Page 41 of Storm and Sea

The thought was both sad and comforting. His species would remain in the confines of fiction, and that was for the best.

Better forgotten than remembered and feared.

Marina was ready to say more, but her father cut her off.

“Horace likes to entertain us with tales of the old days and how he remembers them. Now let’s get to work.” Giovanni said by way of ending the conversation.

“Good call. I have to get to city hall,” Marina said, quick to clear her plate and race to the door. “I’ll come find you later, Atty!”

“Don’t call me tha⁠—”

She was already out the door.

“Just like her mother. Never could sit still for more than a handful of minutes,” Horace said with overflowing fondness.

“Will you tell me more about your friend later?” Nyel asked as Horace moved to return the picture to its place on the mantle.

Horace’s face lit up. “Now, here is a young man who knows a good story when he hears one,” he said, clasping Nyel by the shoulder and shaking him. “Of course, ragazzo, anytime. Remind me your name again?”

While Nyel tried to get the old man to remember his name, Giovanni and Atreus helped him down the stairs and into his wooden rocking chair. Once settled with a pipe and a blanket over his lap, Horace wished them well as they made their way to the docks.

They crested the hill, and the view of Baia Vita spread before them. The sound of a ship’s bullhorn tore through the air. A massive fishing vessel, only a speck in the distance, reminded them of its presence and power.

Atreus couldn’t hold back the snarl contorting his face and the hiss rising in his chest. He had to force both reactions away, as humans didn’t express themselves like that. But instinct had him wanting to bare his fangs and flare his fins at the intruder.

Stay out of my waters.

“To work, boys. With any luck, there will be some fish left over for us,” Giovanni said with a defeated sigh.

Atreus wished there was more he could do.

Marina took an exaggerated breath, tasting the salt in her lungs. The gulls squawked in the distance, their cries mingling with the gentle toll of bells swaying on old boats. She was home. After a long winter of stuffy corridors and grouchy professors, she was ready to stretch her arms and soak up every last drop of sunshine like a plant starved for light.

She didn’t hate Accademia di San Benedetto for its rigid rules and the enforced ‘straighten your back’ etiquette. Marina hated how far it was from home. And how, even in a bustling city, she was alone. City life had been her mother’s dream, not Marina’s. Gabriella blended effortlessly with the lively crowds and blue-blooded socialites.

Marina never did.

She never had the chance.

It was Gabriella’s dying wish for Marina to finish her education on the mainland. And even though her heart longed for the island, Marina heeded her mother’s last request. Her last words. The last sliver of acknowledgment that Gabriella had a daughter at all. Marina clung to it with all her might.

“My beautiful sunshine.”

During the winters, Marina attended school, honoring her mother’s wish. Even though living in a five-girl dormitory should have meant she was never without company, Marina was an outsider. From the moment her worn leather boots crossed the marble threshold of the dorm, her fate was sealed. She was an island girl from an unheard-of family with no social connections. She didn’t belong among the elite. Her simple clothes and shore-line accent were enough to put off any potential friends, as though her low-class status were contagious.

They didn’t know she had lived in a luxury condo in the heart of Florence, with a view of the Firenze Duomo, the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. They didn’t know she wore simple clothes by choice, while her closet was packed with the finest creations Italian designers had to offer. They didn’t know that the priceless piece of art hanging in the dean’s office had been painted in her childhood living room while she crunched on pane e Nutella and watched cartoons.

They didn’t know… anything. Because all her life, Marina wasn’t allowed to tell anyone. And by the time she could, it was too late.

On the rare occasions her roommates invited her to the city, Marina lagged behind the group, uninterested in the lavish boutiques. She’d met most of the designers featured inside and didn’t think they deserved the attention. When Marina spotted a print of one of her mother’s paintings on a touristy t-shirt, she pointed to it and spoke before thinking,

“My mom had a fever when she painted that one.”

The girl’s high heels clicked to a halt.

“Your mom?” They burst into a fit of laughter.

“Didn’t you know? Her mom painted that,” another girl said, using air quotes.