“Anytime, Ari.”
I step out of the car and walk up the path, the evening’s air cool against my skin. The last of the sunlight casts a warm spill across the entryway as I press my hand to the keypad. Cyan had my biometrics added yesterday. The lock clicks open. When I push the door open, the house greets me with its familiar hush. An unsettling sense of comfort washes over me, settling low in my chest.Home.When did my feelings about this house change?
The ocean hums through the open window, its rhythm steady and soothing. This place shouldn’t feel safe. I was forced here. None of this is mine, and yet...I’m sinking into his space day by day. My phone buzzes in my bag, yanking me out of my thoughts. Tasha’s name glows on the screen. More guilt surges up.
Tasha:Hey, Aria! Just checking in. It’s not like you not to call me back. What’s up you good? I’ll be back soon this case got more complicated. I’ll have it sorted soon. How’s everything going with you… and Nonna? I miss you. Call me back!
Guilt hits hard and fast. My thumbs hover, suspended above the phone screen I unsure of what to say. I’ve been avoiding her calls.
Me:Hey, Tasha! I miss you too! Things are… good. Really busy with work. Call you later.
The message is bright and fake I see a new text bubble Tasha’s typing–the bubble vanishes seconds later, leaving the screen blank guess she changes her mind. I toss the phone onto the couch and let out a deep breath. I dislike avoiding Tasha, but I know her she’ll be able to sense I’m off with one phone call. Every day I feel like I’m sinking deeper into Cyan’s world and not caring to claw my way back out. The house is unusually quiet. No Rosa humming in the kitchen. No pots clinking, no warm delicious smells drifting through the rooms. It’s weird that she’s not here. Her absence prickles at the back of my neck.I’m alone.For the first time since the alley. Since Cyan dragged me into his life.
A strange flutter of freedom rises in my chest. I can explore. I’ve never really gone beyond the spaces I use–the bedroom, living room, dining room, kitchen. But the mansion stretches so much farther. So much more of him is here. Before I can talk myself out of it, I head up the stairs. The hallway splits, left toward the master suite, right toward the unknown side of the house. I go right. The first door opens into a guest room, immaculately neat and seem to be unused. The next one is identical. But the third makes me pause. Rosa’s belongings are on the nightstand. Her reading glasses and an open book sit there. I step back. Violating her space feels wrong. I move on, opening the next closed door, and the shift is immediate. Cyan’s scent hits first; bold, masculine cologne with a faint whiskey cedarwood undertone. It wraps around me.
I take an excited step inside and head into the bathroom first, seeing his electric beard trimmer sitting on the bathroom counter, charging. This is where he escapes every morning. I picture him standing here bare-chested
The cracked closet door draws my attention, and I wander in. There isn’t much; a few suits, ties, tees, slacks, and shoes. My fingers brush the charcoal pinstripe suit hanging at the front. My pulse kicks at the image of him. His broad shoulders, open collar, and the hint of throat exposed. Back in the bedroom, I see a single picture frame on the nightstand; I lift it up for a closer look.
Cyan’s teen eyes stare back at me, not the hard, calculating pair I’ve come to know. He looks somehow softer, a boyish smile on his face. With his mother’s arm around him, her features delicate. His father’s stare mirrored Cyan’s. A girl with bright red hair, her mother’s eyes, her grin wide and free.I wonder what her name is. It must be his sister.A lump forms in my throat. What would he have been like if they had not died? If his world hadn’t shattered?
My gaze shifts to the side, Collin, embraced in the family fold, but somehow, he still looks apart from the family. No smile. Guess he’s always been this detached and distant. The portrait punches something deep in my chest. My own memories stir. Dad’s gentle smile before everything collapsed. Mom’s laughter before she disappeared. Our home before I destroyed it. Grief grips me, like always, and my vision blurs. I squeeze my eyes; shut the edges of the room fade as my past claws its way up, relentless.
I’m there again. Back in the moment everything changed…when I lost all.
Thirty-Seven
“Some truths drown you long after you’ve learned how to swim.”—Aria Boschett.
If I had known it was the last time I’d see her, maybe I would’ve grabbed her hand. Maybe I would’ve begged Mom not to leave. But I didn’t. I just stood there in my socks on Nonna’s worn hallway rug, with Mom. Her perfume was floral, familiar, clinging to the air like a promise she couldn’t keep. “Remember, honey, this is only for a little while. You’ll see. Everything will go back to how it was.”
I wanted to yell that things could never go back to how they were Daddy was dead. If I hadn’t begged him to go out, if I hadn’t insisted; he’d still be here and we’d still be a family —I’m a curse.But I didn’t. Mom didn’t deserve that, so I smiled. “I’ll be okay, Mom.”
She pulled me into a tight hug, kissing my cheek. She smiled. I could see she was tired, although Mom tried to hide it.
The next morning, the cops found her empty car, driver’s door open, keys gone, her seatbelt still buckled. The police searched, but it led nowhere. Even at thirteen, I already knew the truth. First Dad. Then Mom. Now Nonna slipping away piece by piece. Everything I love disappears because I am cursed.
***
Cyan’s family photo burns in my hands, too close to memories I’ve spent years burying. I set it down as if it’s scalding hot and step back, retreating as if ghosts might follow me into the hallway. No. Not tonight. If I let myself sink into the past, I’ll drown in it. Hurrying through the still house to my bedroom. The curtains billow from an open window, letting in a soft ocean breeze that brushes over my skin like a whisper.
The pool glimmers below—dark, rippling, quiet. For one dangerous moment, it feels like it’s calling to me. The weight of my memories presses harder: my mother, my father, and Nonna. All the ways I failed them. Cyan, Tasha, the secrets I keep. Guilt grinds into my ribs like an iron vice. Turning on my heel, I cross the room toward the closet, fingers brushing over a selection of bathing suits. Black? Sleek and practical, something that hides me away. Red? Bold, defiant, like a challenge to the girl I used to be. The words Rosa told me resurface in my mind. Don’t let your past self-decide for your present self. So, I choose red.
Slipping outside, I take in the pool house, the luxurious cabana space, the indoor pool for colder months, and the entertainment area built for guests. Maybe the next dinner should be here. A more relaxed setting, where tensions wouldn’t boil over like they did the last time. I’ll suggest it to Rosa when I see her.
The red swimsuit clings to me like a dare as I step closer to the pool’s edge. Moonlight shimmers across the water. The estate is quiet–the cabana lights low, the ocean a steady hum over the hedges next to the cliffside. My toes skim the edge of the pool before dipping into the water. Exactly what I need, I dive into the deep end. Underwater, everything stops. No more memories, no guilt, no Cyan. Just mental silence. I stay there until my lungs are bursting, I push off the pool bottom. When I break the surface, breathless, the peace shatters.
“Hey there, Aria.” I turn, blinking the water from my lashes as I take in Lucilla...
She’s seated on the lounger as if she hadn’t shattered into pieces at the dinner table about a week ago. Legs crossed, black jeans sharp against her pale coat. Her hair is smooth. Her lipstick is perfect. Not even a strand of hair out of place. Her smile is soft, but her eyes are not. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was a carved ice statue.
“Hey, Lucilla.” I tread water cautiously. The water laps against my shoulders as I angle toward her.
She uncrosses and crosses one leg over the other. “How are you? Mind if we chat?”
“Sure,” I swim closer to the edge of the pool where she sits. A flicker of wariness snakes through me. She looks different this evening. I can’t put my finger on it—maybe because she’s sober. “What’s on your mind?”
Lucilla exhales, clasping her hands in her lap. “I wanted to apologize. For dinner. I shouldn’t have embarrassed Thomas.”
