Chapter 11
MARA
Isit in the playroom, a book open in my lap. Reading feels impossible right now. I keep thinking about breakfast, how icy Ettore was. I know what he’s doing. He wasn’t just cold.
He seemed intentionally remote, as if shielding me or himself from his overwhelming passion. My very presence seemed to inflict pain upon him.
Sylvie is napping on the couch, tired from all her ballet practice. Her face lit up when Ettore said he was going to be at her recital. I bit my tongue, thinking about what I told him before. He shouldn’t make promises if he doesn’t mean to keep them.
My mind goes back to all the near misses, the touches, the smoldering looks. Knowing I shouldn’t obsess over these doesn’t make it any easier.
There’s something else too. The people coming and going from the house. The fact that Ettore is only home for some of his work, and in the office for the rest. When we were texting about his work, certain things began to click into place. He’s mysterious, broody, and terrifying in moments.
I don’t want to let my mind go to organized crime.
If I suspect that, but still stay, what does that say about me?
It means I’m turning a blind eye because his daughter is sweet and deserves somebody.
But it makes so much sense. That’s why people at the school are so distant or overly polite to me. They’re scared of him.
I try not to jump to conclusions, but it’s impossible not to.
These seem like the only reasonable conclusions.
He gets this fierce, entitled energy sometimes.
Like he’s used to the whole world giving him what he wants.
And he’s relieved when I push back against him, as if he’s been waiting years for a woman to do that.
My phone chiming brings me back.
Ettore: How is she doing?
My face lights up with a smile immediately, especially when he sends the follow-up.
Ettore: Did she seem upset to you earlier? She seemed bright and happy to me, but sometimes, I worry she feels she has to seem bright and happy to me. But then, if I tell her that, maybe she’ll start thinking she’s too bright and happy.
My smile grows wider when he sends another follow-up.
Ettore: You see what it’s like in my head?
I tuck my knees to my chest. My hips pulse, a phantom reminder of where his hands touched me.
Mara: I think it’s great you’re thinking this much about her.
I would’ve loved for an adult to care this much when I was a kid, but I don’t add that part.
Mara: She seems fine to me. She’s a very naturally happy person. Of course she has her bad moods. I think we all do. But she’s happy you’re coming to her recital.
Ettore: I’m going to make that no matter what.
I swallow, hoping he’s right.
Ettore: What are you doing for the rest of the day?
Mara: We’re going to head into the city. She wants to go shopping for some extra ballet shoes. I asked Livia, and she said she’s within budget for the month.
Ettore: The budget… Yeah, I had to implement that. It would be too easy for me to spoil her. I’m fighting the urge constantly. Give her things instead of time. She has a good life, but it’s no replacement. So far, I’ve been strong. Or, I’ve done my best, anyway.
Mara: I think you’re doing a great job. She’s grateful for everything she has.
Ettore: Are you going to her usual store?
Mara: I think so. Why?
A long pause. I think about him in his suit, surrounded by darkness like in Sylvie’s drawing. As far as I know, he still hasn’t spoken to her about that. I’m starting to wonder if he should or just leave it alone.
Ettore: You know why I had to be a jerk earlier.
Mara: So, you admit you were a jerk, huh?
My cheeks ache from smiling so much. I’ve never experienced chemistry like this.
Ettore: I don’t know how to behave around you. If I let in a little warmth, I’m afraid there will be a fire.
Mara: And I’ll get burnt, right?
Ettore: I know, it’s cliché as hell. It doesn’t mean it’s not true.
Mara: Maybe you should consider I’m a big girl and I can take care of myself.
Another long pause.
Ettore: Livia mentioned how much Sylvie cares about you and I don’t want to hurt anyone.
Ettore: I need to get back to work.
I sigh, putting my phone down. Livia and Ettore are quite similar in that way. Their moods are like masks and I never know which one I’m going to get.
As I drive, I think about what Ettore says.
He’s afraid to let in a little warmth in case a fire starts.
It’s the most romantic thing anybody has ever said to me.
He didn’t say it like he was trying to be romantic.
It was a statement of fact. But then, he didn’t say it at all.
He’s a different person over text. That’s part of the problem.
He’s right. We should stop this. Back off. The reason is sitting in the backseat, humming.
“Mara,” Sylvie says.
“Hmm?”
“Did you notice that Livia can cry without any tears or sounds? Like she cries but she’s not crying.”
She says it absentmindedly, but it guts me. It’s true. Livia does and can do that. She can have no expression, none at all, and yet still somehow look so tragic she might as well be bawling her eyes out.
I want to ask why she thinks that might be, but that would be wrong. I won’t use her as my little spy.
“Mara,” she says.
“Hmm?”
“Do you think my mommy liked ballet?”
“Do you remember if she said anything about it?”
“Mommy died when I was little, before I can remember anything.”
Foot—meet mouth. “I’m sorry, Sylvie.”
“Do you?” she presses.
“I don’t know,” I murmur. “I think you should ask your daddy about that.”
“Yeah.” She looks out the window. “Maybe I will.”
When we arrive at the store, I park and go to the backseat. I open the door and kneel, looking sternly at Sylvie. “You need to stay in my sight at all times,” I say. “And you’ve got the phone, yeah?”
She reaches into her pocket, proudly displaying the simple black phone Livia gave me for her. It has my number programmed into it.
“If I get lost, I call you or Daddy. I do that by pressing the down button and clicking on your name with the green button.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
“No more of this face now.” She makes an overly exaggerated worried face that makes me laugh. “Can we go? Please?”
I take her hand and lead her inside. I watch her as she walks up and down the aisles, talking confidently with the staff.
They know her here, so it makes it easier.
But I still make sure to keep an eye on her.
We spend some time picking out shoes and a tiara for her to wear, then walk toward the car.
“Want to get some food somewhere?” I ask. “A burger? Something tasty.”
She grins. “Uh, duh.”
“Mara?”
The voice makes me freeze. Surely I’m imagining this. Callum, here?
I quickly open the car door. “In the car, please.”
Sylvie looks at me, disappointed. “Why?”
“Just wait in the car. Two minutes.”
She climbs inside. I close then lock it, then turn toward the voice.
Callum, my ex, wearing a letterman jacket with a mountain of product on his brown hair. He’s handsome, or so everybody was keen to tell me when we were together. I thought the same at the beginning. Before his personality turned him ugly.
I move away when he tries to hug me. I would’ve sunk into that embrace once. Not because I truly cared, but because I was desperate for belonging. Eager for anybody to notice me. To see me as a real person. And Callum was great at pretending to be that man.
“Okay, woah. Chill.”
“Hi,” I mutter.
“You’re acting like I’m some monster, Maddy. Relax.”
“I’ve told you not to call me Maddy,” I say, voice tired. When he smirks, I’m annoyed at myself. He always had a way of making me feel two inches tall.
I’ve always hated when he insisted on calling me Maddy, it’s not even my name. I once made the mistake of telling him that, only for him to fly into a rage before telling me I was overreacting.
“How are you doing? I’ve got a new girl, so don’t get jealous.” He winks, laughing obnoxiously. “Not to brag…” But he will anyway. “But she won Miss Kansas a few years back.”
“Okay,” I say, wanting this interaction to end as soon as possible.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says, hands on his hips. “Is this little one your responsibility?”
He moves as if to tap on the glass, but I block his path.
“Don’t do that,” I tell him.
He gives me that classic Callum smirk that makes me want to tear my hair out.
He’s always been so good at that, looking at me as if I’m the crazy one.
They all are. I’m hesitant to throw the word around aloud, but in my head, I brand him a narcissist. He’s always right, and I’m always wrong, and if I seem to be right—it’s because I’m mad.
He steps closer to me. “Jeez, Mara, what do you think I am? I heard through Lisa you landed some babysitting gig for a big-time rich guy. I’m happy for you.”
This is what they do. He never hit me. Never outwardly abused me. Just consistently and ruthlessly undermined me every chance he had.
“If you’re happy, turn around and walk away.”
I’m shocked at myself. And proud.
But he doesn’t move away. He steps closer.
“Why do you have to be like this?” he says, voice hard. “You know, I never wanted us to end. I always thought we had more to give each other. But now, I’m not so—”
A passerby grabs Callum by the collar and yanks him away from me. It’s a crazy sight, this big man being flung backward. My savior is wearing a full tracksuit, his hair slicked back, a gold watch on his wrist.
“Might be a good idea to walk away, my guy,” the man says.
Callum looks down at the man, and his smirk falters. I can tell Callum wants to use his size to bully the man, and while he may be tall, there’s something about my savior’s energy that stops him.
“You’ve got the wrong idea here.”
“See, me?” the man says. “I’m not much of a baseball fan. I don’t like the three-strike thing. For me, one strike is all it takes.” The man looks up at Callum. He’s older, wrinkled, and tanned. And he’s somehow terrifying.
Callum bows his head, turns, and walks away muttering to himself.
“Uh, thank you,” I murmur.
The man inclines his head. “Don’t mention it, ma’am.”
He turns and walks away, leaving me confused. The confusion gets even worse when I see Sylvie waving at him through the window. She doesn’t seem surprised to see him—or upset by what she just witnessed.
I climb into the car. “Do you know him?” I ask.
Sylvie folds her arms and starts humming. “Can we get ice cream?”
I start the engine.