor of the house whips us like a gust of wind.
“I had a few snacks.”
“Let’s go to the kitchen and grab something to eat. I need to have my stomach full before I start performing for the crowd.”
I feel the heat of her sidelong stare on my face as I push the door open and we enter a large space, where people are busy carrying trays of food to the guests outside.
“Wow,” she murmurs. “The party is in full swing.”
“It surely is.”
We nibble on Arancini fried rice balls and deep-fried cod before drinking wine, my choice, and water, hers.
“Still not interested in alcohol?”
She shakes her head as she tastes the stuffed calamari cooked in tomato sauce.
“The food is delicious,” she says, chewing slowly.
“They’re the best cooks in town,” I agree, running a napkin over the corner of my mouth.
A few moments pass as she studies me in silence.
“How are things with you?” she asks, just as Nona enters the kitchen, and makes a small gesture at me that I’m expected outside.
I surreptitiously tilt my chin in acknowledgment, still listening to Rory.
Nona’s presence doesn’t register with her.
