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“I go where you go,” he says dutifully.
“No, Marco, that’s not fair,” I exclaim.
He seems slightly taken aback by my outburst. And maybe it’s because I’ve always been quiet. That’s what I thought everyone wanted from me—to speak when spoken to, to be the perfect daughter and representation of the Ricci household, and to make my father and mother proud.
“Miss Ricci,” he says. And I hate when he speaks to me so formally. He makes it sound, yet again, like a job, even though he has been as much of a father to me as my own because Marco has always been there.Always. And now, I want to breathe a little like Rya. I suppose it isn’t a good point to make when two guards stand outside the kitchen door, but still.
“Honey,” he starts again. “You know I can’t leave your side. This is my duty. And the pressure lies as heavily on me as it does you to uphold the Ricci name. I swore from when you two were born that I would protect you with my life.”
“But you have your own children, Marco. A wife,” I say, almost pleading. I always worried that his wife, even his children, might hate me for taking so much of his time.
“And that was my decision to have both.”
“And what about whatIwant?” I argue. “I came to New York to try and figure out whoIam and whatIwant to do with my life. And it just feels like everything I do is still tracked. That I can’t do anything right and I’m always being judged.
“I want to go on dates with boys. I want to go to a job where I’m not being collected like I’m still in school. I am smothered. And not by you. I know it’s my father’s hand by extension. But I wanted an evening to myself, and I hate that I hurt you and went to such measures to put something in your drink so I could do that. I never wanted to hurt you.”
Rya is watching us. She probably assumes that I spent the night with Dawson. And that little white lie was so much better than the reality, even with her reservations concerning Dawson.
Marco exhales. “That act could’ve cost you your life, Miss Ricci.”
I exhale in frustration. “No, Marco, I had a very lovely evening. I want to have what Rya has.” I point to her. “I want to live my own life. No one here knows who I am.”
“There will always be people who know who you are,” he says.
I growl out a frustrated noise and stand up. “Yell at me or something, Marco. Be pissed off that I spiked your drink. But stop treating me like a child!”
I can see the muscle bounce in his jaw, and I throw my handsin the air.
“If your father found out about last night, I don’t think you realize the consequences it would have onme,” he says, banging his hand on his chest.
I open my mouth but shut it.
I do know.
I’ve seen Marco punished for the few escapades I had in my teens.
Goddammit! I feel defeated.
“I never meant to put you in that situation. And I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m suffocating,” I say, pressing my hand to my head.
I’ve called my father multiple times since being in New York, and no matter how many times I “kick and scream” as he puts it, it was the agreed-upon condition. But guilt is a very real thing. Despite what happened last night, I want to be free.
Rya taps her long nails against her mug thoughtfully. “Perhaps I can speak with Father.”
We both look at her.
“I’ve tried so many times,” I say to her. “You know what he’s like.”
“Oh, I know what Father can be like. He had someone pretend to be my best friend for years just so he could keep tabs on me.”
“But at least he let you come here without security.” Tears prick my eyes because it’s Rya. Strong, independent Rya. And I have always been the backup. Had to be made extra safe to secure the line and ensure contracts were atplay. And now it’s a habit. Something I don’t know how to break free.
Rya seems remorseful, and Marco averts his gaze and sips his coffee. Not without sniffing it first.
I let out a small laugh. “Marco, I won’t do it again.”
“I never thought you’d do it in the first place,” he grumbles before taking another sip.
