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I could plead with him to stay so we can talk things out, but I’m angry too. This whole situation is so fucked up.
He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, his shoulders rising and falling with every ragged breath. “I can’t be here right now. You want me to go. Trust me.” With that, he flings the door open, then slams it closed on his way out.
I don’t know how much time passes, but I can’t do anything except sit and stare at the mess on the floor until tears blur my vision. What are we going to do? How are we going to make this work?
And can I really put everyone I love at risk?
12
LUCA
A meat sandwich eaten at one in the morning in an otherwise silent kitchen is a far cry from the feast Emilia prepared. However, after hours spent working on the correspondence Papa has been too “tired” to handle recently, my empty stomach would no longer be ignored.
Something about sitting on my own in darkness, pierced only by the light over the stove, is profoundly depressing. I hear every creak in the old house and every breath I take. There’s nothing to mute the accusations in my head.
I fucked it all up. I let myself become so furious, wanting to hurt the woman I love so she’d understand what I was suffering. Once the rage faded, there was nothing but shame left behind. I’m supposed to be better than this. I need to be better. I don’t know how, and I doubt a night spent in my old bedroom will help me work it out.
Soft footfalls fill the air as I finish eating. My chest throbs for one breathless second before I remind myself Emilia wouldn’t come up here. Another second passes, then my mother appears, jumping with a gasp at the sight of me sitting at the island across from the stove. “Merda!” she breathes, clasping her hands over her chest. “You scared me to death!”
“I thought you were in bed, asleep. What are you doing up so late?”
“I was not aware I reached the age where I need permission to be up past midnight.” Her lips twitch with humor while she crosses the kitchen in a flowing pink robe that billows behind her like a sail. She reaches the stove and picks up the kettle, shaking it around to see if there’s any water inside. “Besides, I could ask you the same question.”
Rather than let her see me wince, I stare down at what’s left of my sandwich. “I have a lot on my mind,” I mutter.
“Shouldn’t you be with Emilia? Telling her about it so you can work it out together?” Filling the kettle, she sets it on the burner. “Or is she what’s on your mind?”
She stands opposite me and folds her arms on the island counter, smirking. “What did you do?”
“What makes you assume I did anything?” I’m sure my defensiveness isn’t going to help.
The humor fades from her eyes, the smile from her lips. “Because that’s how this goes, my boy. I love you, but at the end of the day, you are still a man. And men aren’t known for being able to keep from making asses out of themselves.”
That’s hardly the saltiest language I’ve ever heard, but from her? I have to laugh in disbelief. “Please, tell me how you really feel,” I offer, spreading my arms to the sides. “Let me have it.”
I wasn’t serious, but she takes it that way. “I will. You are a headstrong, impatient, sometimes infuriating young man.” Tipping her head to the side, she sighs. “And from what I can tell, you’ve met your match.” At least she manages to sound sympathetic.
“I need time to myself to breathe and figure things out,” I tell her.
“Like what? Whether or not you love the girl?” she gently prompts.
“I know that already.” It’s the only thing I’m sure of.
“Then what else is there?”
“She’s been lying to me. Pretending she told her family about us, about resigning, all of it. She’s ashamed of me,” I confess. Fuck, the words lodge in my throat and threaten to choke me. My mother is the only person on the planet with whom I would speak this freely, yet I can barely get through it.
Her brows knit together in a familiar expression of concern. “So she told you she spoke with them, but she didn’t?”
“Not exactly,” I admit, already seeing her point and hating it.
“You assumed?” she prompts, gentle but firm.
“It was a lie of omission,” I counter.
“Maybe she guessed how you would react? Just as she knows how her family will react? Luca,” she murmurs, mournfully shaking her head. “Above all things, we must be honest with ourselves. We aren’t a normal family. They’re civilians, average people. We are not, and because she’s associated with us, she must live here. She’ll be safe while things flare up with our enemies. They don’t have that luxury. Even if we were in peacetime now, your relationship would be a lot for those people to swallow. Have some compassion. She only wants everyone to be happy.”
Why does it sound so fucking simple when she puts it that way? Why do I want to kick myself in the ass for being a stubborn prick?
