by Lisa Cardiff
“Wait.” I grabbed his silver belt buckle, my hands trembling. “I want to do something for you too. I could touch you or something else.”
“Not tonight.” He scrambled to his feet, putting a solid five feet between us. “This was about you. I don’t want…” He ran his hand through his already messy hair. “Let’s stop while we’re ahead.”
I licked my lips, watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “Why not? I know I’m inexperienced, but isn’t that what normally happens?”
“Because…” He grabbed his suit jacket and stuffed his arms in the sleeves. “We can’t let things go too far, and if you keep looking at me like that, I’ll forget all the reasons why touching you is a terrible idea. Marcello and your dad…” He swallowed. “This won’t end well.”
A knock thudded against the door again. Defeat swarmed inside of me. He was right. Until the moment I figured out my life and severed my connection to my father, my future didn’t belong to me.
“Then why do anything at all? After my birthday, you turned into a giant asshole, then all of a sudden you like me. I don’t get it? Why the change of heart?”
He sighed heavily and scrubbed his hand down his face. “When I’m around you, I don’t care about the consequences, but we need to be smart about this. Both of us have a lot to lose if this blows up in our faces.”
“I don’t want to stop this. Whatever it is.”
His hands swallowed the sides of my face, and he kissed me again. I didn’t want him to stop. Ever. I couldn’t find the words to explain how it felt to be wanted like this after years of being ignored by my family and hidden away from my peers.
“Neither do I, but we can’t take this too far. Not yet anyway.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I sat at the kitchen table, the envelope Lorenzo gave me wedged between my knees. Nearly an entire week had passed, and I hadn’t mustered the courage to discuss the contents with my dad. Mrs. Vitali brought it up at every lesson last week, and I was afraid I was going to be the cause of her early demise if I didn’t give her any answer one way or another this afternoon.
All of our conversations to date went the same way. She’d ask if I made a decision. I’d say no and refuse to elaborate. She’d mutter a few words punctuated by a sigh, and I wouldn’t lie. Her sighs grated on me. She was one of those uniquely annoying people who wielded sighs rather than words as a weapon. I had to get this over with today for my sanity and hers.
Fingering the already worn corner of the packet, I focused on my dad. His eyes glued to his iPad, he chewed bite after bite of cereal.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The sound rattled around in my ears, chiding me to grow some balls and get this over with.
What was the worst that could happen? He could say no. That’s all, and then I’d be right back where I started, searching for a way out of the arranged marriage looming over me like the specter of death, only this time I had Sal on my side, and he had promised to help me.
“Dad?” My voice sounded rusty.
He rested his spoon against the side of the bowl, lasering me with his dark eyes, one brow arched in a sharp “v”, which was fitting since he often played the villain in my life. “Yes?”
I hadn’t so much as uttered more than a single word since he failed to show up at my performance. Tired of balancing on the knife’s edge, I swallowed back my fears. I needed to know whether I had a shot at going to San Luigi. A “no” would hurt, but the beating around the bush and living in a dreamlike reality of what-ifs threatened my mental well-being. I needed to rip off the proverbial bandage and face reality.
“A man, Lorenzo Corriere, approached me after my concert.” I gathered the envelope and slid it to the middle of the table. “He offered me a position at San Luigi. It’s a music conservatory south of Rome. I guess Mom went there. Anyway, the scholarship pays for everything, tuition, room and board, and a small living stipend. It wouldn’t cost you anything. I’d love to do this and, you know, follow in Mom’s footsteps. I think she would’ve wanted this for me.”
The last part, the part about my mom, was a less than subtle dig at his conscience. If I could persuade my dad this was a good idea, I’d happily throw a little guilt, shame, and blame into the mix to see what would stick. It was the most powerful currency in our world other than money and power.
Without meeting my eyes, he slid out the papers, thumbing through them one after another, though not with enough attention that I actually believed any of the words penetrated his thick skull. No words were exchanged, and I already had my answer. My father would fight this with every dirty trick in his arsenal. He had plans for me, and they didn’t include furthering my music career. They stopped and started with marrying some faceless man, popping out a gaggle of kids, and living out the rest of my life in servitude to a man who undoubtedly wanted me as much as I wanted him, which was not at all.
He reached the last page, gathered all the sheets of paper on top of the glossy pamphlet, and straightened them against the top of the table.
Tap. Scrape. Thump.
I flinched with each contact like I was awaiting my execution.
“This is a great opportunity, Emilia. It’s more than your mother or I could’ve imagined when you started banging on those keys in your mom’s lap.”
A grin split my face, full and wild. I couldn’t contain myself, and did a micro hop thing in my chair a few times like I was eight and not eighteen. “I know. Can you believe it? I’ve been freaking out for days. I can’t believe it’s real. I’ve read those papers so many times, I’m pretty sure I know them by heart.”
He drummed his fingers on top of the stack. “I noticed. They look like you’ve had them for months instead of weeks.”
“I was so scared to bring it up with you, so I took my time reading the material and researching the conservatory online. It’s so beautiful there, Dad. The buildings are a yellowish stucco with stone and arches everywhere. They’re lined with palm trees, and they have a crazy—”
“Emilia.” He held up his hand like a big fat red stop sign, and all of my excitement evaporated into bitter ash. “As much as I’d love for you to go here, it can’t happen.”
My teeth dug into the inside of my cheek with enough force to tinge with my mouth with the metallic taste of blood. “Why not?”
“I was waiting until everything was finalized to tell you this, but I might as well tell you now. I’ve arranged for you to marry Marcello Masciantonio. He’s coming here at Christmas to spend some time with you. He lives in Chicago, which might be a good change of pace for you. You’ve been in a funk since your mom died, and this move and marriage will give you the chance to reinvent yourself, make new friends and a new life. You can continue your piano lessons if that’s what makes you happy or you can start a family. Marcello’s talked about that and…”
His words bled together, no longer penetrating my brain. I balled my hands into tight fists, my fingernails tunneling into my palms and more than likely making deep crescents in my flesh. Obviously, his declaration didn’t qualify as news. I’d known this had been in the works since the run-in with the man I assumed was Marcello before my mom died, and based on a few recent conversations I overheard, I suspected he intended the marriage to take place in the not too distant future. Consequently, I had upped my efforts to uncover dirt on my dad so I could blackmail him into unwinding the agreement.
Still, his admission, coupled with his refusal to let me attend a renowned music conservatory in Italy, felt like a deathblow. His hate for me had to be enormous. That was the only explanation for his cruelty. What kind of man wanted his daughter to marry a stranger instead of following their dreams?
Sadly, I didn’t even realize playing the piano professionally was my dream and not my dad’s until Lorenzo approached me. I’d always waffled between loving it and feeling like it was an albatross around my neck. Now that I had the chance to become a concert pianist, I wanted it so bad I could almost taste it.
Silence wrapped around me, thick and stifling, strangling the life out of me one molecule of air at a time. Apparently my dad had ceased explaining himself at some point, and I had failed to react outwardly to his declaration.
“Are you listening to me?” he prompted, in all likelihood noticing my uncomprehending look.
I licked my lips, searching for a suitable evasion. Nothing came to mind, so I settled for the truth. “Yeah, and I don’t care what you have to say. I won’t be shipped off to another state to marry some random guy because it’s good for you or because it gives you more power. I won’t be your pawn. Not now. Not ever.”
He pinched the bridge of his nose. “This isn’t about me. I wish…dammit, Emilia. This is the way it has to be. Trust me. I’m doing everything in my power to protect you, and I will never stop.”
“Protect me from what? People who want to hurt you? Great, then let me go to Italy and start a new life where nobody knows anything about me except that I can play the piano with some level of competence. It’s the perfect solution. Think about it.”
He pushed his chair away from the table, the legs screeching across the floor, frustration etched into every line and angle of his face. “You won’t be safe in Italy, and you aren’t safe here. Not anymore. I wish there were another option, but I won’t lose you too. I can’t.”
With that parting shot, he exited the room, not bothering to glance back at me.
“You’ve already lost me,” I mumbled, my eyes stinging with the urge to cry.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I stared at the text message from my father summoning me to his study with more than a little disbelief. We hadn’t exchanged so much as a word at dinner or anytime in between since he shut down the offer from San Luigi.
Twenty minutes later, I knocked on the thick wood and glass door, hoping he’d changed his mind about wanting to talk to me or he found something more important to do since he sent the text.
“Come in,” he said, his voice firm.
I crossed the room and took a seat in the leather chair in front his desk. “Hi, Dad,” I said, immediately regretting the weakness of my voice. I stuffed my hands in my pockets to hide the trembling.
He removed his reading glasses from his face and tossed them on top of his desk. “How are things going with Sal?”
My eyes widened, and flames licked at my face. I definitely had to work on my acting skills. “Good. Is something wrong?”
“No. No.” He opened a desk drawer, pulled out a square black and white chevron wrapped package, holding it out like a peace offering. “This is for you.”
I eyed the package, then him, before taking it from his hand. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“It’s not from me. It’s from Marcello Masciantonio. I told him I informed you of the marriage, and I guess he felt compelled to send you something.”
I dropped it on the desk so fast you’d think someone handed me a package of burning dog crap. “I don’t want it. Send it back.”
“I can’t. Not without offending him and his whole family.”
“I don’t care about offending them. They don’t mean anything to me.”
He sighed. “I wish it were that simple, Emilia. Just open the damn present and stuff it in a drawer or donate it to charity. I don’t care. You need to learn to pick your battles because not all of them are worth fighting for. Concentrate on the big stuff or you’ll run out of energy when it counts.”
“Fine. Maybe I’ll give it Lettie.”
I ripped into the black and white paper and opened the lid on a white box, discarding them on my dad’s desk. Inside was a delicate gold cuff bracelet woven with white and black diamonds. My hand hovered over it, desperately wanting to put it on my wrist, but not wanting to show how much I loved it. It was like Marcello, a complete stranger, had climbed into my subconscious and picked out the perfect gift.
Instead of falling prey to its siren call, I reached for the folded piece of paper beneath the bracelet, making sure not to touch it overly long.
Emilia,
This bracelet reminds me of the endless dance between light and darkness, good and evil. One cannot last without the other. They are in everything, including this arrangement. It’s all about balance.
Marcello
Rattled, I reread the words five or six times before stuffing the note into my pocket and closing the lid on the bracelet. I needed to be alone to process what he meant, if anything at all.
“What’d he say?”
I met my dad’s stare. “Nonsense.”
“So is Lettie getting a new bracelet? Unless I’m mistaken, I think he dropped a sizable chunk of change on that thing, and it might make Pietro suspicious.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll keep it for now.” Truthfully, I’d rather cut off my arm than give it to Lettie. I loved it.
“Did you want to send him a thank you?”
“Oh.” I glanced over his shoulder. “I probably should.”
I snagged the yellow lined pad of paper and a pen from the corner of the desk.
Marcello,
Thank you for the bracelet. I’m a little confused, though. Which one of us is the light and which one of us is the darkness?
Emilia
I folded it in thirds. “Do you have an envelope?”
He opened his top drawer and handed it to me. “I’ll mail it for you.”
“Thanks,” I said, setting the sealed envelope in his outbox. “Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?”
“That’s all.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Over the last four months, Sal had shuttled me to and from my piano lessons twice a week, and we somehow managed to elude my father’s watchful eye with enough regularity to feed my Sal addiction. He found hundreds of nearly deserted spots on the route home where we could be together uninterrupted. Most of the time we kissed until my entire body shimmered with need and my nerve endings were zinging like a live wire pleading for more.
Predictably, Sal refused to take our intimacy to the next level. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t done anything other than kiss me since that night at his apartment. His constant rejections didn’t prevent me from pushing him. He had an absurd amount of willpower because, without fail, every encounter ended with me craving more and him declining to cross some invisible line. We never discussed his reasoning, and frankly, we didn’t need to. My engagement party loomed over us like a thunderstorm, especially recently. We both knew if I couldn’t find a loophole to evade the marriage, this thing between us would be over before it went anywhere.
Without a doubt, Marcello wouldn’t like the idea of his wife being used goods. The men in our world expected virtue and obedience from their wives. I suspected that was why my father had kept me under lock and key since my mom died. He didn’t want anything to taint my future husband’s opinion of me. Simply put, I was a commodity to be bought and sold to the highest bidder.
That said, for some reason, my dad trusted Sal, particularly after the incident at the warehouse. It didn’t hurt that Sal did everything he could to foster the perception we were platonic friends. Except for the stolen kisses on the way home from piano lessons, he fulfilled my dad’s orders flawlessly. In public, he kept a respectful distance, never touching me or looking at me for too long.
Even more frustrating, he always sided with my dad when I pushed to have more of a social life, not that I had people knocking down my door. My friends started and stopped with Lettie, and a call here or there from my cousin Carmela, which seemed more obligatory than anything else.
I understood Sal’s rationale for not pushing back against my dad’s orders. His deferential behavior allowed us more freedom and kept our relationship under the radar. Increasingly though, I didn’t care about the possible ramifications. I wanted to tell anyone who would listen about Sal. I fell for him more with every stolen second spent in his company. As far as I was concerned, Sal owned my heart. He might as
well own my body.
My feelings for Sal likely made me the dumbest person on the planet, because the deck was stacked against us, and we couldn’t ignore the future much longer. Marcello had made plans to come to my father’s annual Christmas Eve party where we’d be formally introduced as a couple, which was only fourteen days away. According to my dad, if everything went well, I’d walk down the aisle shortly after my twentieth birthday like an obedient daughter.
“You’re distracted these days.” Mrs. Vitali sighed for the hundredth time today. “I don’t know why you bother with lessons. Your heart’s not in it anymore.”
I stuffed my sheet music into my black leather messenger bag. “It’s not. My dad won’t let me go to the music conservatory so this is a waste of time. If he has his way, I’ll be married and pregnant within the next year, and I won’t lay a finger on a piano for another decade.”
“There has to be something we can do.” She pursed her lips and settled her hands on her matronly hips. “You need to continue your lessons in Chicago. I gave you a list of new instructors. You haven’t contacted any of—”
I held up my hand, backpedaling to the front door. “We’ve already talked about this, and I don’t have time to get into it again. We’ve already run fifteen minutes over, and Sal is probably circling the block for the tenth time.”
“Fine. However, I’m not giving up on you yet.” Another stupid sigh whistled out of her mouth. I should record her so she could hear how ridiculous she sounded. I’d be doing her other students a huge favor. They wouldn’t have to learn the art of interpreting a sigh. Or better yet, I could write a handbook. Quick sigh meant disapproval, long sigh meant frustration, and so on.
“See you next week.”
I jogged down the steps of her building, a blast of cold afternoon air hitting my cheeks like a slap to the face. I immediately spotted Sal’s car idling next to the raised curb. I ducked under a barren tree limb, opened the car door, and practically flung myself into his lap. I buried my nose in the starched collar of his shirt, sucking his scent into my lungs. Nothing smelled better than him.