Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Olivia
I stood at the apartment door, key in the lock, had to turn it twice before it opened.
My hands were shaking.
They'd been shaking since I left the bathroom, shaking in the cab, shaking in the elevator, and now they were still shaking at my own front door.
I pushed the door open. Ella sat on the couch, coffee cup in hand. She looked up, and the smile on her face lasted less than a second before it vanished.
"Shit," she set down the cup and stood, "what happened to you?"
I didn't answer. I walked in, shut the door, leaned against it, and closed my eyes.
"Olivia?" Ella came over, hand on my shoulder. "You—God, you're trembling. What happened?"
I opened my eyes and looked at her.
"I saw him."
She froze.
"Who?"
"Ezio."
Her hand slid off my shoulder.
"You—where?"
"At his place." My voice came out thin, like it was traveling from somewhere far away. "In the bathroom."
Ella stared at me, eyes wide.
"Shit."
I pushed past her, walked to the couch, and sat down. My legs felt like noodles, couldn't hold me up anymore. Ella followed, sat beside me, hand on my knee.
"What happened?" she asked, voice gentle now, "did you two..."
"We did." I cut her off, closed my eyes.
Silence filled the living room.
"Shit," she said again, louder this time, "Olivia, you..."
"I know." I opened my eyes, stared at the ceiling. "I know it was stupid."
"It's not about stupid, damn it!" She stood up, paced the room, then turned back to me. "Olivia, have you lost your mind?"
"I know." My voice stayed flat. "I know."
"What did you know?" She crouched down, hands on my knees. "You know he's a gangster? You know what he did to you five years ago? You—"
"I know!" I screamed it, the sound exploding in the living room. "I fucking know all of it!"
She froze, stared at me for a long moment. Then she took a deep breath and sank back against the couch.
"So what are you going to do?" she asked. "Keep going to these lessons?"
I wiped at my tears. "Yeah."
"Are you insane?"
"I signed a contract," I said, "and Juliet."
"Juliet?"
"She," my voice dropped, "she's wonderful. She's sweet, she's smart, and when she smiles..." I stopped, pushed down the ache rising in my throat. "I want to be there for her. Even if it's just as her teacher."
Ella was quiet for a long time.
"What if he finds out about Leo?" she asked.
My fingers clenched the fabric of my shirt.
"He won't," I said. "I'll be careful. I won't let him find out."
"You're walking a tightrope, Olivia."
"I know."
"You know and you still—"
"Ella," I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands, my shoulders starting to shake, "I owe Juliet five years. Five years. I never saw her, never held her, never heard her call me mom. And now she's standing right in front of me, calling me teacher, telling me she likes me."
Tears leaked through my fingers, dripped onto my legs.
Ella's eyes went red.
"I can't leave her again," my voice shook, "not right now."
She looked at me for a long moment. Then she reached out and took my hand.
"Okay," she said. "But you have to promise me you'll be careful."
"I will."
"And," she continued, "if he finds out anything, you tell me immediately."
I nodded.
Ella stood up, went to the kitchen, poured me a glass of water, brought it over.
"Drink," she said. "You look like you're about to pass out."
I took the glass and drank. The water was cold, sliding down my throat, pushing down that heat.
"Where's Leo?" Ella asked.
"In his room," I said. "Should be sleeping."
"Good," Ella said. "Then you should rest too."
I shook my head.
"I can't sleep."
"Then just lie down," she said. "You need to calm down."
I stood and headed for the bedroom. My legs were still shaking, but better now.
At the door, I heard Ella behind me. "Olivia."
I turned around.
"Yeah?"
"Do you still love him?"
The question hit like a slap.
I stared at her, didn't know how to answer.
Love?
I didn't know.
Five years. I thought I'd buried all that, buried it somewhere I'd never touch again. But today, in that bathroom, when he said "I've been going crazy missing you," I felt that place shift.
"I don't know," I said, voice barely there. "Ella, I don't know."
Ella didn't say anything else, just nodded.
I turned, pushed open the bedroom door, and walked in.
The next few days, I went to class every day.
Every time I walked into that house, my heart raced. Every door in the hallway, every corner, every shaft of light through the windows, made me think of that afternoon. I'd slow down without meaning to, listening for footsteps, for voices upstairs.
He didn't appear.
Carmen still waited for me at the entrance every day, took me upstairs, poured me water, and asked if I needed anything. Juliet still ran over every day and grabbed my hand, looked up at me, calling me Vivi, chattering about what new move she learned today, what good food she ate yesterday.
Everything seemed normal.
But I could feel him there.
That sense of being watched, being waited for, being tracked from somewhere I couldn't see.
The fresh flowers on the entryway table, the new humidifier in the practice room, the perfectly-temperatured tea Carmen handed me—behind all these things was someone watching, arranging, waiting for something.
He didn't appear, but he was everywhere.
Juliet got more attached to me.
During breaks, she'd lean against me, tuck her stuffed bunny into my hands, and make me hold it for her.
She'd pull my hand, make me watch her do the new moves she learned, then look up at me when she finished, waiting for me to say "very good.
" When I packed up my teaching bag, she'd crouch beside me, helping me with things, flipping that Giselle postcard over and over, asking where I got it.
"Vivi," she suddenly asked once, "do you have a baby?"
My hand paused.
"Why do you ask?"
"I like it when you hold me," she said, completely serious. "Like a mom holding a kid."
My eyes suddenly stung.
"And you smell nice," she continued, burying her face in my shoulder and nuzzling. "Every time I smell it, I feel so safe. Just like a mom."
I lowered my head and pressed my face against her hair. Her hair was soft, fine, carrying that sweet kiddie shampoo smell.
"Vivi," her voice muffled against my shoulder, "I really wish you were my mom."
My tears almost fell. I crouched down and pulled her into my arms, held her tight.
"I like you a lot, too," my voice came out a little hoarse. "So much."
"Then can you stay with me forever?" She looked up, those green eyes bright and shining.
I didn't answer. I just held her tighter.
After class, I packed up my teaching bag in the practice room. Carmen had taken Juliet off to bathe. The hallway was quiet, just the hum of the AC vents.
I put the ballet shoes in the bag, turned off the speaker, and picked up the water bottle from the floor.
The door opened.
I looked up and saw him standing in the doorway.
Dark shirt, sleeves rolled up, exposing his forearms. His hair was neater than that day, but the shadows under his eyes were still there, like he hadn't been sleeping well either.
My hand trembled, and the water bottle dropped, rolled to his feet.
"I—" my voice caught, I cleared my throat, "I was just leaving."
"Wait," he said, voice low. "I want to talk."
"We have nothing to talk about." I bent down to get the water bottle.
He walked over and picked it up before I could, and handed it to me.
I took it without looking at him, turned back to packing.
"About Juliet," he said.
My movements stopped.
He glanced at me, and in that look was something I didn't quite recognize. Not anger, not accusation, something quieter, heavier, like water held down for too long.
"Juliet really likes you," he said. "This is the happiest I've seen her in five years."
I didn't speak.
"This weekend is her birthday," he continued. "I promised her you'd come."
My fingers tightened on the strap of my bag. Birthday. Her sixth birthday. My daughter.
"What are you trying to do?" I looked up at him.
"Just trying to make her happy." His voice was flat, too flat to hold any emotion. "You don't want to disappoint your daughter, do you?"
Daughter.
When that word came out of his mouth, something in my chest got hit hard. Not touched, punched.
"Ezio," I said, "are you threatening me?"
"I'm asking you."
"Asking?" I laughed bitterly. "You're standing here, using our daughter's name, telling me you already promised her, that's asking?"
"I know," he said, "but I—"
"You what?" I cut him off, voice rising. "You want to say you're doing this for Juliet? You want to say this is for her own good?"
"Yes."
"Liar!" I yelled. "You're doing this for yourself! You want me to stay, you want—"
"I want you to stay," he interrupted me, every word precise. "I admit it. But Juliet really does want you to come."
He pulled a paper from his pocket, unfolded it, and laid it on the barre beside us.
It was a drawing.
Crayon drawing, all crooked lines, but you could tell what it was. A woman and a little girl, holding hands under a big circle, the woman with long blonde hair, the little girl with green eyes. In the bottom right corner, crooked letters spelled out: Vivi and Juliet.
My eyes burned.
"She worked on it for a long time," he said. "She said she wanted to give the prettiest picture to her favorite teacher."
I stood there, looking at that drawing, at those crooked lines, at the pink crayon dress Juliet drew for the woman, at the green crayon she used for her own eyes.
"You know why she drew this?" his voice came from behind me. "Because she thinks you'll always be there for her, like the mom she dreams about. But she doesn't know..."
I felt my chest tighten, couldn't breathe. I'd missed so many years of my daughter's life.
"Enough." I cut him off.
"She doesn't know you're leaving in three months." He finished anyway.
"I'll come."
The practice room went quiet. So quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.
"Ezio," I turned to face him, "you're shameless."
He whistled lightly, eyes gleaming with triumph, completely different from the cold isolation of five years ago. Of course, five years ago, he wouldn't have used tactics this sneaky either.
"This Saturday, ten a.m.," he said. "Walter Amusement Park."
He turned and headed for the door. At the doorway, he paused, didn't look back.
"Don't miss it."
The door closed behind him.
I stood in the practice room, holding that drawing.
Those crooked lines blurred in front of me, then cleared, then blurred again.
The pink crayon dress Juliet drew for the woman, the green crayon she used for her own eyes, how long had she worked on this?
What was she thinking while she drew? Was she smiling while she drew, thinking about showing it to me the next day?
I took a deep breath, folded the drawing, and tucked it into my teaching bag.
Walking out of that house, the night wind hit me, cold. I stood on the steps, looking down at my feet. That drawing was in my bag, so light, but so heavy I could barely carry it.
I walked down the steps and headed toward the subway station. After about twenty steps, I stopped, turned around, and looked back at the house.
A light was on in a second-floor hallway window, curtains not quite closed, showing a narrow gap. I didn't know if he was behind that window, but I knew he was waiting for my answer.
I turned and kept walking toward the subway.
After a while, I pulled out my phone and sent Ella a message.
"He wants me to come to Juliet's birthday."
Ella replied instantly with a question mark.
"You said yes?"
"Yeah."
"Olivia, someday you're going to fall and shatter into pieces."
I shoved my phone back in my pocket and looked up at the sky.
Ella was right. Everything I was doing now was pushing myself toward the edge of a cliff.
But I was out of options.