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I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. Between the darkness and my allergies, I was seriously regretting this trip. But at least I was leaving the estate. Until now, I had felt like a prisoner.
The Salvatores didn’t share their secrets with anyone. Marcello was trusting me. I just had to play the game and make him think I’d accepted my fate.
The passage dumped us out at the far end of the beach, closer to Wellington Manor. I could see my grandfather’s estate looming above us. Founders Way only had five houses on the entire block. Of course, the Salvatore estate was at the dead center and reminded me of a medieval castle, complete with towers and parapets with armed guards.
Wellington Manor was to my left. An old mansion that looked like a Southern plantation. Then there was the Cormac Compound on my right. A stone monstrosity that looked like something fromCoastal Living.
Made mostly of glass, the Battle Fortress looked like Tony Stark’s Razor Point mansion in the Iron Man movies. At the far end of the street, at the edge of the cliff, stood Fort Marshall. Everyone called it that because the Marshalls were an old money military family.
“Tell me something, Marcello. I’ve known you for years, and yet, I know more about your mother than all of you combined.”
He sipped from a water bottle, eyes on the water. “My mom wasn’t like us.”
“Obviously.” I chuckled. “She seemed so full of life, carefree.”
“She wasn’t like that all the time,” he said in a hushed tone, his expression darkening as he spoke. “Some months, she would fall into such a deep depression we couldn’t get her out of bed. My father would beg her to get up. He’d try almost anything to get her back to normal… but even he couldn’t help her. We learned how to ride out the waves of her moods.”
“Did she need to be hospitalized?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Your grandfather was a huge help. He treated her in private and prescribed all of her medications under an alias, so no one could link them back to her.”
“Why was her illness a secret? Plenty of artists struggle with mental health issues.”
“She wanted to maintain her legacy without people thinking she was like van Gogh.”
I laughed. “She wouldn’t have cut off her ear.”
“Some days, I didn’t know if she was coming or going. She was unpredictable.” He glanced down at me, his expression unreadable. “Kinda like you.”
“I didn’t know,” I whispered. “No one ever told me any of this.”
“We wanted you to believe my mother was perfect. You admire her so much. Knowing the truth would have ruined the image of your idol.” Marcello’s gaze lowered to my lips. “My dad says any woman worth chasing is a little crazy. I think he’s right.”
“People with mental illnesses don’t like being called crazy.”
“How about passionate?” He smirked. “Everyone has a weakness. My mother didn’t want the world to know about hers.”
“What’s yours?”
Marcello stared at the water. “Feeling out of control.”
“Like Luca.”
“That’s not Luca’s weakness. He thrives in chaos. Luca gains control from feeling out of control.”
“Then what would you say is his weakness?”
“You.”
Laughter spilled out of me. “If you say so, Marcello.”
We walked for another hour in near silence, only exchanging a few words occasionally. Neither of us needed to fill the void, which was nice. I enjoyed being with Marcello, allowing the energy between us to charge my mood.
When we reached his special spot, Marcello clutched my shoulder and turned me so we were facing his estate. The sky was a faint blue, still a little dark in some places.
“Beautiful,” I whispered.
He cupped my shoulders with his strong hands and rested his chin on the top of my head. “I thought you might like this.”
