34
Camilla White
T wo weeks have gone by, and my mind is still reeling from New Year’s Eve, and it’s been too much for my mind to endure.
From the daily attempts to read the letter but backing out last minute without the courage after seeing that portrait to Vincent’s words replaying in my mind like a broken record, I have been a mess…
I’ll find a way.
Find a way to what? He can’t possibly mean about us being together, could he? How can he find a way? There’s no way.
It messes with my brain and my heart. Ever since I’ve admitted my feelings to myself, everything has heightened in size and intensity.
Simple gestures, like a ghost of a hand in the small of my back, or when the tip of his fingers brushes my skin, bringing my hair out of my face, even the little stolen glances or the bolder and lingering ones, have been feeding on it. Every little moment makes me fall harder, consuming me in such depth that once it stops, I’ll be nothing but wrecked.
Empty.
And then there’s that goddamned painting…It hasn’t left my mind either. My thoughts have been jumping between both subjects like a kid jumps between two rain puddles.
The similarities between His Grace Joseph’s mark and mine are uncanny. They are the same colour and shape; the only things that change are the location and maybe the size. What triggers me most is the fact that all pictures of him inside this property do not show that spot. At all.
Does that mean…It can’t be.
At least, that is what I have been telling myself. Can it?
It’s not like I can find any physical similarities with him. But have I tried? Maybe. The fact that I never knew who my dad was makes it all the weirder.
As I look at the letter that keeps burning into my skin, I struggle once more with the decision to read it or not. Every day, I try, and every day, I lose the courage, afraid of what I’ll find there.
Could my mother and Joseph Gotta have been lovers? No!
Ignoring Primrose’s whimpers by my side, I inhale deeply and close my eyes.
I need to open it. No more avoiding it.
My hands tremble in anticipation just as I look at the still-unbroken sealing wax with the family’s crest. Primrose finally settles by my side, with her head resting on my leg.as I finally break the seal.
Taking another deep breath, I open the folded paper, coming across her neat handwriting. I can’t help but gulp at the sight, feeling my throat thickening from the emotion. All of the nostalgia hits me like a truck. All the walks through the gardens, all the gossip she’d tell me to keep me up to date. Our tea and biscuit dates...
She was my second mother.
This letter in my hands brings that reality veil down on me once again, reminding me of how much I miss and need her. Both of them.
My eyes blur with stubborn tears, as soon as I spot the first three words, but I hastily swipe at them while starting to read the letter.
My sweet Camilla,
I hope this letter finds you well. Knowing you as I know, you’ll keep this for a moment when you can’t bear the feeling of missing us anymore. It’s understandable for someone who might feel as alone as you do. Fear not, my sweet girl. You might not have us with you in person, but all three of us are with you in spirit.
As you might know by now, Vincent is my official heir. He was the only one I trusted enough to let you stay and keep your job if you wish as much. Remember that you are free to spread your wings and fly away if you want, but...this will always be your home in more ways than one.
You might not have been my child through birth, but I am proud to say that you were my adopted child. I loved you as if you were mine and have no regrets in that department. On others, though...
I tried to let you know while I was still alive. I couldn’t because, in the end, your mother and I robbed you of something very important. The truth about your ancestry. The truth about your father
I know you never knew who he was and only a handful of times have showed some curiosity, never really questioning your mother too much when she refused to share more. You have always seemed happy and satisfied with the little given to you. That trait was both admiring and heartbreaking because a sweet, pure girl like you deserved more, so much more.
You still do, and that is why I have taken it upon myself to leave you the option to decide to do with this information as you see fit. To let you decide to bring justice to yourself if you want it...or let things be as they are if you prefer to have the life you’ve always had.
My late husband, Joseph, is your biological father. As you know, we were never in love, but we were close friends, like brother and sister. He and I had a mutual agreement. We were to never hurt each other with public scandals and disrespect, but we were free to love someone else. Our marriage was a contract anyway.
And that is what happened. Joseph fell in love with your mother, and they had a wonderful love life until his premature passing. He was the happiest I have ever seen him when he held you in his arms for the first time after you were born
Unfortunately, that happiness bubble burst when he died of a heart attack just a couple of months after your birth. It was at that moment that I realised I loved him as well. Who wouldn’t? Joseph was charismatic, intelligent,? and kind?—just like you. It hurt deeply to say goodbye to him, but at least I had a clear conscience that I had let him be happy.
In the end, you were the gift. To him, to your mother, and also to me. Love was never on my cards, nor was having my own children.
You are their child, born out of an impossible love story that found some rare common ground to survive. Your parents managed to work and survive with the little god had given them.
But it’s not fair that you have to live in the shadows, too. They did it by choice, and if you are to do it as well, you deserve to do it by choice, too.
You are Camilla Gotta, daughter of Joseph Gotta and granddaughter of the late King George. That makes you a direct heir to the throne if Charles ends up not bearing children. That will make you second in line, right in front of my nephew.
My lawyer, Harry, has all the documents, birth certificates, and DNA tests, as well as your parents’ letters to you, telling you the entire truth.
I know it feels like a bucket of ice water just fell on you, with too much information to take in. You don’t need to do anything about it—not right away—but just know that it’s all yours.
If you want it.
I deeply regret the fact that I never found the courage to tell you this in the flesh, to be there to ease your heart and pain and be able to hug you until it all went away. But I couldn’t find it—just the thought of you reading this is breaking my heart. But I couldn’t let you live an entire life of lies and deceit.
You deserve the truth and you deserve to take everything that is rightfully yours.
No matter what you decide, I am on your side, and I want you to be the happiest you have ever been.
Eternal love, Elizabeth Hawthorne
My breath hitches as the letter crumples in my fist. The same words are playing on repeat inside my head, and still, I can’t find it in myself to believe them. The gravity of the claims written on this piece of paper tears at my heart. Not only that, but they destroy everything that I thought was true.
My whole life was a lie.
All those times when I wished this place was all mine—instead of just being one more charity case inside this wealthy society—come rushing to my mind as betrayal breaks my heart into a million pieces.
I was never on borrowed kindness because this is all mine.
It’s turning my brain upside-down, tying knots in my stomach as I finally realise the consequences of this truth.
My life was a lie, and everyone I loved and trusted lied to me.
How am I supposed to go from here? What do I even do with this information? If the people closest to me were never reliable, how could I even trust anyone else?
And the fact that this could be a deal breaker between Vincent and me.
How would he even react to this information?
Not telling him is not an option, though, but how do I go about this? And can I even trust him?
This is too much.
“What a bloody mess,” I mutter to myself, and Primrose whines in distress as if feeling exactly what I am experiencing. “What do I do, sweet girl? This is a ticking time bomb waiting to explode in my face.”
Her yellowish doe eyes stare back at me. If only I held all the answers of the universe in my hands. Little does the universe know, I can’t even take a breath in without doubting myself.
“Whatever path I choose, no one wins. I certainly don’t.”
Petting her gives me some sort of comfort, but it still is not enough to prevent the fat tears from rolling down my face as I finally let all the emotions take over.
My body shakes uncontrollably as Primrose cries in distress, nestling more into me.
“Oh, god,” I gasp for air as a sob clogs my throat.
Love is not kind and absolute. It is not pure and heart-warming.
Love is messy and treacherous. It builds you up with illusions of happiness and tenderness only to shatter them afterwards.
The feeling of loneliness I had after Aunt Lizzie’s death is nothing compared to this. Because the feeling of betrayal that is nestling inside my heart is only showing me that I was alone long before they left me… The realisation is gut-wrenching.
That I can’t count on anyone but myself.