7. Chiara
7
CHIARA
M y heart still races from my encounter with Dante as I slip out of the compound undetected. I put as much distance between the compound and myself as possible, just in case someone manages to stumble upon me and question why I was where the men live.
I’m overwhelmed by a whirlwind of emotions and the sun beats down mercilessly, matching the intensity of my inner turmoil. I can’t go back to the house, not yet. Not when I feel so raw and exposed.
My feet carry me almost instinctively toward the family conservatory. It’s always been my sanctuary, a place where I can lose myself in my art and forget about the pressures of being a Marino, if only for a little while.
As I approach, the glass structure gleams in the sunlight, its intricate iron framework creating a delicate lattice against the sky. The conservatory is a marvel, a testament to my family’s wealth and my great-grandfather’s love of botany. Exotic plants from all over flourish within its walls, creating a lush, verdant paradise.
I push open the heavy glass door, and immediately, the scents of damp earth and fragrant blossoms envelop me. The air is thick and humid, a stark contrast to the dry heat outside. Sunlight filters through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the stone pathways.
My easel stands in its usual spot, near a small fountain whose gentle burbling has always helped calm my nerves. Canvases of various sizes are stacked nearby, some blank, others half-finished, all waiting for my inspection.
I try to sort through the jumble of emotions inside me as I set up my paints. Anger at my father’s stubbornness. Fear for Dante and our future. Frustration at the impossible situation we’re in. And underneath it all, a deep, aching love that refuses to be denied.
I pick up a brush, hoping that somehow, in the strokes of color across canvas, I’ll find a way to make sense of it all. My emotions pour out through my brush strokes. The canvas becomes a battlefield of colors, each hue representing a different facet of my tumultuous feelings.
Deep blues and purples crash against each other like angry waves, embodying the conflict between my love for Dante and my duty to my family. The intensity of these dark colors reflects the depth of my feelings for him—a love so profound it sometimes frightens me with its power.
Streaks of fiery red cut through the darkness, representing the anger and frustration I feel toward my father’s decision. But those are tempered by softer shades of pink, the love and respect I still hold for him despite our disagreement.
Swirls of sickly green weave through the painting, a visual representation of the fear that grips my heart when I think about my father’s illness. The thought of losing him, of disappointing him in his final days, makes my stomach churn with anxiety.
Golden yellows peek through in places, like rays of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. These are my hopes and dreams for a future with Dante, stubbornly persisting despite the odds stacked against us.
Tears stream down my face, mirroring the rivulets of paint running down the canvas. The love I feel for Dante is all-consuming, a force of nature that threatens to sweep away everything in its path. But my love for my family is just as strong, a foundation I’ve built my entire life upon.
The fear of losing my father, of causing him pain in his final days, weighs heavily on me. I want to be a good daughter, to make him proud. But how can I do that if it means giving up on the man I love?
My brush moves faster, more urgently, as these emotions swirl within me. The canvas becomes a mirror of my inner turmoil, a visual representation of the storm raging in my heart.
I’m so lost in my painting that I don’t hear the conservatory door open. It’s only when Mia’s soft voice calls my name that I startle, nearly knocking over my easel.
“Chiara? Are you alright?”
I turn to see my younger sister standing there, her dark eyes wide with concern. Mia, the baby of our family, has always been the gentlest of us all. Her long, dark hair cascades down her back in a neatly bound braid, and her delicate features are a mirror of our mother’s. Despite being a Marino, there’s a softness to Mia that sets her apart from the rest of us.
Mia and I are barely a year apart and we have always shared a special bond. While Sofia often seemed distant, caught up in her role as the eldest daughter and striving to be the perfect Mafia princess, and Bianca’s rebellious energy was somewhat overwhelming, Mia’s quiet, bookish nature has always been a soothing presence in my life.
Now, she tilts her head to the side, studying me with those perceptive eyes of hers. “Have you been crying?” she asks, gesturing to my face.
I quickly swipe at my cheeks, feeling the wetness there. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I try to deflect, but Mia’s not buying it.
She steps closer, her gaze moving from my face to the canvas behind me. The concern in her eyes deepens as she takes in the turbulent scene I’ve painted.
“Chiara,” she says softly, “what’s wrong? You can tell me, you know.”
I feel a lump forming in my throat. Mia’s always been easy to talk to, her gentle nature making her an excellent confidante. But how can I explain the turmoil I’m feeling without revealing too much?
“It’s… complicated,” I manage to say, my voice quavering slightly.
Mia reaches out, taking my paint-stained hand in hers. “Is it about Papa’s plans for you?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
I nod, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat. Mia squeezes my hands, her touch comforting and familiar.
Her eyes soften with understanding as she guides us to a nearby bench so we can sit. “How did the meeting with Papa go?” she asks gently.
I sigh, removing my hands from hers so I can twist them nervously. “Not well. He’s… he’s arranged a match for me, Mia. With a complete stranger. He didn’t even ask my opinion on the matter.”
“Oh, Chiara. I’m so sorry. I know that must be difficult to hear.”
I nod, feeling tears welling up again. “It’s just… how can he expect me to marry someone I’ve never met?”
Mia places a comforting hand on my lower back. “You know Papa loves you dearly, right? He only wants what’s best for you, even if he can be stubborn about it sometimes.”
“I know, but?—”
“And after what happened with Bianca,” Mia continues softly, “he’s probably trying to be more careful. Don’t you remember how upset Papa was? He just wants to make sure the match is suitable, so you’ll be safe and happy.”
How could I forget? The moment Rork forced Bianca to leave the wedding reception, Papa raged . He spent months trying to figure out how to bring Bianca back home. It was a terrifying time.
I pause, considering her words. As always, Mia’s calm reasoning helps to soothe my turbulent emotions. “You’re right,” I admit. “I know he means well. It’s just… it’s a lot to take in.”
Mia nods, her dark eyes full of empathy. “I can’t imagine how overwhelming it must feel. But maybe… maybe you could keep an open mind until you meet—what’s his name? Your future husband?”
I flinch at the word but rack my brain. “Pyotr, I believe.”
“Ooh, a Russian. But maybe you could keep an open mind until you meet this Pyotr. You never know, he might surprise you.” She smiles gently at me. “Papa did do a good job picking Sofia’s husband. Bianca’s was… well, it worked out in the long run. But Papa will take your happiness into consideration. He won’t pair you with someone who would be an asshole.”
If Papa really took my happiness into consideration, he would let me be with Dante. But I look at my sister, feeling a rush of affection for her gentle wisdom. “When did you get so smart, Mimi?”
Mia grins back. “I learned from the best, Keeks.”
I pull her into a hug, feeling some of the tension leave my body. “Thank you, Mia. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
As we pull apart, Mia’s expression turns serious again. “Just promise me you’ll give Pyotr a chance before you make any decisions? For me?”
I nod, touched by her concern. “I promise. I’ll keep an open mind.”
Mia smiles, seemingly satisfied. As we sit in companionable silence, my mind drifts back to Dante. The weight of our secret presses down on me, and for a moment, I’m tempted to confide in my sister. Mia has always been a good listener, understanding and non-judgmental. Maybe she could offer some advice or at least provide a sympathetic ear.
I open my mouth, the words on the tip of my tongue, but then I hesitate. The risks suddenly loom large in my mind. Telling Mia about Dante and me could put him in danger. Mia is loyal to me, but she’s also loyal to our parents. If she thought something wasn’t right, she would tell them. And if word got out? His life could be forfeit.
My reputation would be in tatters, something I can’t afford right before meeting my new fiancé.
I glance at Mia, her face serene as she admires my painting. She looks so innocent, so untouched by the complexities of our world. How can I burden her with this secret? How could I ask her to keep something this big from our family?
No, I decide. It’s better to keep silent. This is my burden to bear. It’s my problem to solve. I can’t drag Mia into it, no matter how much I long for her understanding.
So instead, I swallow my words and force a smile. “Thanks for being here, Mia,” I say softly.
She turns to me, her dark eyes warm with affection. “Always, Keeks. You know that.”
Surrounded by the lush greenery of the conservatory, I feel both comforted by her presence and isolated by my secret. It’s a bittersweet moment, a reminder of the impossible situation I find myself in.
But for now, I push those thoughts aside. For this moment, at least, I can pretend that everything is normal, that I’m just a sister spending time with her beloved sibling. The storm can wait a little longer.
* * *
By the time I leave the conservatory and return home, the house is thrown into a flurry of excitement by the unexpected arrival of Bianca, Rork, and Baby Cara for dinner.
My mother rushes forward, arms outstretched toward the baby, but Papa’s voice cuts through the chaos.
“Let me hold my bambina ,” he demands, his tone brooking no argument. Once the baby is placed in his arms, his whole face transforms and he coos at an alert Cara, talking softly to her in Italian as he walks away with her, Mama following him as she scolds him for holding Cara ‘incorrectly’.
Rork scowls, his scarred face making him look even more intimidating, and I can’t help but shrink away slightly, the jagged line across his eyebrow and cheek still unsettling me.
Amid the commotion, Bianca’s sharp eyes find me. She quirks an eyebrow, studying me with that perceptive gaze of hers. “Chiara? You alright?”
I force a smile, hoping it looks more convincing than it feels. “Yes, of course. Just surprised to see you all.”
Bianca narrows her eyes, clearly not buying my act. “Uh-huh,” she says skeptically. “You want to try that again? Because you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I shake my head, trying to brush off her concern. “Really, Bianca. I’m fine. Just a bit overwhelmed with all the excitement.”
She steps closer, lowering her voice. “You know you can talk to me, right? If something’s wrong…”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I insist, perhaps a bit too quickly. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”
“Are you sure? Mama told me about your engagement to Pyotr Avilov. Are you sure?—”
“I’m fine , Bianca,” I say, slightly sharp. I don’t want to talk about Pyotr Avilov right now. “Drop it.”
Bianca studies me for a moment longer, her expression a mix of doubt and worry. “If you say so,” she finally concedes, though her tone suggests this conversation isn’t over.
“Bianca.” Rork’s impatient voice cuts through. “Shall we go find where our daughter went?”
Bianca rolls her eyes affectionately and links her arm with her husband’s. “Cara is perfectly safe with my father, Rork. She’s much safer with him than with Liam who acts like she’s something that’ll shatter.”
The two walk away, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. Bianca’s always been too perceptive for her own good. I’ll have to be more careful around her if I want to keep my secrets hidden.
But for now, I paste on a smile as I follow my sister and brother-in-law to the dining room, pushing thoughts of Dante and my impending engagement to the back of my mind. At least for tonight, I can pretend everything is normal, even if my heart knows otherwise.