CHAPTER ONE
Eight Years Later
“Y ou’ve done a good job, Adelina, but I expect your dorm to be empty tomorrow. We won’t have time after the ceremony.” Mrs. Belfiore’s voice had an accent I could never place, but her delivery was often accentuated with authority. Everything in her world was in a place and on a schedule, including me. She paused, shifting her eyes in my direction, and I delivered what was expected, an exuberant smile and a voice fused with gratitude and humility. “I will. Thank you, Mrs. Belfiore.” I’d known my grandmother for eight years now, but I’d never called her anything but Mrs. Belfiore. She’s never been a grandma to me.
My dorm room was spotless as was I, dressed in the dark blue crepe knit polo dress with low heeled pumps she sent ahead for me to wear during her visit. Her demands for perfection had become my own. It was my job to demonstrate the Belfiore family principles—respect, honor, and obedience—they instilled in me over the past eight years. And every visit, though rare, gave me the chance to do so, and were often timed with the semester bill. I did my part: I got top grades, rose to president of the alumni society as Mrs. Belfiore had done. Most of all, I reaffirmed my commitment to honor my agreement to put our family first.
Most of the students at Mount Crest College thought me a mystery. After all, I had first arrived with little hair and softening bruises at the sister boarding academy years ago. Everything revolved around social status, and no one could place me. I had been offered and readily taken the Belfiore name, which came with a history of wealthy and powerful policy makers that shaped our country. They were senators, attorney generals, and ambassadors. There was even a Belfiore building on campus. However, we’d become the poor rich—money in mostly name. We were still millionaires, but not wealthy, thanks to my parents. However, that would change soon. Graduation day was tomorrow, and my arranged marriage would come next.
I didn’t want my new husband to be young or handsome. Mama had been too entranced with my father’s looks, and he used her adoration to control her. Instead, I hoped for a sensible and responsible man, who would fulfill my debt to my grandparents. We’d have children and restore my family’s wealth and status, and all my sacrifices would be rewarded. Then, my life would become my own, and I’d devote it to my beloved art.
In my dreams, I’d be an illustrator, bringing life to the imagination. Drawing a better life had been my only escape from the one I had when I was younger. When my life fell apart, I’d draw a different one that was much better. Now, art was where I lived my dreams, my passions, my love. Inside the paintings, I was good enough.
I came out of my musings to find Mrs. Belfiore’s eyes on me. She stared quietly and hard. I’d changed so much in eight years from the thin, little homeless girl. I had become a mirror of image of her. Tall like her at five-eight height and with a natural arch above my blue eyes that had thick lashes. My cheekbones were no longer gaunt, but fuller. It had been the one thing that kept her attention and saved me. She even commented that she feared I’d look like a Colby but was “pleasantly surprised the Belfiore genes had won out”. Her and my grandfather’s prejudices against Judge Colby, my father, still remained. He was often referred to as an abusive gambling addict, and his actions were a reminder of my connection to his disgrace.
“The president told me you raised twenty-three thousand dollars this semester for the college,” Mrs. Belfiore said to me. “Now that’s something to be proud of. You have our knack for raising money.”
I beamed with pride. “Thank you.”
Alumni fundraising had taken over all my free time, but any acknowledgment as being a Belfiore made my heart fuller. Mrs. Belfiore herself raised millions for the college over the years.
Mama entered the room, came over, and squeezed my shoulders.
“My beautiful daughter’s graduating Summa Cum Laude, Phi Beta Kappa.” She had told just about everyone we passed. I achieved a grade point average above 3.8 and the highest honors and membership into the most prestigious honors society for Liberal Arts. Yet, even eight years later, my senses went to care mode, scanning her. No bruises, maintaining weight. A beautiful rinse of red curls fell down to her shoulders. Her suit was well-tailored with hose and heels. The diamond ring on her finger from her second marriage had been enormous, but of course, Mrs. Belfiore corrected it into a “tasteful band.”
My attention followed Mrs. Belfiore as she stepped in front of a box on the bed and glared. I sighed. Jacob’s artwork and mine were rolled and banded, but not in the travel tubes. Mentioning Jacob always sent Mama into despair since her new husband refused to allow Jacob to live with them. However, nothing would make me leave his artwork behind, even if bringing attention to it would upset her.
I pressed a tag to the lid. Mrs. Belfiore and I locked gazes, with her finally breaking our standoff by giving her assistant, Patricia, the tubes. She quickly took them out of the room to their Mercedes SUV.
“Reginald’s disappointed he couldn’t come,” Mrs. Belfiore said, recovering. “Can you believe Lana’s high school graduation is on the same day?”
Lana was the daughter of my grandfather’s brother, Lawrence. They were the Belfiores of the Upper West Side of Manhattan, whom I had met a scarce number of times. Unlike me, my cousin Lana Belfiore traveled more than she attended high school. And if the rumors were true, Uncle Lawrence had to donate to the school to “support” Lana graduating with her class.
“He’s very proud of you,” Mama added. “He even had the press announce your graduation.”
My smile remained, but pain ached my chest. “Please let him know how thankful I am. It’s fine he can’t attend tomorrow. I understand.”
Announcements were something the college offered, and not out of the ordinary. But I didn’t care about any of them, only for my grandfather to be proud of me. Maybe one day.
He kept his word though. The private facility he placed my brother Jacob in was more of a luxurious nursing home. He had a new wheelchair and clean, pressed clothes. He was good at sign language and did FaceTime with me twice a month.
Patricia and the movers finally took out the last box. I excused myself and hurried to the bathroom and vomited. Just nerves. I’ll be okay. After brushing my teeth and combing my hair, I went back to the room. Mrs. Belfiore and Mama were at the door, ready to leave.
“We have the graduates’ dinner soon,” Mrs. Belfiore announced.
The graduates’ dinner was a tradition of the college, held at a private mansion with mostly trustees and beneficiaries. Mrs. Belfiore was a senior member and would be honored.
“Make sure you have no creases on your dress and powder on your face to not shine in the pictures.”
“I will, thank you, Mrs. Belfiore.” I shook her hand.
Mama hugged me and whispered in my ear, “It’s so good to see you.”
My heart ached. Every year I hoped it would be the one where we would have a chance to spend time together and grow close again. But every year my mother moved farther away. I had been so young— impressionable —when I was cut off from her and placed in a cold, strange boarding school. In the beginning, I had begged my grandparents to let me speak to her so often that they stopped taking my calls. It had been almost a year before they allowed us to talk again. We had both changed by then.
Mama had married Attorney General Glenn Talbot and moved to Greenwich, Connecticut. All my visits there were short, and she was always absorbed in supporting his work.
So, I lived my life simply. Always alone. Always resilient. Because what other choice was there?