Chapter Eleven
Lily
Two weeks have passed and there has been not a single peep from him.
Guess he took my rejection well.
Is this a pang of disappointment I feel? I force the thought away, ruthlessly smothering it. He got the message loud and clear. He’s moved on, like I wanted. I can go on with my life and keep working toward my dream of freedom.
So why am I feeling untethered, like I am holding my breath, waiting for something to happen?
Maybe I am bored after the rollercoaster my life has been these past few weeks.
Dinner on Friday night is dragging on and I can’t wait to hear all the exciting outings Daria has planned for us this weekend. Not.
I pick and push my food around my plate as I listen half-heartedly to the conversation between Daria and Father. They’re discussing having a guest over for dinner on Saturday, and Daria is coaching Chiara on the menu and wine pairings.
Once again I’m blissfully ignored, a silent observer in a world I don’t feel a part of. It’s a relief, honestly. I can let my brain clock out and drift, not having to pretend I care about the mundane details of their lives.
Suddenly a name catches my awareness and before I can stop myself, I breathe out a choked, “Damiano?”
Three pairs of eyes turn toward me, curiosity flickering in them. I want to shrink into my chair, disappear into the shadows. Daria narrows her eyes, her expression sharp.
“That’s Mr. Santaluccia,” she says, a thinly veiled edge in her voice. Her gaze pins me like a knife, and a hot flush creeps up my neck.
“What have you two been up to?” she presses, her tone cold, expectant.
I panic. “N-nothing,” I stammer, my fingers twisting together under the table. “Mr. Santaluccia was kind enough to ask me for a dance…and then we parted ways.”
Chiara gives me a side look. She pestered me after the gala until I told her about the kiss that night and the fact that Damiano might have expressed an interest in me, leaving out our first encounter and the exact details of his interest.
Daria looks like she just bit into a lemon.
“Well, I hope that the boy comes to his senses and sees the real treasure this house has to offer.” I lower my head to hide my eye roll, catching sight of Chiara’s fists clenched tightly on the fabric of her dress.
She hates being the perfect doll her mother wants her to be.
I guess I have it better with my relative freedom.
Always being ignored and overlooked is almost liberating.
There are no expectations, no demands. Nothing but the quiet of being invisible.
Father clears his throat and we all look at him expectantly. “In fact, Mr. Santaluccia will come to dinner tomorrow to officially ask for Lily’s hand in marriage.” A collective gasp resounds as he goes on, “Of course, I already gave him my blessing since—”
“How could you?” I shriek, not caring how crazy I sound.
“Young lady, you will behave while you are under my roof—” Daria starts.
“As I said,” Father’s voice booms and he uses his no-nonsense tone Chiara and I heard so often when we were younger, “I gave him my blessing, since there is nothing or no one who could possibly deny him and live to tell about it. Do I make myself clear, Lily?” His face is red, his eyes angry.
“It is time that you quit being selfish and start contributing to the well-being of this family. Must I remind you that you have wanted for nothing since we took you in after your mother left you with only the clothes on your back?”
I don’t know if I want to scream at him or burst into tears. Chiara’s hand clasps mine under the table and it gradually grounds me.
Think fast. Buy time.
I look at Father and slowly shake my head, my throat tight. I try to put on a smile but it feels brittle, like the skin on my face is about to crumble to dust.
“I understand. I am sorry, Father. The news was…unexpected. I will try to look worthy of representing this family tomorrow when Mr. Santaluccia comes.”
That seems to appease them and I rise on shaky legs.
“Please do not disturb me tomorrow. I will be needing my rest to look my best.” For the first time in my existence, Daria nods approvingly, although her eyes are flashing with suppressed anger.
No doubt she will give Father an earful later about why I am the chosen sacrifice and not Chiara.
I go up to my room on unstable legs and start throwing things into a bag. Chiara knocks and comes in as is her habit. Her eyes fall on the bag and the clothes I have thrown on the bed.
“You are leaving.” She sounds sad.
I let out a shaky breath. “I have to. I can’t stay here to wait for the devil to claim me.”
“You are leaving me.”
When I look at her, her eyes are filled with tears and I walk to her to hug her. “I am sorry, sis. I have to… I will always miss you but this is something I have to do for myself. Please don’t be mad at me.”
Her tears spill over her smooth cheeks. “I know, Lee, but you are the only one here preventing me from going crazy. What will I do without you?” She sobs softly. I feel my own tears falling.
“I am so sorry… I will find a way to contact you and have you visit me once things have settled down, okay? You can even come to live with me.”
She snorts. “As if Mama would let me. She will sell me off to the highest bidder. That is, if she hasn’t dieted me to death before then.”
We give a sad laugh and it is bittersweet. It is true—Daria has an obsession with carbs. And her biggest fear is her daughter not fitting in her wedding gown, never mind that there is no gown yet, or even a groom. And never mind that Chiara is perfect in every way.
“Where will you go?”
I hesitate. “I can’t tell you, sis. Not because I don’t want to, but to avoid getting you in trouble.
Damiano… I mean, Mr. Santaluccia has means to make you talk, so the less you know, the less leverage he has.
” I kiss her cheek. “Keep your mother off my back as long as possible tomorrow. Can you do that for me?”
She nods.
“I love you.” My voice breaks.
“Love you, too. Please be careful.”
Then we hug one last time, and she slips out to her room while I take a long look around mine.
It’s simple, untouched, a soft pink room from when I was nine, the walls still holding on to a childhood that I have long outgrown.
I never bothered to ask for a new paint job.
In truth, I planned to leave this place one day, but it seems that day has arrived sooner than expected.
I grab two pairs of jeans, some shorts, a few T-shirts and tank tops, pushing aside the designer dresses Chiara passed down to me. Those were never meant for me anyway. They were bought on shopping sprees that meant nothing beyond the prestige of their labels.
I don’t have much jewelry, only a few pieces with sentimental value. Nothing I could sell to float me, just memories tucked away in metal and stone.
I have some cash stashed away, barely sufficient to keep me going for a while, not nearly enough to start a new life.
If I am going to make this work, I will need to withdraw more, but that’s easier said than done.
No doubt Damiano has unlimited resources at his disposal to track me down.
I’ve read enough thrillers to know that a digital trace can be followed—every click, every transaction can be chased.
I need to be careful and leave my phone and computer behind, making sure no breadcrumbs lead back to me.
My mind races as I pull my phone out, thinking about what I need to do.
First, I give Penelope a quick call. She’s always been supportive, and I trust her. I keep it short, telling her I need to take a break and won’t be available for a while. She doesn’t ask questions, but she wishes me well.
Then I grab my notebook and write down a few important contacts, people I might need when I’m starting over. It’s the only way I’ll be able to reach out if things go south.
I have a plan. It’s risky, but it’s my only option.