Chapter 19 Viviana
VIVIANA
The graduation ceremony happens in a blur as I swallow my emotions and deliver my valedictorian speech. My family is there for me, cheering from the front row.
I don’t draw strength from their presence, but from Tristan. He leans against a tree, blending in as our eyes lock. He smiles at me throughout the event, his eyes shining with awe and so much love that it breaks me apart and heals me simultaneously.
The wave of contradictory emotions threatens to drown me as I ride the wave of nostalgia. One chapter ended. Another one has just begun.
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.
In my old room, I watch out the window as the guards patrol the perimeter—trapped.
Tristan can’t get to me, even though I wish he could stop this ordeal from happening.
I pluck my phone from my clutch and call him, needing to hear his voice one more time. I need to hold on to him until I must let him go for good.
My soul will forever latch onto the memories—onto him as if he’s the drop of water after I’ve been wandering through an unforgiving desert.
“Mo run,” he says, the candor in his voice tugging at my heartstrings, and instantly my eyes well up, tears cascading down my face.
“You captivated the entire audience. Your speech left me in awe. You did a terrific job. I’m so proud of you.
The kids you’ll teach can call themselves lucky to have someone as passionate and driven as you. ”
He says all the right things. He is all the right things.
“Thank you. It means so much to me. Your being there,” I say, pushing through the emotions lodged in my throat.
“It took every bit of restraint not to rush onto that stage and claim you right there.”
I smile, fully believing him. “I miss you.”
He calls me smart, but I am unsalvageable when it comes to him.
“You won’t have to miss me for long,” he says assuredly, breaking my heart some more.
This is the perfect moment to confess. Tell him the truth. If someone could end my misery, it would be him.
“Go rest. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”
For a moment, the blood freezes in my veins, an ominous feeling chilling me as if he knows exactly what will happen tomorrow.
“Dream of me,” he says and hangs up while I can’t shake this strange feeling that he is up to something.
I shake my head. The nerves of my impending marriage are making me paranoid. I am losing it.
Getting ready for bed, I slide under the blanket, staring at the ceiling, imagining my perfect life. Where I am his wife. A teacher. A mother.
I slip into sweet oblivion only to shoot up in bed, my palm flying to my chest to calm the erratic beating. Just a bad dream, or was it a good one?
Dawn creeps through the sky, the sunrays prying it open to announce the coming day.
Knowing I won’t be able to fall back asleep, I roll out of bed.
In the shower, the lukewarm water wakes me up some more while the dream plays before my eyes.
I was walking down the aisle toward my future husband, my heart clamoring in my throat to shout out its despair.
He had his back to me, so I couldn’t make out his features, which made the scenario foreboding. The moment he was about to turn, Tristan materialized by my side, pointed a gun at his head and pulled the trigger.
My ears rang, the shot deafening me, followed by an eerie silence. Blood exploded. So much red soaking my white dress in splashes of death. It was everywhere. On my face, on my hands, and I couldn’t get it off.
“You’re mine,” he said and made the officiant marry us next to the corpse of my fiancé.
Shuddering, I scrub my body as if erasing the imaginary blood, not knowing if that was some sign or my subconscious coping with my impending engagement.
After I get out of the bathroom, I dress in a daze, knowing that later today, I will wear someone’s ring and won’t be able to change it, just smile politely. Nod. Agree.
I should have inquired more about my fiancé and been better prepared to face him. I don’t even know his name or what he looks like, but it’s too late now. I’ll find out soon enough.
We’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. Long or short, it’s irrelevant. In the Mafia, the risk is heightened—a permanent presence. At least I won’t have to worry about being wretched over that loss.
I’ve given everything I had to another man.
The house wakes up in a chaotic ruckus, preparing for the celebration ahead.
I hear music playing downstairs and my parents laughing together. They always dance when there’s a happy event in the family. Marrying their daughter off to an unknown man calls for it, I guess.
I clench my hands at my sides hard enough that my nails carve half-moons on the inside of my palms. The slight discomfort doesn’t ground me but only echoes my silent plea to be saved. But no one will. I am alone in my distress, unable to save myself.
Plastering my fake smile on, I walk downstairs, and my parents stop dancing, pulling me into their arms.
Wearing this mask of acceptance will take a toll on me. Yet, I push through—a master at pretending. That’s what I’ve always done.
Every few minutes, I glance at whatever clock I see. The hours tick forward with no ounce of sympathy for my ordeal. Cruel. So cruel.
I get a small reprieve when my sister shows up.
“Where is Celia?” I ask, needing that bundle of innocence to anchor me while this brutal life threatens to pull me into its murky depths and swallow me whole.
She offers me an apologetic glance. “It would be too much with all the people tonight.”
I nod. Sure. I would have realized that if I weren’t all over the place.
“Are you all right?” she asks, worry clear in her voice.
I strain a nod, and she pierces my parents with a hard look. “Of course you’re fucking not. Look at them celebrating that another chattel has been successfully sold.”
“Chiara,” I plead.
She’s right, but I am barely holding on.
“You’re a better daughter than I could ever be. You’ll be an even better wife. That’s why I hope the asshole knows how lucky he is to marry you.”
That’s the type of encouragement I needed to hear.
I wrap my arms around her. “Thank you.”
We’re about to go upstairs, stealing some moments with my sister, when my mother says, “The styling team will be here any moment.”
Chiara rolls her eyes at her, and I nod.
Inside my bedroom, I lock the door, sliding down it.
Chiara says nothing as she mimics my position. “Did you break up with that guy?”
I shake my head.