28. Chiara
28
CHIARA
T he silence in my room becomes oppressive. My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears, and I feel like I can’t breathe. How did Bianca figure it out? Am I that transparent?
I pace back and forth, my mind racing. If Bianca knows, who else does? Does Papa suspect? Oh, God, what if Bianca tells him?
The walls seem to be closing in on me, and I feel like I’m suffocating. I need to get out of here, to go somewhere I can think, somewhere I can breathe.
Without really thinking about it, my feet carry me to the conservatory. As soon as I step inside, the humid air and the scents of flowers envelop me. It’s like stepping into another world, one where my problems can’t follow me.
I move to my easel, my hands shaking slightly as I set up a blank canvas. Painting has always been my escape, my way of making sense of the world when everything feels chaotic.
As I pick up a brush, I try to steady my breathing. The cool paint on the palette is grounding, familiar. I start to apply color to the canvas, not really thinking about what I’m creating, just letting my emotions guide my hand.
But even as I paint, my mind keeps circling back to the same questions. How did Bianca know? What am I going to do? How can I possibly choose between Dante and my family?
The brush moves faster, more frantically, as my anxiety builds. Colors blur together on the canvas, a visual representation of the turmoil in my heart.
I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a precipice, and one wrong move will send me tumbling into the abyss. The weight of my secret, of the choice I have to make, feels like it's crushing me.
As I continue to paint, tears start to fall, mixing with the paint on the canvas. I’m so lost, so scared, and I have no idea how to find my way out of this mess.
Crying out, I throw the canvas to the ground with an anguished yell, paint splattering across the conservatory floor. Even painting, my usual solace, isn’t helping to calm my frayed nerves.
My stomach churns violently, and I gag, clamping a hand over my mouth. Is it possible to die from stress and anxiety, especially when it’s all of my own making? The thought only increases my panic.
Suddenly, I hear footsteps and whirl around to see Mia entering the conservatory. Her sudden appearance scares the shit out of me, and I jump, my heart racing even faster.
“Keeks?” Mia asks, her eyes wide with concern as they dart to the thrown canvas. “Are you okay?”
I force a laugh, though it sounds hollow even to my own ears. “Oh, that? I just… I hated the painting I was working on. You know how I get sometimes.”
Thankfully, Mia seems to buy it. Unlike Bianca or Sofia, who would have seen right through my lie, Mia nods in understanding.
“Oh, I see,” she says, smiling at me. “By the way, Pyotr was looking for you earlier. He wanted to say goodbye before he left for the day.”
Relief washes over me at the news that Pyotr is gone, but it does little to alleviate my overall stress. "Oh… thanks for letting me know," I manage to say.
Mia lingers for a moment, looking like she wants to say more, but then she turns and leaves me alone with my thoughts once again.
As soon as she’s gone, I slump against the bench, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor. The brief interruption has done nothing to calm the storm raging inside me. If anything, the mention of Pyotr has only intensified my anxiety.
I draw my knees up to my chest, wrapping my arms around them as if I could physically hold myself together. But I feel like I’m falling apart, and I don’t know how to stop it.
The choices before me loom large—Dante or my family. Love or duty. And with each passing moment, the weight of that decision becomes more unbearable.
I close my eyes, wishing I could just disappear, escape from this impossible situation. But I know that’s not an option. Soon, very soon, I’ll have to face the consequences of my actions and make a choice that will change everything.
And I’ve never felt less prepared for anything in my life.
Dante’s words echo in my mind. “Coward.” The accusation stings, spurring me into action. I can’t keep running away from this. I push myself off the floor.
With newfound determination, I leave the conservatory and head back to the main house. My heart races with each step, but I force myself to keep going. I need to talk to Papa. I need to prove to Dante—and to myself—that I’m not a coward.
I’m a goddamn Marino. I can’t be a coward. It isn’t in my blood.
As I approach Papa’s office, I take a deep breath, steeling myself. I knock on the door, my hand trembling slightly.
“Come in,” Papa's voice calls out.
I enter, relief washing over me when I see Papa alone with Victorio. But then my heart lurches at the sight of Dante’s father. For a moment, I’m ready to flee again, but I hold myself steady. I can do this. I have to do this.
Victorio glances at me, his expression unreadable. “Nico, we can finish our discussion later,” he says, rising from his chair.
Papa nods, and Victorio moves toward the door. As he passes me, he gives a brief nod, his eyes meeting mine for a split second. I wonder if he can see the turmoil in my eyes, if he can somehow sense what’s really going on.
The door closes behind him with a soft snap, leaving me alone with Papa.
“Chiara,” Papa says, his voice warm. “What brings you here, Tesoro ?”
I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. This is it. No more running, no more hiding.
“Papa,” I begin, my voice shaking slightly, “I need to talk to you about something important. About… about the wedding.”
I open my mouth to speak, to finally tell him the truth. But as I look into his eyes, seeing the love and pride there, I feel my resolve wavering. The words stick in my throat, and for a moment, I’m paralyzed by fear.
But before I can continue, Papa leans forward, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
“Yes, we should. Isn’t it wonderful that the Avilovs seem willing to push up the wedding date even more than we initially discussed?”
His enthusiasm catches me off guard, and I feel my carefully prepared words slipping away. “I… Papa, I wish you had discussed this with me first,” I say, my tone more curt than intended.
Papa’s brow furrows in surprise. “Are you still opposed to marrying Pyotr? I thought you two were getting along so well. I assumed you’d put those initial reservations behind you.”
I take a deep breath, trying to gather my thoughts. “Pyotr is… he’s a perfect gentleman, and a far better match than I could have anticipated, but?—”
“Excellent!” Papa interrupts, his face lighting up. “I’m so glad to hear it, Tesoro . You see, I desperately want to get you down the aisle so we can hopefully arrange a match for Mia soon.”
His words make my stomach churn, but before I can respond, he continues, his tone turning more somber.
“I don’t want to kill the mood—pardon the morbid joke—but I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to hold up, Chiara.”
The implications of his words hit me like a physical blow. All my carefully prepared arguments seem to crumble in the face of my father’s failing health and his obvious joy at my supposed happiness.
I stand there, frozen, torn between my desire to tell him the truth and the fear of disappointing him, of potentially hastening his decline. The weight of the choice before me feels heavier than ever.
“Papa, I…” I start, but the words die in my throat. How can I tell him now? How can I shatter his hopes, his plans for our family’s future?
As I focus on Papa, really taking in his appearance, my heart constricts painfully. He looks so frail, so much weaker than I remember. His once robust frame seems to have shrunk, his skin pale and almost translucent. Dark circles shadow his eyes, and his cheeks are sunken, emphasizing the sharp angles of his face.
I watch as he grips the edge of his desk, using it to pull himself to a standing position. His movements are slow, deliberate, as if each one costs him dearly. The sight of my strong, powerful father reduced to this sends a wave of fear through me.
“Chiara,” he says softly, his voice raspy. “Bianca came to see me earlier.”
My heart stops. Fear claws at my throat, and I’m ready to bolt from my chair. Bianca squealed… she fucking squealed, I can’t believe her ? —
But then Papa continues, “She mentioned that you seem stressed about the wedding.”
Relief washes over me, quickly followed by guilt for doubting my sister.
Papa’s eyes, though tired, are filled with love as he looks at me. “It’s normal to feel nervous, Tesoro . Marriage is a big step. But remember, your mother and I had an arranged marriage too, and look how happy we’ve been.”
He reaches out, taking my hand in his. His skin feels papery and cool against mine. “It’s my dearest wish to see you married, Chiara. To know that you’re settled and taken care of.”
Tears fill my eyes, both from the love I feel for my father and the weight of the impossible choice before me. How can I disappoint him when he looks at me like this, when his health is so precarious?
“I just want you to be happy,” he continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I want to be there to walk you down the aisle. To see you start your new life.”
The implication is clear—he doesn’t think he has much time left. The thought sends a chill through me, and suddenly, all my worries about Dante and Pyotr seem insignificant in comparison to the fear of losing my father.
I stand, gently embracing him, feeling how fragile he’s become. “I understand, Papa,” I whisper, my voice choked with emotion.
I know I can’t do it. I can’t break off the engagement, not when he’s like this, not when he’s on death’s door. The words I came to say die in my throat, replaced by a lump of guilt and fear.
My steps are heavy with the weight of my unspoken truth as I leave his office. I’ve made no progress, and the stress of it all is eating me alive. My stomach feels raw, churning with constant nausea that’s been plaguing me for days. I’m constantly on the brink of throwing up, my body rebelling against the turmoil in my mind.
As I walk down the hallway, a thought occurs to me. If I’m going to break someone’s heart, I can’t be around to see the consequences. And who knows? Maybe Mia could marry Pyotr if I’m out of the way. The thought is desperate, almost hysterical, but it’s all I have left.
I make a decision then, one born of desperation and fear. I’ll make one last attempt to convince Dante to run away with me. It’s a crazy idea, one that could ruin everything, but I’m out of options.
My heart races as I formulate my plan. I’ll find Dante, beg him to take me away from all of this. We could start a new life somewhere else, far from the expectations and duties that are slowly suffocating me.
But even as I think it, doubt creeps in. Would Dante even agree? After our fight, after everything that’s happened, would he still want to run away with me? He already told me no once. Would he say it again?
And what about Papa? Could I really leave him when he’s so ill?
The questions swirl in my mind, making me dizzy with anxiety. But I push them aside. I have to try. It’s the only way I can see to escape this impossible situation.
With renewed determination, I set off to find Dante. This is my last chance, my final attempt to choose love over duty. And if it fails… well, I don’t want to think about what comes next.