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Her loving blue eyes meet mine, full of hesitation. Maybe fear. Yet, for the first time I’m aware of, the most honest person I’ve ever known lies straight to my face. “He’ll be fine,” she whispers, mustering a shaky smile. “He’s overly tired, is all.”
7
EMILIA
“I am so sick of all this war stuff already!” Guilia throws her arms out to her sides, staring up at the clear, blue sky in the middle of our walk around the property, staying close to the wall, always within the eyesight of a guard.
Is this what it feels like to be a celebrity, constantly swarmed by fans and paparazzi? The thought makes my skin crawl.
I look toward the closest guard once Guilia finishes shouting, but he doesn’t seem to care. She can scream in frustration, but if she starts screaming in pain or fear, it’s clear he will step in.
“What is it usually like around here?” I ask since I’ve wanted to know about that for weeks. Hell, even longer than that, back to when I first became involved in investigating the Santoro crime family. The question wasn’t specific to their family, of course. Just how do you live in the world when your family has shed so much blood? How do you exist alongside other people?
“There are always guards,” she quickly explains. “You get used to that. I mean, I don’t think I can remember a time when I didn’t have guys watching me.”
“Even at school?” I figured Rocco was protective, but that sounds like overkill. He would know whether she was in danger, though.
“They took me to and from most days,” she explains. “And they always waited outside the school. I think they worked in shifts. Somebody always had an eye on the building.” I can’t tell from her matter-of-fact description how she felt about it. I guess if that’s all you know, the way you grew up, you can’t really appreciate how different you are. Then again, she must’ve known. Even if she attended an expensive private school, those kids couldn’t have grown up as she did. Kids must have given her funny looks over the guards. Growing up like that can’t be easy, yet she seems remarkably well-adjusted.
She kicks a rock and sighs. “But at least I could go places and do things.”
“So security isn’t always this tight?” I ask.
Her dark curls bounce when she shakes her head. “God, no. I would go crazy if it was. I’m going crazy as it is right now.”
“It won’t be forever.” I hope. It’s the sort of thing you say when you’re completely unsure of yourself.
“You’re right,” she agrees. “It just feels that way.”
I can’t help but laugh, though it’s gentle. Guilia grins when I sling an arm around her shoulders and hug her. “I know I’ve said it before, but I’m so glad you’re here. It was so lame, being the only girl,” she confesses as we continue wearing a path in the lawn.
“It does sound kind of lame,” I agree.
“You said you were the only kid in your family, right?” I nod, and her face takes on a wistful expression. “Sometimes I’ve wished I was the only child. I love my brothers, but they are a little much. That’s how they’re supposed to be.” She narrows her eyes in an impression of her father’s customary scowl. “Boys are supposed to be loud and assertive,” she grunts out in a voice not unlike his.
“Not so for girls?” I ask, though I know the answer.
“Between you and me, I think he likes it when I give him a little bit of shit. I keep him on his toes.” When I think back on how fondly he always looks at her, I can imagine she’s right. She’s certainly his princess.
“Is that how it is with your dad?” she asks, wincing. “Sorry. I shouldn’t assume your dad is around or whatever. Or maybe it’s a sore subject.”
“It’s not a sore subject,” I insist. “My dad and I have a good relationship. He was always working when I was little, though, so I’m closer to my mom.” Closer, but not exactly close. Guilia doesn’t need to hear the entire story. I’m sure I’d bore her with it, anyway.
“What does he do?” she asks.
I wince, unable to stop it. “He’s a lawyer.”
Her full lips twitch. “Is he the kind of lawyer my family would use?” Something in my expression makes her laugh, interrupting my attempt to come up with a diplomatic response. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. I’m only teasing,” she adds with a tiny giggle.
“He’s not your family’s kind of lawyer,” I settle for saying.
“What did he think about you resigning?”
What an interesting question. I don’t know what to say since she’s asking me about something that hasn’t happened yet. “I?—”
“Guilia!” At the sound of Isabella’s voice, we both turn. She’s standing on the back terrace, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her shivering body. “Lunch!”
“Eighteen years old, and I still have to eat on a schedule,” Guilia mutters while I smile and wave at her mom. She shoots me a hopeful look. “Will you come with me? You know Mama would love it if you had lunch with us.”
