26. Twenty-Five
Twenty-Five
Sienna
C aught in that fuzzy space between sleep and wakefulness, I roll over in bed, my hands smacking against the cool, empty sheets. As I groggily open my eyes, the brilliant morning sunlight floods the room, nearly blinding me with its intensity. Fabrizio’s side of the bed is cold, and the rumpled sheets are the only sign he was here, at least for part of the night.
A smile tugs at my lips, and a delicious tingle runs through my body as I reminisce about our date and the electrifying moments that followed. His scent still lingers on the bed, and I take a deep breath, savoring the memory of what felt like a truly perfect night. Well, almost perfect, except for how it ended.
After Fabrizio left last night, I remained in a daze, my mind struggling to process his confusing words. Although I don’t know her husband, I know Miriam well enough to be convinced she would never do anything to harm a child. But the more I think about it, the harder it becomes to ignore the strange coincidence that someone raided the school on the very day she left early. A shiver runs down my spine, and I pull the sheets up to my chin, refusing to believe that someone I consider a friend could betray me like this.
Once the suspicion forms in my mind, it sticks like glue, refusing to let go. I roll onto my belly and bury my face in the pillow, letting out a loud, frustrated groan.
What a complete and utter mess. How could she do something like this to me? And to the children?
My initial exasperation quickly morphs into white-hot fury as my mind conjures gruesome images of what could have happened if Fabrizio hadn’t been there to intervene.
Before I can lose myself in violent fantasies of what I might do to Miriam if I ever saw her again, the sounds of pots clattering and the twins’ laughter pull me back to reality.
Oh fuck—the kids.
I roll out of bed, my feet landing in a puddle of discarded clothes. Sighing, I gather the clothes from the floor and toss them into the laundry basket before hastily getting dressed and hurrying downstairs.
“What on earth are you doing?” I exclaim as soon as I step into the kitchen, my eyes widening at the sight before me.
Oliver and Vance stand in the middle of the kitchen, their sleeves rolled up and their hands and torsos covered in what appears to be a flour explosion. The counters, floor, and even the ceiling have not been spared. It looks like a bakery war zone.
“Breakfast?” Oliver replies, his tone uncertain as he throws a quick glance at Vance.
“We were attempting to make pancakes,” Vance elaborates, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “Well, at least that was the plan.” He holds up a spatula with a thick glob of dough clinging to it, giving me a sheepish grin.
From the dining table, Maddy observes the scene with a bemused expression. “I think they can’t cook,” she comments dryly, shaking her head at the spectacle.
“Hey! We’re trying,” Oliver retorts with a laugh, though his eyes betray his own amusement at the situation.
“Please, don’t try again,” I say, unable to suppress a chuckle at their earnest but misguided efforts.
Oliver’s face morphs into a mock offended expression, and I burst into laughter.
“Well, maybe you can save this… thing?” Vance suggests, gesturing at the bowl of unidentifiable batter in front of him.
“I highly doubt it,” I respond, still laughing. “How about you get rid of… this,” I gesture broadly at the entire kitchen, “and the chaos you caused, and I’ll make something that’s actually edible?”
“Got it,” Oliver agrees with a nod.
The guys start cleaning up the floury mess, scraping dough off the counters, and sweeping up the remnants of their culinary disaster. Meanwhile, I grab a bowl and begin whipping together a proper pancake batter, mixing ingredients with practiced ease.
“You know, you could have just woken me up,” I say over my shoulder as I pour the first dollop of batter onto the griddle.
“We were told not to, and the kids were hungry, so…” Oliver trails off with a shrug, scraping their failed dough into the trash.
A few minutes later, the kitchen is back to its usual state of cleanliness, and the smell of freshly cooked pancakes fills the air. I plate the golden-brown pancakes and set them on the table.
“Breakfast is ready!” I announce, and the kids cheer as they rush to the table, their eyes lighting up at the sight of the fluffy pancakes.
“What are we going to do today?” Flynn’s voice, brimming with enthusiasm the past couple of days, now carries a tone of seriousness that seems too mature for his age.
“I know we’ve been enjoying some vacation days, but I think it’s time to get back to your educational schedule,” I say, trying to sound as enthusiastic as possible.
Maddy, always the eager learner, smiles and nods vigorously, her mouth full of a big bite of pancake.
“School is crap,” Flynn mutters under his breath, his expression mirroring his words.
“Watch your language, young man,” I reprimand him softly, my voice tinged with gentle authority.
“But Daddy says bad words all the time,” Flynn retorts, his eyes challenging mine.
“That might be true, but your dad is an adult,” I explain patiently. “Different rules apply to him than to you.”
“Pff.” Flynn shrugs his small shoulders, his face taking on a look of seriousness so reminiscent of his father’s. “Whatever.” He pushes his plate away and stands up, making his way out of the kitchen with a defiant air.
It takes some coaxing and the promise of ice cream and an afternoon at the beach to get both children to engage in their lessons. Maddy, as expected, dives into her work with enthusiasm, while Flynn participates with noticeable reluctance. Eventually, we manage to get through the day’s lessons, and by the end, we are all in dire need of a break.
Fabrizio’s sudden departure has cast a shadow over the household, and the twins’ once-happy and carefree moods have dimmed.
Maddy’s typically bubbly personality now shines a little less brightly, and Flynn has reverted to the silent and brooding child he was before.
I decide to take the kids outside, hoping that the beach will work its usual magic. Maddy runs ahead, her giggles filling the air as she splashes in the shallow water. Flynn, on the other hand, sits down, digging his feet deep into the sand and gazing into the distance with a contemplative expression.
How can a five-year-old look so stern? I wonder, my heart aching as I observe the grown-up demeanor that shadows his young face. The resemblance to Fabrizio is striking. I sink onto the warm sand beside him, but he doesn’t acknowledge my presence, his eyes focused on some distant point.
“Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” I ask softly, trying to break through his serious facade.
Flynn turns to face me, his big blue eyes searching my face with a look of deep sadness. “Is Daddy angry at us?” His voice is so filled with sorrow that it nearly breaks my heart.
“Of course not,” I reassure him. “Why would he be?”
Flynn shrugs. “Daddy never just leaves without saying goodbye…”
“Oh, don’t think like that,” I say gently. “It was very late when he had to leave.”
“Hmm.” Flynn doesn’t look convinced. “Is it because we are in danger?”
A lump of dread forms in the pit of my stomach at his question. I have wondered how much the twins have picked up on recent events. I had hoped their innocent minds wouldn’t grasp the gravity of the situation or understand what their father truly does for work.
“Huh? What makes you think that?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm.
“Oh. Um—” Flynn hesitates, thinking over his words. “Never mind.” He averts his gaze, clearly regretting saying anything.
I open my mouth to ask him what he means but decide against it. His expression tells me he’s already said more than he intended. While I feel a pang of unease, I push the feeling aside, focusing instead on the task at hand: making the twins feel better and giving them a happy and carefree afternoon.
Just as I resolve to lift their spirits, Flynn jumps to his feet. “I’m going to play with Maddy. Are you coming too?” He takes my hand and pulls me toward Maddy, who is busy building a sandcastle a few feet away. The smile he gives me seems a bit forced, but it’s a start.
“Hey, sweetheart,” I greet Maddy as we reach her. “What are you building there?”
“A huge castle for my princess dolls!” she beams, her eyes sparkling with delight. Flynn rolls his eyes but can’t resist joining in, digging into the sand to help his sister.
Before long, Flynn runs back to the house to retrieve some dolls and action figures, and we spend the rest of the afternoon playing together. The children’s laughter fills the air as we build and eventually tear down their sandcastle, our spirits lifting with each moment. By the time we head back home, big smiles are plastered on the children’s faces, and my mood has significantly improved too.
Two days.
It’s been only two days, but at the same time it feels like an eternity since Fabrizio left. Even though every moment with the twins is priceless, the hours seem to drag on painfully slow, testing my patience to the limit. Funny how quickly you get used to someone’s presence; how the tender feelings I had for him blossomed so fast, now leaving a heavy emptiness in his absence.
When Fabrizio was here, everything flowed smoothly. The twins’ laughter, our quiet moments together, it all blended into a melody of contentment. Now, it feels like everything has hit pause, each minute stretching into an unbearable eternity filled with longing and solitude.
As I mull over these thoughts, a shiver runs down my spine mixed with a smile. There’s also a lurking dread, creeping into my consciousness. How will I ever go back to my old life once this is over? How will I enjoy a quiet night with a book in my tiny apartment again, instead of reading bedtime stories to the sweetest little girl? How will I sleep without the comforting warmth of Fabrizio beside me?
I shake my head, baffled by the depth of my feelings. How did I fall so hard for a man I barely know? How is it that, after just a few days, I suddenly can’t imagine my life without him?
Sighing deeply, I head to the kitchen, deciding a little comfort wouldn’t hurt. The thought brings a slight relief, a brief escape from the relentless ticking of the clock.
I pick a bottle of rich red wine from the cabinet, remembering Fabrizio’s words about bringing a fine selection just for me. The cool bottle feels reassuring in my hands. I take a moment to breathe in its soothing aroma before pouring a generous glass. The deep crimson liquid glistens in the dim light of the living room lamps as I set the glass on the table.
Taking a sip, the wine’s taste envelops my senses, offering a brief respite from the ache of his absence. I close my eyes, savoring the fleeting comfort, knowing that even when he’s gone, he’s still a part of my world, like he’s etched into my being.
Upstairs, the twins’ laughter echoes faintly, a haunting reminder of joy that now seems so distant. I glance at the clock, its hands moving sluggishly, each tick a reminder of the hours before his return. Does he miss me as much as I miss him? Does he feel the same hollow ache, the same pull that I do? It’s strange how quickly he became an integral part of my life, bringing a lightness to my heart I hadn’t felt in years.
Part of me fears this intensity, this overwhelming surge of emotions. But another part, quieter and more resolute, embraces it. Because in this whirlwind of feelings, I’ve found a part of myself I didn’t know existed—a part that yearns for connection, for love, for the simple joy of being with someone who makes the world less daunting, no matter who or what he is.
Taking another sip of wine, I let the warmth spread through me, easing the tension in my shoulders before heading upstairs to tuck in the twins.
Flynn, still struggling to find solace in our bedtime rituals, lies in bed with eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. His room is softly lit by a nightlight, casting delicate shadows on the walls. I stand quietly at the door, hoping sleep will soon claim him. But his eyes remain bright, alert, far from the realm of dreams.
“Good night, Flynn,” I whisper softly, my voice a gentle murmur meant to coax him towards sleep.
“Good night,” he replies in a whisper so faint it barely disturbs the still air. He obediently closes his eyes, but I sense sleep is still a distant visitor, lingering far beyond his reach. The tension in his small frame tells me it will be a while before he succumbs to rest.
Leaving Flynn’s room, I head down the hallway to Maddy’s room. She’s lying in bed, her usual bright smile now a faint shadow, reflecting her young worries. I sit on the edge of her mattress, feeling the softness beneath me, and reach out to brush a stray strand of hair from her forehead, offering a comforting smile.
“Do you want me to read you a story?” I ask, hoping to comfort her.
Maddy shakes her head slowly. “I’m really tired already. But…” she pauses, her small face wrinkling with concern, her eyes searching mine for answers. “When is Daddy coming home?”
“As soon as he can,” I assure her, though the words feel hollow, lacking the certainty she craves. I wish I could give her more than just empty promises.
“Okay,” she murmurs, her voice tinged with resignation and a hint of lingering dissatisfaction. “Can I have a hug?” she asks.
“Of course.” I lean down and wrap my arms around her, feeling her tiny frame pressed against mine. She clings to me tightly, her arms around my neck grounding me in this fleeting moment of connection.
“Good night, sweetheart,” I whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Her eyes flutter closed, and I watch her for a moment, my heart heavy with the evening’s emotions. The worry etched on her face slowly fades as she drifts off to sleep.
As I descend the stairs, I hear an agitated voice that catches my attention. Through the windows and the glass door, I see Vance pacing back and forth on the front porch, phone in hand, gesturing animatedly. For a brief moment, I wonder what might be wrong, but exhaustion quickly overshadows my curiosity. Besides, it’s not like he would share it with me anyway.
I sink into the soft cushions of the couch, savoring their familiar comfort. I take a deep sip of the red wine, feeling its warmth spread through me. The TV’s flickering light casts a soft glow across the room as I flip through the channels. The world outside feels distant, almost surreal, as I try to lose myself in the shifting images on the screen.
All too soon, the glass is empty. Just as I hear footsteps approaching and turn around, the room begins to spin. I clutch the back of the couch for support, stars dancing across my vision.
“Are you okay?” Oliver’s voice reaches me, sounding distant and muffled, as if he’s speaking from miles away. “You look a little pale.”
Grasping the armrest, I attempt to push myself up, but instantly regret it as the world swirls in a dizzying blur. My vision darkens, and I struggle to remain standing.
“I… don’t feel…” I try to say, but the words come out slurred and disjointed. Oliver’s hands grip my arms, steadying me, and that’s the last sensation I register before everything fades to black.