Chapter 3 #4
The tension breaks, and we keep walking toward the house that I hate, the family that doesn’t see me, and the life that means nothing without her.
We’re close to the gates when I hear it.
My father’s voice raised in fury. Not the words, because we’re too far away, but the tone.
That thundering roar that means the wrath of hell cannot compare to what my father is unleashing.
Then my mother, wailing, shrieking, the high-pitched hysteria.
Her screams are pitiful and heart-wrenching, but I know better than to go to her.
She flinches whenever she lays eyes on me.
A door slams. The sound echoes across the grounds.
Mina’s steps slow, and she casts a worried glance at me. “Don’t go in the house, Cristiano. Please.”
She knows what happens when my father is in one of his moods and I’m within reach.
“Come on,” I say, grasping her hand. “Let’s go to our spot.”
I steer her away from the front entrance, toward the garden path that winds along the side of the house. The shouting fades as we move farther from the main building, muffled by walls and distance.
I glance up at the windows as we pass. There’s Adora, my eleven-year-old sister, sitting at her window with her headphones on.
She’s bent over a textbook, pen moving steadily, completely absorbed in her homework.
She doesn’t look up as the shouting continues, and I don’t blame her.
She’s found her own way to survive this house, retreating into schoolwork and her own private world where the screaming can’t reach her.
Our mother protects her, shields her, and wraps her in a cocoon of affection that never extends to me.
Once I overheard Mom speaking to Nonna in furtive, fearful tones.
He looks more like his father every day.
I have his eyes, his jaw, his temper. When my mother looks at me, she doesn’t see her son. She sees the man she’s afraid of. She flinches. She looks away. She saves her softness for Adora and leaves me with nothing but the echo of my father’s rage in my ears.
But it’s fine.
Because I have Mina.
The spot is at the far end of the garden, where a stone bench sits in a hollow surrounded by overgrown hedges. It’s invisible from the house. No one comes here but us.
It’s my favorite place in the world, not because it’s beautiful, but because when we’re here, I have her all to myself.
No teachers interrupting us, none of her friends trying to get her attention, no Dad disapproving of me spending time with the housekeeper’s daughter.
Just Mina and me and the quiet rustle of leaves.
She settles onto the bench, pulling her knees up to her chest. “What do you think they were fighting about?” she asks softly.
“Everything. Nothing. You know it’s just what they do.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
I want to forget they exist. I want to be here with Mina until the sun goes down and the stars come out and the rest of the world disappears.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say.
She pats the bench beside her. “Come sit.”
I sit close enough to her that our shoulders touch, and I can smell her shampoo. Something inexpensive and floral, nothing like the expensive products the girls at St. Agatha’s use. But I love its simplicity. I love everything about Mina.
“You know what I think?” she says.
“What?”
“I think one day you’ll be so happy. You’ll have your own life and your own home, and it’ll be quiet and peaceful, and no one will ever yell.”
I turn my head to look at her. “You think so?”
“I know so.” She smiles, soft and sure. “And I’ll come visit you. We’ll drink tea in your garden and talk about everything and nothing and you won’t be sad anymore.”
We.
She said we.
“What if I don’t want you to visit?” The words come out before I can stop them. “What if I want you to stay?”
She laughs, not understanding. “Stay where? In your imaginary future house?”
“Yes.”
She grins. “Maybe I’ll be your housekeeper, like my mom. Clean your big mansion and make sure you eat your vegetables.”
Her words hit me with full force. Mina in my house. Every day. Every night.
Coming home to her.
Waking up to her.
Having her forever.
“Would you?” My voice is strained.
“Would I what?”
“Be in my house always.”
She laughs again, delighted by what she thinks is a joke. “If you pay me enough, sure. But you have to promise not to be a nightmare boss.”
“I’d never be a nightmare to you.”
“You say that now. Wait until I accidentally break one of your fancy vases.”
“I don’t care about vases.”
“What do you care about, then?”
You. Only you. Always you.
“Nothing,” I say. “Everything’s fine as long as you’re here.”
She leans her head against my shoulder, casual, comfortable, and utterly unaware of what it does to me. I’m hyperconscious of her warm, soft weight against me. I could stay like this forever.
“I’m here,” she says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I close my eyes, drinking in every moment of this heaven. As long as I have Mina, nothing else matters.
She shifts slightly, and I have to fight the urge to wrap my arms around her and never let go.