1. Pearl
1
PEARL
Three Days Earlier
I ran the ivory-handled brush through my blonde locks, counting each stroke until I hit fifty. The soft bristles, once my mother's, now mine, whispered against my scalp.
Morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the fortieth floor, casting long shadows across my bedroom's polished floors. The city stretched out below like a toy model, everything made tiny and insignificant by the height.
I turned to the side, eyeing my reflection in the gilt-framed mirror mounted next to my mahogany four-poster bed.
My gaze dropped to my midsection. I pressed a hand against the burgundy crushed velvet of my dress, searching for any betraying curve that might provoke Vittorio's sharp tongue.
Nothing. At least the Pilates sessions were paying off.
I sighed, a barely-there lift of my lips that couldn't quite be called a smile.
Most girls my age would be out celebrating their twenty-first birthday, downing shots and dancing until dawn in downtown Providence.
And me? I was trapped in this gilded cage, primping for a man who saw me as nothing more than a pretty doll to be kept on a shelf.
"I'm here, Miss Pearl. Did you eat?" Nan's familiar voice drifted through the suite.
I gave myself one last critical once-over before stepping into the living room. Nan was already at work, her small but sturdy frame silhouetted against the wall-wide window as she opened the vertical blinds.
"Ooh, bright," she giggled as sunlight flooded the room.
I reached for the remote, adjusting the opacity of the smart glass. "Yes. I had a waffle with strawberries. And I loaded the dishwasher myself."
Nan turned, waggling a finger at me. "Oh no, miss. If you break a nail, I'll hear about it too. You know how he gets."
I did know. All too well.
I drifted to the window, gazing out at the city sprawled below. So many lives, so many stories. And here I was, stuck on pause while the world kept spinning.
"He's coming today," I murmured. "With a cake."
Nan bustled about, straightening cushions and wielding her cleaning supplies. "Good. You're too skinny." She took out a small, gift-wrapped box from her pocket. "Happy birthday, Miss Pearl. I'll leave it on the bed when I change the sheets?"
Our eyes met, a world of unspoken words passing between us.
I wanted to hug her so badly. But Vittorio's rules hung heavy in the air, an invisible barrier keeping me from embracing the woman who'd been more of a mother to me these past years than anyone.
I watched her disappear into my bedroom, then glanced at the clock. I still had time. Retreating to my computer room, I closed the door softly behind me, desperate for a connection to the outside world.
I fired off a quick text to Ella, my lifeline to normalcy. I'm old now, haha. Facetime?
Seconds later, Ella's face filled my screen, her blonde hair pulled back and dark circles rimming her eyes. "Pearl! I've been thinking about you all morning! Happy birthday!"
"Thanks," I smiled, genuinely happy to see her. "You look like you haven't slept in days."
"Ugh, don't even," she groaned, flopping back dramatically on her pillows. "Wedding planning is insane. Grant and Howie almost got into it yesterday over centerpieces."
"The Prince Charmings not being so charming?" I grinned, settling back in my chair.
"Of course they're not!" She laughed, then sat up excitedly. "But hey, at least they all agreed on doing this new song for the Music and Light Festival. You should hear it, Pearl, it's incredible?—"
"When is it?" I asked, trying to keep the longing out of my voice.
"Next month! And speaking of..." She paused, her expression softening. "Dad was just asking about you. Your Aunt Martha stopped by."
My heart skipped a beat. "How is she? I miss her."
"She misses you too. We all do." Ella hesitated. "Pearl... I know things have been weird lately. We barely talk anymore, and when we do, you seem so... I don't know. Different."
I glanced at my door, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. "It's not that," I said softly. "Everything's just been intense here. You know how it gets."
"Yeah," she said quietly. "I do know. Which is why you know you can always come stay with us, right? Dad literally put fresh sheets in the guest room yesterday."
I felt my throat tighten. "You guys are sweet. But really, tell me more about the wedding. I want to hear everything."
"Well, aside from the guys fighting over every little detail..." She grinned. "Dad's been surprisingly amazing about it all. Who would've thought he'd be so cool with everything?"
"That's incredible, El. Really." I meant it, even as my chest ached. "You deserve it."
"You deserve to be happy too, you know," she said softly. "The festival's next month, then the wedding in March. Please say you'll come?"
The sound of footsteps in the hallway made me freeze. "I should go," I whispered. "Text you later?"
I bit my lip. I couldn't bring myself to tell her that I hadn't even asked, knowing the answer would crush what little hope I had left.
Before she could press further, the sound of footsteps in the hallway made my heart stop.
"Shit, I've got to go," I whispered.
"Text me later?"
I barely managed a nod before slamming the laptop shut, my heart racing. Vittorio would be here any second, and I was far from ready. If he caught me anything less than perfect...
I was still trying to steady my breathing when his voice echoed through the suite like a thunderclap. "Where's my birthday girl?"
I shuddered slightly, a reflex I couldn't suppress. His act of being the generous family man was something I'd seen through a long time ago, ever since my mother had started dating him.
For a second, I could see her face so clearly—the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how her whole face lit up. That soft jasmine scent she always wore...
"Pearl?" Vittorio's voice calling again, insistent.
Crap. I swiped under my eyes—mascara intact, thank god.
"In here, Dad! Just a minute," I called, forcing a cheerful tone into my voice.
When I stepped out, Vittorio was near the dining area, leaning over to closely inspect the Picasso painting that hung above the fireplace. His fingers hovered near the painting like he couldn't resist touching it. A white bakery box sat on the table behind him.
"I'll have to get that restorer over here," he muttered to himself. Vittorio loved his art, I had to give him that. Then he turned to me with a big smile. "There you are. Beautiful as always."
I fought the urge to wrap my arms around myself. "Thank you," I murmured, then gestured to the painting. "This one's new?"
"Just arrived." His fingers traced the air above the canvas, possessive. "Quite the masterpiece, wouldn't you say?"
I stared at the violent slashes of color, wondering if he saw the same chaos I did. "It's striking."
"A woman should know how to appreciate beauty, Pearl." His voice carried that familiar edge of warning beneath the softness.
My skin prickled at his words, at the way he could make everything sound like both a lesson and a threat. I forced myself to stay still, to keep my voice light. "Would you like a drink, Dad? We have ginger ale."
He gave the painting one last look before turning to me. "You know what I like. Bring two. And get Nan to bring plates for the cake."
Without waiting for my answer, he pulled out a chair and sat down, checking his watch as he did.
I headed to the kitchen. Nan was already gathering plates and utensils. I was always amazed by her quiet way of knowing exactly what I needed.
When I returned, Vittorio had opened the cake box. He held it up for me to see, a pleased smile on his face. I nearly dropped the ginger ale.
The cake read, Happy Birthday to My Little Girl.
"It's your favorite," Vittorio said, oblivious to the irony. "Red velvet with cream cheese frosting. The best they had."
My throat tightened as I stared at those childish pink letters. Twenty-one.
This was supposed to be my time to become a woman, to figure out who I really was. Right now, girls my age were probably out there making their own choices, their own mistakes. Actually living.
But looking at Vittorio's pleased smile, I knew—he'd never see me that way. I'd always be his little girl he could control.
"Make a wish," he said, striking a match.
I kept my face perfectly still, the way he'd taught me, and watched the flame.
And like every birthday before, I wished for something I knew would never come true.