I press my fingers against my eyelids, feeling the wetness there. My body shakes with the force of holding back the flood.
Milly stands up abruptly, her face strangely composed. No tears, no trembling lips—just a blank expression that doesn’t match the moment at all.
“Come on,” she says, tugging at my arm. “Let’s get some air.”
Dom and Caleb exchange a look as Milly pulls me toward the terrace doors. The ocean breeze hits my face as we step outside, and I inhale the scent of salt, chlorine, and freedom.
“She’s dead,” I whisper, studying my sister’s face.
Milly shrugs, leaning against the railing. “She is.”
Without thinking, I kick off my shoes and walk toward the pool. The water calls to me—blue and inviting, promising to wash away everything. I dive in fully clothed, the cool water embracing me like an old friend. As I sink beneath the surface, I hear muffled shouts from above.
“Amara!” Dom’s panicked voice penetrates the water. “She probably forgot how to swim!” he yells to someone.
I almost laugh underwater. Some things the body doesn’t forget.
I push deeper, feeling weightless, suspended in blue silence. Then there’s a splash above me, followed by strong arms wrapping around my waist and I’m pulled upward. Dom’s grip is firm yet gentle as we break the surface together, and when we do, he’s looking at me with such fear in his eyes that my heart constricts at how much he worries about me.
“What were you thinking?” he gasps, still holding me close as he swims us to the edge.
Water drips from his long, dark eyelashes, his hair slicked back from his forehead. Even frightened, he’s beautiful.
“I remember how to swim,” I say softly. A small laugh escapes from my lips.
He presses his forehead against mine, our breath mingling. “You scared me, piccola.”
The endearment triggers a flash of memory, his voice in the darkness whispering that same word.
“I’ll make this better for you,” he murmurs, his arms tightening around me. “Whatever happens, I’ll protect you. I promise.”
His lips brush my temple, then my cheek, leaving trails of warmth against my wet skin.
“Trust me,” he whispers before he hands me to Caleb, who holds me too.
34
Dom
The church is stuffy,filled with the nauseating scent of too many flowers, and the hushed whispers of mourners, making the air feel heavy with tension as we wait for the service to begin.
A woman I barely recognize taps my shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss,” she says, her face a mask of fake sympathy. “She was such a lovely woman.”
But nobody here knew her. Not the real Helena. Not the woman behind the perfect smile and designer clothes.
I give her a pleasant nod as sunlight filters through stained glass, casting colored shadows across veiled faces, but when the church doors open, a hush falls over the congregation and the woman leaves us.
Amara sits beside me as I shift uncomfortably in the hard wooden pew. Her warmth against my arm is the only thing keeping me grounded in this moment.
The organ plays softly in the background, the melancholy notes drowning out the words of those around me as the pallbearers enter, carrying the ornate coffin on theirshoulders. Their faces are solemn, and their steps in time with the beat.
I gave Helena the send-off she’d love. Expensive. Showy. The kind of funeral that would make people talk for weeks.
I turn and look at the sea of black-clad figures. Some dabbing at dry eyes, others whispering behind programs.
The coffin comes into my view, and I should feel something, but I feel nothing for the woman in that casket. I care only for the woman with her head on my shoulder.
The coffin is laid out at the front of the church, surrounded by a sea of white lilies.
