17. Family First #3
“No one is punishing you,” Gio argued. “You’re twenty-nine, Raya. You should be living your life, studying nursing, and playing music.”
“What were you doing at my age, Gio? Or you, Elle?” She folded her arms across her chest. “You two have looked after Mamma all your lives. Let me do it now.”
“This is different,” Elle said. “This is progressive and terminal.”
“And you’re burning yourself out.”
“I’m not burning myself out,” Raya whispered, her bottom lip trembling with that rare emotion again. I reached for her. For the first time in her life, she shrugged me off.
“Raya, you don’t sleep more than three hours a night, you barely eat, and—”
“We all have shit going on. Am I not allowed to have mine?” she suddenly shouted, leaping from her chair and shocking us all.
This was so out of character for her. There was only one person she had ever lost her temper with before, and that was me when we were kids.
She frantically wiped her eyes, then stormed out of the room.
Gio huffed back into his chair as I stared at the door, wanting to go after her but needing to resolve this situation.
“Raya never loses it like that,” Elle said with concern. “That just proves our point.”
“Let me talk to her,” I said, standing up. “Ambushing her like this was a terrible fucking idea.”
“We’ve tried everything else,” Gio argued, running a hand through his hair. “I’m done tiptoeing around it. I’m not trying to hurt her. Mamma needs help, and so does Raya.”
I left the room in search of my sister and found her sitting in the bay window of her bedroom, looking out across the lawn.
I sat on her bed, elbows on my knees, and stared at her.
She refused to look at me. She’d withdrawn into herself, as she always did when things got too much for her. She shut the world out.
I climbed onto her bed and lay down, placing an arm behind my head and grabbing the tattered book of Italian poems from beneath her pillow.
I read aloud, lifting my gaze every so often to check on her.
A tear slid down her cheek, but she brushed it away.
Finally, eight poems later, she slowly edged off the window seat and lay on the bed beside me, curling up in a ball.
I kept reading until she was ready to talk.
“You know you can’t be everywhere, Sani.”
I closed the book and sat up, leaning against her headboard. “What?”
“You’re either here or you’re there. I know you think you can be in both places at once, but you can’t.”
“It doesn’t matter where I am, Raya. I’m always here for you.”
“But you visit. You’re not living this.”
“You’re right. I’m not. I’m sorry. I know I should be doing more.”
“It’s not that,” she sniffed, wiping her nose. “I’m not asking you to do more. I just feel like I’m losing everyone, Sani,” she whispered, closing her eyes and burying her face in the pillow. “I’m trying to hold on, but it hurts. One day, she won’t even remember us.”
“I know. But she’ll still love us, even then. And you’ll never lose me. You know that, don’t you?”
“You can’t promise that.”
I lifted my wrist, gesturing to Papi’s broken watch.
We’d made a promise on it the day we were nearly killed by the Americans fifteen years ago.
She was so scared after she watched me beat a man to death with a headstone, not because of my violence, but because she thought she was going to lose me.
That we’d lose each other. I made her place her hand on the watch and swear on Papi that we would always be there for each other.
She smiled and covered the clock face with her hand, as we always used to.
“I swear it.”
“Will you stay for a few days? Will Rome fall without its ruler?”
I smiled down at her. It was clear this was where I was needed most right now, even though I hated the idea of being away from Aria for a few days. “Let me speak to Max and see if he’ll stay there. I’m sure it will survive a few days without me.”
I left her room and dialled his number. He answered on the second ring.
“Max, I need you to stay in Rome for a few more days. I’m needed here.”
“I thought as much. That’s why I sent for Cami the moment you left.”
“Can’t you go three days without your wife?”
“Can you?” he bantered back. I groaned because I wasn’t entirely sure I could. He snorted. “Don’t you ?dare tell me to stalk the girl. Not happening.”
“I don’t want you to stalk her,” I growled, hating the thought of any other man following her every move. “But just… keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s safe. But don’t let her see you.”
“That’s the definition of stalking. Last I checked, the only threat she had was from you.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m an old, married, long-haired, tattooed biker, Sani. It’s one thing for you to be following her around, but me? She’ll freak the fuck out.”
“Then be discreet. Just send me a picture of her face once a day so I know she’s fine. That’s all I’m asking for.”
He laughed, and I heard Camilla asking what was so funny in the background. The needy prick already had his wife with him in my apartment. “Sani is so gone for this girl. I think the real reason he wants me to take pictures is so he can make a scrapbook of her.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” I joked. “Will you do it or not?”
“Fine. You have my wife to thank because she thinks your psychotic obsession is sweet.”
“Grazie, Cami!” I hung up, smirking. Finally, someone who gets me.