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“There’s something you should know about Alessandro, Winter.”
“Will I like it?” I’m concerned about that, and he shrugs. “That depends on how you feel about him.”
“He’s my friend.”
Jasmine rubs my arm and whispers, “Is that what you feel in your heart?”
We carry on walking toward the huge sparkling lake, and I consider my feelings toward the brooding beast who lay beside me so tenderly last night.
“I don’t know.” I falter and wonder if I should say anything and, thinking better of it, I sigh instead.
“I should return home with you. Wherever that may be.”
Angelo looks worried and a silent signal passes between them, causing me to say irritably, “Stop with the looks. What don’t I know other than every fucking minute of my life until this point? Help me for God’s sake, because I need you to fill in the gaps for me.”
Jasmine whispers, “Tell her, Angelo, it’s only fair.”
Now I’m scared and he rolls his eyes and says irritably, “Ok, but things may have changed.”
“What things?”
I am so confused and hating every minute of this, and Angelo takes my hand and pulls me down beside him on the grass, placing his arm around my shoulders and for some reason something stirs in my mind.
For a second he says nothing, and I give into the sensation we have done this before. Several times before and a faint memory of an orchard comes back to me of the perfect scene that is shattered by a piercing scream. I don’t hear him speak because I am a child again. He is beside me and I am cold. So very cold, despite the warm sunshine stroking our souls with light fingers.
“Angelo.” I whisper, and he stares at me with concern. “What?”
“I remember.”
He turns to face me with an urgent stare and says quickly, “What do you remember?”
“We’ve done this before. It was always our thing.”
“Yes, that’s true. What else?”
“I feel so desperate. Somebody is screaming. It’s death, isn’t it?”
Jasmine stares in shock as Angelo snarls. “It was the day our father murdered our mother.”
I nod, tears running down my face as I cast my mind back on the small child who learned the horror of what happens when a mafia wife reaches her use by date.
Jasmine whispers, “I’m so sorry, Winter.”
I gaze up and smile as if it’s of no consequence.
“I’m fine. Trust that the first memory to return is a bad one. Are there any good ones to follow, or should I stop trying now?”
I try to make light of the situation but I’m shaking inside, and Angelo says with a sigh. “There is one important memory I believe you need help with.”
“Go on.”
He resumes the position and this time I snuggle against him, loving how familiar this is. I have a memory and the sweetest part of all is that it’s reminded me how much I love my twin.
“When Alessandro left Rockwell Academy, he didn’t return here.”
“Where did he go?”
“Hollywood. His grandfather agreed to help him on the condition that when he died, Alessandro would return to Sicily and take his place.”
