Is this how she feels?
I imagine her father putting her at arm’s length would hurt her, but I never thought all the love she’s received from the people trying to make up for his shortcomings would make her feel…stifled.
Christ, is she really planning on leaving us? Where would she go? And with whom? Is she in love with someone else? A man who would help her run and hide someplace where even a family as powerful as the Rossis would never track her?
Fuuuck!
In a rare show of frustration, I run a hand through my hair, nervous, as I never am, to look at the last painting. Do I even want to see it? Maybe if I walk away, I can play dumb and mute and pretend I don’t know that the woman I am in love with wants nothing to do with her family—with me.
And yet, I can’t stop my eyes from locking on the final painting. Another progressive that picks up where the last left off. This time, the bird is flying down into a meadow, and thenturns back into Gabriella in the pink sundress, who runs into the arms of a faceless man. It ends with them kissing.
For a solid minute, with my blood roaring in my ears, I stare at the final image. The arms wrapped around Gabriella scream familiarity and intimacy. I feel my veins turn to ice, my brain go foggy, and jealousy unlike anything I’ve felt before storms through me with a vengeance, shattering my world.
Kill.
The need to find this faceless man and destroy him is irrational, but it’s strong. It’s downright madness, but the voice is clear as day in my head.
Kill him.
I don’t know how long I stand there, looking through the paintings—a timepiece. A reflection of the past and the future—while trying and failing to calm my raging blood. I barely acknowledge the Rossis when they finally stop by the paintings and compliment Gabriella on her work, all oblivious to their meaning but…how could they know?
Half of these paintings are memories that only Gabriella and I share. Moments that seem to have vanished from the mind of the rest, well…except for the silent figure that steps next to me and, as quietly as I did, looks through each painting. Minutes tick by as Leonardo and I stand in silence, surrounded by the low chatter around us as the weight of Gabriella’s thoughts hits us both dead in the heart.
“I failed her.”
My eyes don’t move from the paintings to comfort the man or assure him that he did his best. I’m not one for lying, not even to the man married to my mother. Leonardo is not a cruel man—not that his business partners would agree with that statement—but when it comes to his family, he’s never shy of showing his care. He’s different with Gabriella.
“It’s because of me that my own daughter wants to escape,” he says, voice heavy with pain. “I did this to her. Antonia would be so disappointed in me. So heartbroken that I allowed our daughter to feel like she doesn’t belong in her own home, with her family.”
“She’s not gone yet,” I offer quietly.
“No, she’s not, but my little girl is practically out the door already. It’s going to take a lot to ask her to come back.” There is anger in Leonardo’s voice, and self-blame. More emotion than I’ve ever seen him express outside of the day he laid his first wife to rest. “I let my grief blind me to the needs of my little girl. Matteo tried to make me see, to make up for my shortcomings, but I…goddamnit!”
“She’s not gone yet,” I mutter—as much to myself as to him—as I sense the man sink deeper into a depressive state he’s worked so many years to dig himself out of. “It’s not too late to make up for the lost time.”
“I don’t know if I deserve it.”
“It’s not for you. You’re not doing this just for you,” I say, tearing my eyes away from the paintings and finally seeking her out. She’s standing by her brothers, chuckling at something they’re saying. She must feel my gaze because she looks up and those gorgeous eyes lock on mine. The smile freezes on her lips and something crosses her face, but it’s quickly gone before I can get a better read on it. When she finally looks away and turns back to her brothers, I realize that it’s not just Leonardo who needs to put in the work. “I’ll help,” I say before I can think it through my words, but there’s no turning back. “I’ll help change her direction. Get her to run toward us instead of away.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?”
I turn to the paintings and stare at the faceless man, jealousy burning through me. Maybe I don’t need to find him and get rid of him. Instead, I will become the man she runs to.
Chapter Two
Gabriella
Don’t look. Don’t look at him. Please don’t turn around and…
I start to turn, my body twisting around when a hand clamps over mine, stopping me. “Are you waiting for someone?”
“Huh, what?” I mutter, distracted. The hand squeezes mine, making me turn instead to look at a pair of bright eyes and a smile lighting up my sister-in-law’s gorgeous face. Looking at her reminds me of how much I wanted a sister growing up. Silvia’s daughter and I were close, but Emilia was the kind of person who preferred her own company. She spent more time in the library than she ever did outside of it. And I, well… Growing up, I could have used someone a little more present. Today, Sofia has been that for me from the second she married Matteo.
“You seem on edge. Like you’re anxious or nervous about something. Are you okay?”
No. I am the furthest thing from okay, but I don’t tell Sofia that. The truth is, I can’t focus on anything without my mind wandering to the man seated a row behind mine. Christ, I thought I was over him. Done and dusted. No longer in my heartbut no, I had to go and feature him in my paintings for my final college project. I even gave him his own painting and, by doing so, exposed a memory I swore to erase from my mind.
To think that the birthday painting was the first painting I did—a memory I couldn’t keep contained—before working around to the others just goes to show how central in my life Nico is to my life, and I hate it. I hate the fact that two years after he became an official part of the Rossis, I can’t get my head—or heart—to rememberthat Nico and I will never be a thing. I would be better off with someone else, but the thought of another man touching me, taking his place while the one I want lives and breathes, makes me sick to my stomach.