26. Chiara
26
CHIARA
M y heart feels like it’s being torn from my chest as I watch Dante’s figure retreat. This can’t be happening. The fear that I’ve finally pushed him past his limits, that he’s walking away for good, is overwhelming. It feels like the single most devastating thing I could endure.
Tears blur my vision as I stand frozen, unable to move. My mind races with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Should I go after him? Call out louder, beg him to come back? The urge to run after Dante is almost unbearable, but my feet remain rooted to the spot.
Or should I turn back, find Pyotr, and finish our conversation? The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. How can I even consider discussing wedding planning when my heart is shattering?
Then there’s the third option, the one that’s been nagging at me since this morning—go to Papa and call the whole thing off. End this charade once and for all. But the memory of his happy face, his excitement about the wedding, makes my stomach churn with guilt.
I’m torn between three paths, each with its own set of consequences, and I feel fucking paralyzed by indecision. The weight of my choices presses down on me, making it hard to breathe. I could honestly throw up.
Dante’s words echo in my head. “Maybe you’ve already made your choice. Maybe you’re just too cowardly to admit it.”
The accusation stings, but is he right? Am I being a coward?
I watch as Dante disappears around the corner of the house, and it feels like he’s taking a piece of me with him. The finality of it makes my chest ache. I want to scream, to run after him, to tell him I love him and only him.
But I remain frozen, caught between my love for Dante, my duty to my family, and the uncertain future that looms before me. In this moment, I’ve never felt more alone or more lost.
And as Dante’s figure finally vanishes from sight, I’m left with the terrifying thought that I might have just lost the love of my life for good.
Lost in my thoughts, I don’t hear Pyotr approach until he’s right beside me. His sudden presence makes me jump, my heart racing with panic.
“You and that soldier seem to have an uncommon relationship for your respective stations,” Pyotr observes, his tone curious rather than accusatory.
I scramble to compose myself, desperately trying to mask the turmoil raging inside me. “Oh, Dante?” I stammer, my mind racing to find a plausible explanation. “He’s… he’s more of a family friend than just a soldier, really.”
I take a deep breath, willing my voice to sound steadier. “You see, Dante grew up on my parents’ land. As you know, his father is Papa’s underboss, so they’re practically family themselves.”
Oh, God, I’m overexplaining. Please don’t let Pyotr be suspicious.
Pyotr nods, looking intrigued rather than suspicious. “Ah, I see. So perhaps he’s more like a brother to you, then?”
The suggestion catches me off guard and my stomach sours. Brother? If only Pyotr knew how far from the truth that was. But I seize the opportunity he’s unwittingly provided.
“Yes, something like that,” I agree, forcing a smile. “We’ve known each other since we were children. He used to pull our pigtails and stuff like that. He can be a bit… overprotective sometimes.”
Pyotr smiles, seemingly satisfied with this explanation. “That’s understandable. It’s good to know you have people looking out for you, even if they can be a bit overzealous at times.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak further. The irony of the situation isn’t lost on me—here I am, agreeing to paint Dante as a brotherly figure when just moments ago, I was aching for his touch, his love.
Pyotr’s words make my stomach churn. “It’s a testament to your father’s trust in Dante that he allows a man of marriageable age around his single daughters,” he muses. Then he shrugs, adding, “But I suppose since you grew up as basically siblings, it makes sense that Don Marino would trust him around his girls.”
I force out an awkward laugh, the sound hollow even to my own ears. “Yes, well… I should really go find my mother about that wedding dress,” I say hastily, desperate to escape this conversation and the lies I’m weaving.
Without waiting for a response, I turn and flee as if my life depends on it. My vision blurs with unshed tears as I rush toward the house. I’m so focused on getting away that I nearly collide with a maid, who lets out a startled yelp.
“Sorry,” I whisper, barely breaking stride as I continue my desperate flight.
I make it to the grand staircase, taking the steps two at a time. All I want is the sanctuary of my room, a place where I can finally let go and have a good cry. The emotions I’ve been holding back threaten to overwhelm me with each step.
But just as I reach the top of the stairs, thinking I’m home free, I hear a familiar voice call out.
“Chiara?”
I freeze, recognizing Bianca’s concerned tone. Dammit, what is she doing here?
Panic rises in my throat. I’m not ready to face anyone, least of all my perceptive sister. But I know I can’t ignore her.
Slowly, I turn to face Bianca, desperately trying to compose myself as she stands a few steps below me.
“B!” I exclaim, forcing a cheerful tone that sounds false even to my own ears. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”
Bianca’s hand curls around the top of the banister, her blue eyes—so much like Papa’s—studying me intently. “I didn’t know I needed your permission to come over to my family’s home,” she says carefully, her gaze never leaving my face.
I can feel her analyzing me, and it makes me want to squirm as I take a step away from the staircase and inch backward. “Of course not,” I say quickly. “I just meant?—”
“What's wrong, Chiara?” Bianca interrupts, her voice soft but insistent.
“Nothing,” I lie, plastering on a smile that feels more like a grimace. “Everything’s fine.”
Bianca moves up another step, closing the distance between us. “You look ready to cry.”
I shake my head, desperately grasping for an excuse. “You’re probably sleep deprived so you’re seeing things. I’m fine.”
But Bianca’s eyes narrow, looking so much like Papa that it’s uncanny. “Cut the shit, Chiara,” she says bluntly. “I want to know what’s going on with you. You’ve been acting strange recently—more jumpy, more anxious. You always look like you’re two seconds from throwing up.”
Her words hit too close to home, and I feel my carefully constructed facade beginning to crumble as I take additional steps back, but my sister follows me, her eyes never leaving my face.
“Is this about Pyotr?” Bianca asks, her voice gentler now.
And just like that, it’s as if a dam breaks inside me. All the anger, frustration, and fear I’ve been holding back comes pouring out in a torrent of words.
“Is it about Pyotr?” I repeat, my voice rising. “Of course it’s about Pyotr! It’s about this whole goddamn ridiculous situation! I don’t want to marry him, B. I don’t even know him! And now Papa wants to move up the wedding because of his health, and I feel like I’m drowning, and I can’t breathe, and I don’t know what to do!”
I’m practically shouting by the end, tears streaming down my face. Bianca looks stunned, her eyes wide as she takes in my outburst.
“Chiara…” she starts, reaching out to me.
But now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop. “And the worst part is, I can’t even talk to anyone about it because everyone’s so happy about this stupid engagement. Mama's thrilled, Papa’s proud, and I’m just… I’m just…”
I trail off, my anger giving way to despair. I slump against the wall, suddenly exhausted.
Bianca moves quickly, wrapping her arms around me. “Oh, Chiara,” she murmurs. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
My anger returns, fueled by frustration and fear, and it boils over. “Why didn’t I say anything sooner?” I snap, shoving Bianca’s hands away. “Because who would listen to me?”
“Chiara!”
“I want everyone to leave me alone!” I yell before I turn and run toward my bedroom, desperate for solitude, but I can hear Bianca’s footsteps right behind me. I reach my door and try to slam it shut, but Bianca is faster, wedging herself in the doorway.
“Get out!” I scream, pushing against the door with all my might. But Bianca is stronger, forcing her way in.
“Absolutely not,” she says firmly, shutting the door behind her. Her eyes are blazing with determination and irritation. “I want to know what the fuck is going on with you, Chiara!”
I turn away, hugging myself tightly. “There’s nothing to tell. I just want to be left alone.”
Bianca sighs, running a hand through her dark hair. “Look, I understand you’re not happy about the arranged marriage. Who would be? Even our perfect sister, Sofia, was pissed. Trust me, I wasn’t exactly thrilled about being married off to Rork, either. You know that. You remember Papa’s face when he saw that Rork was the one under the mask.”
Her words make me flinch. She has no idea how different our situations are.
“But this…” Bianca continues, her voice softening. “This feels like something more. There’s something else bothering you, isn’t there?”
I remain silent, my back still turned to her. I can feel Bianca’s eyes on me, studying me intently.
Then, her next words make my blood run cold.
“Chiara,” she says slowly, “is there someone else you’d rather marry?”
I freeze, my heart pounding so loudly I’m sure Bianca can hear it. How could she know? Have I been that obvious? Panic rises in my throat as I struggle to find a response that won’t give everything away.
“I… I don’t know what you're talking about,” I stammer, but even to my own ears, the lie sounds weak and unconvincing.
I can practically feel Bianca’s gaze boring into my back. The silence stretches between us, tense and heavy with unspoken truths.
Finally, I gather the courage to turn and face my sister. The knowing look in her eyes makes me want to run and hide. But there’s nowhere to go. I’m trapped, not just in this room, but in the web of lies and secrets I’ve woven around myself.
Bianca’s eyes narrow, her gaze piercing through my defenses. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Chiara. It’s the only thing that makes sense about how you’re acting.”
My heart races as Bianca takes a step closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Is it Dante?”
I feel the blood drain from my face, panic rising in my throat. But before I can respond, Bianca continues.
“It’s obvious you've always had a thing for him. So I’m going to ask you again, and I want you to be honest with me.” Her eyes lock onto mine, unwavering. “Is there someone else you’d rather marry? Is it Dante?”
I stand frozen, feeling like I’m teetering on the edge of a precipice. The truth is right there, on the tip of my tongue. It would be so easy to let it all spill out, to confess my love for Dante, to finally share the burden I’ve been carrying.
But Dante’s words echo again in my mind. "Maybe you're just too cowardly to admit it." And in this moment, I prove him right. I am a coward.
“Just leave me alone, Bianca,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Please.”
Bianca sighs, disappointment evident in her eyes. “Fine,” she says, turning toward the door. “If that’s what you want, I’ll leave you alone.”
But as she reaches the threshold, she pauses, looking back at me over her shoulder. “Time is running out, Chiara. You need to be honest to yourself and to your family. Because the truth will come out whether you want it to or not.”
Her words send a chill down my spine, and I can’t shake the feeling that they’re more than just a warning. It’s as if I can see the future unfolding before me—a future where my secrets are exposed, where the carefully constructed lies come crashing down around me.
As the door closes behind Bianca, leaving me alone with my thoughts, I can’t help but feel that the clock is ticking. The truth about Dante and me is a ticking time bomb, and I fear it will explode long before I’m ready to face the consequences.
The air in the room suddenly feels heavy, charged with the weight of unspoken truths and impending revelations, and as I sink onto my bed, I can't shake the feeling that my time is running out faster than I ever imagined.