14. Chiara
14
CHIARA
A s the evening draws to a close, we bid farewell to Katerina, who’s decided to return to the Avilov estate. I can see the relief in Mama’s eyes as she bids farewell to Katerina—hosting is always exhausting, no matter how well it goes.
“It was lovely to meet you, Matrona ,” I say, smiling at Katerina’s pleased look at my use of the formal and respectful title used for the wife of a Pakhan . My cheeks redden as I see Pyotr give me an approving look, his blue eyes bright.
As Katerina’s car pulls away, there’s a shift in the atmosphere. Papa, along with Pyotr, Mykola, Rork, and Dominico, head toward the cigar room. I catch a glimpse of their serious expressions as they disappear down the hallway, no doubt ready to discuss business affairs that are still considered too delicate for female ears.
“Come on, girls,” Mama says, ushering Mia and me toward the stairs. “Let’s get ready for bed. It’s been a long day.”
I nod, suddenly feeling the weight of the day’s events. As we reach the top of the stairs, Mama turns to Sofia and Bianca, who are following close behind. Her eyebrow raises in a mix of amusement and exasperation.
“And where do you two think you’re going?” she asks. “Sofia, shouldn’t you be heading home? And Bianca, doesn’t little Cara need to be put to bed?”
Sofia and Bianca exchange a look, and I can see the determination in their eyes. Bianca looks almost affronted at the suggestion.
“And miss out on the opportunity to debrief and scrutinize every minute of this day?” Bianca asks, her tone making it clear that she’d rather face down a rival family than miss this conversation. “Besides, the nanny is putting Cara to bed.”
Sofia nods vigorously in agreement. “Absolutely not,” she says firmly, crossing her arms. “This is far too important for us to just go home and miss all the details.”
Mama rolls her eyes, but I can see the affectionate smile tugging at her lips. She shakes her head, clearly realizing that there’s no point in arguing with her determined daughters.
“Fine, fine,” she concedes, waving her hand. “But hurry up, all of you. It’s been a long day, and we all need our rest.”
Then Mama turns to me with a soft smile. “You did wonderfully today, Chiara. Get some rest, Tesoro .”
She kisses my forehead before heading to her room. As soon as her door closes, Sofia and Bianca are at my sides, their eyes gleaming with excitement and questions.
“Alright, sorellina ,” Sofia says, linking her arm through mine. “Time to spill. We want to hear everything.”
I sigh, knowing there’s no escape from this sisterly interrogation. As we make our way to my room, I can’t help but feel a mix of exhaustion and anxiety. How can I possibly explain the turmoil in my heart when I barely understand it myself?
But as Mia opens the door to my bedroom, giving me an encouraging smile, I realize that maybe talking to my sisters is exactly what I need right now. After all, if anyone can understand the complexities of arranged marriages and family expectations, it’s them.
After we all file in and the door closes behind us, Bianca lets out a dramatic sigh and starts peeling off her dress.
“Thank God,” she mutters, rummaging through my closet. She emerges with a pair of my leggings and an oversized T-shirt, quickly slipping them on.
Sofia gives her a scandalized look, but Bianca just shrugs. “What? You know you want out of that dress too.”
Sofia hesitates for a moment before caving, disappearing into my closet as well.
“Hey!” I call out, laughing despite myself. “My closet isn’t a department store, you know.”
Bianca snorts. “Oh, please, like that ever stopped you from raiding our clothes.”
Once we’re all settled comfortably on my bed, Mia, ever the peacemaker, starts the conversation. “So… first impressions of the Avilovs? And Pyotr in particular?”
Sofia speaks up first, her voice thoughtful. “I have to say, I was impressed. Mykola seems sharp as a tack, and Katerina has this… regal air about her.”
Bianca nods in agreement. “Yeah, and Pyotr? He’s not just a pretty face. Did you hear him talking about the latest developments in cybersecurity? The guy knows his stuff.”
“And he’s so polite!” Mia chimes in, her eyes sparkling. “Did you see how he helped Mama with her chair after dinner? Such a gentleman.”
I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks as Mia turns to me, a mischievous grin on her face. “And Keeks, you have to admit, you got pretty lucky in the looks department. He’s so hot!”
I can’t help but giggle, feeling for a moment like a normal girl gossiping about boys with her sisters. “I know, right? I mean, those eyes…”
“And that jawline!” Sofia adds, fanning herself dramatically.
We all burst into laughter, the tension of the day finally breaking.
When we calm down, I find myself admitting, “I really hadn’t anticipated Papa finding someone quite so… wonderful. I mean, Pyotr is smart, polite, handsome… it’s almost too good to be true.”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel a twinge of guilt. Dante’s face flashes in my mind, and I’m reminded of the complicated reality of my situation.
Mia’s next question catches me off guard. “So, Chiara,” she asks, her voice gentle, “are you feeling better about the match now?”
I pause, considering my answer carefully. To my own astonishment, I find myself nodding. “I… I actually am,” I admit. “Pyotr is… well, he’s not at all what I expected. I could see myself being happy with him, living a full life. It would be decadent, sure, but also… stimulating. He’s intelligent and kind. I think we could be happy together.”
Sofia smiles, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “That’s wonderful, Chiara. I’m so glad.”
“Even if it means being farther from us than you’d like?” Bianca asks, her tone teasing but her eyes serious.
I nod again. “Even then. I mean, it’s not ideal, but… I think I could manage. For the right person.”
As I say these words, I’m surprised to find that I mean them. The day with Pyotr has opened my eyes to possibilities I hadn’t considered before.
But even as I voice these thoughts, another face flashes in my mind. Dante. My heart clenches, and suddenly, the conflict that I’ve been trying to ignore all day rises to the surface once more.
I can feel the color draining from my face as the full weight of my situation hits me again. How can I be sitting here, seriously considering a life with Pyotr, when just yesterday I was in Dante’s arms, swearing my love to him?
The nausea rises in my throat, and I have to take a deep breath to steady myself. My sisters’ concerned faces swim before me, and I realize they’ve noticed my sudden change in demeanor.
“Keeks?” Mia asks, her voice laced with worry. “Are you okay?”
I force a smile, but I know it doesn't reach my eyes. “Yes, I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed, I guess. It’s been a long day.”
As my sisters exchange worried glances, I’m struck by the impossibility of my situation. How am I going to handle what’s to come? How can I possibly choose between the man who represents everything I should want and the man who holds my heart?
The inner conflict rages on, and I’ve never felt more torn in my life.
Sofia and Bianca exchange yet another meaningful look, and I’m too exhausted and conflicted to even attempt to decipher their silent communication.
Bianca breaks the silence first. “It's obvious you’re tired, Chiara. We should let you get some rest.”
Sofia nods in agreement, gently nudging Mia. “Yeah, it’s been a long day. You need your sleep.”
Mia hesitates for a moment before concurring. “Right. We can always talk more tomorrow.”
One by one, they embrace me, each hug feeling like a lifeline in the storm of my emotions. Their kisses on my cheek are soft, comforting reminders of their love and support. As the door closes behind them, the room suddenly feels too large, too quiet.
I go through the motions of my nightly routine mechanically, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and feelings. As I sit on the edge of my bed in my nightgown, my gaze is drawn to the glittering bracelet on my wrist. The lamp’s soft glow catches on the brilliant stones, sending sparkles dancing across my room. I study it, turning my wrist this way and that, watching the play of light.
It’s beautiful, undeniably so. Pyotr clearly put thought into choosing it, selecting charms that represent both our cultures. It’s a gesture of unity, of a potential future together.
But as I admire it, a wave of guilt washes over me. Wearing this feels like a betrayal, like I’m turning my back on Dante and his gift. My eyes drift to my jewelry box, where I know his locket lies hidden.
Dante’s locket. Simple, heartfelt, and probably something he saved up for months to buy. I remember the look in his eyes when he gave it to me, the love and hope shining there. It wasn’t about the monetary value. It was about what it represented—our love, our connection.
In contrast, Pyotr probably didn’t even blink at the cost of this bracelet. To him, it might just be another expensive gift, a means to an end.
But… that’s not entirely fair, is it? Pyotr did put thought into this bracelet. He chose something meaningful, something that speaks to our potential future together. That has to count for something, right?
I let out a shaky breath, feeling torn. The bracelet on my wrist suddenly feels heavy, weighted with expectations and possibilities. The locket in my jewelry box seems to call to me, a reminder of the love I’m risking.
How can two pieces of jewelry cause such turmoil? But it’s not really about the jewelry, is it? It’s about what they represent—the choice I have to make between duty and desire, between the path laid out for me and the one my heart wants to follow.
I close my eyes, feeling the cool metal of the bracelet against my skin. When I open them again, my gaze is drawn once more to my jewelry box. The two gifts, so different yet both given with care, seem to embody the impossible choice before me.
Suddenly, the events of the day crash over me like a tidal wave.
The tears I’ve been holding back all evening finally spill over. How am I supposed to choose between my heart and my head? Because that’s what it’s come down to, hasn’t it?
Pyotr represents everything I should want—a life of luxury, respect, and stability. He’s kind, intelligent, and undeniably attractive. Choosing him would make my family proud, secure our position, and potentially bring me a different kind of happiness.
But Dante…Dante is my heart. He knows me in a way no one else does, loves me for who I truly am. With him, I feel alive, cherished, and free to be myself.
And if I do choose my heart, how can I possibly convince my father to accept it? The thought of going against Papa’s wishes, of potentially disappointing him, makes my chest tighten with anxiety.
I curl up on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest as the tears continue to fall. The weight of this impossible decision presses down on me, making it hard to breathe.
In the quiet of my room, with no one to witness my breakdown, I allow myself to truly feel the depth of my conflict. How can I possibly make this choice? And no matter what I decide, won’t I be losing something precious either way?
As exhaustion finally overtakes me, I drift off into an uneasy sleep, my dreams filled with images of Dante’s pained face and Pyotr’s kind smile, the two of them blurring together in a confusing, heart-wrenching dance.