Page 6 of My Sunfall

When I am outside, I spot Tomaso standing in front of our car. He immediately steps to the door to open it and I slip inside. Without a word he settles behind the wheel and starts the engine and pulls away.

I can’t hold back my sobs anymore, my breath comes out in short gasps and tears stream down my face. Tomaso is silent, although I can sense his eyes on me through the rearview mirror. But I can’t seem to stop.

Tonight I had wanted to tell Lucas about my feelings for him. About how I had admired him for so long. Our paths had crossed a few times, and every time, I had watched him from afar with stars in my eyes, not daring to hope that he’d see me one day. Then that day happened when he came to question me about Lily’s disappearance almost two years ago. From that day on, he saw me. And when Lily married Damiano, we had drifted closer still, Lucas being Damiano’s second, and me being Lily’s half-sister. He and I became close friends, and more importantly, we’ve become a close-knit group with Lily, Erin, Damiano and Matteo. When we have fun at karaoke night with Lily and Erin, Lucas is often there, teasing me, never leaving my side. He has been making me laugh with his easy humor and blinding grins. He has made me fall in love with him, damn him.

I pause.

No, he didn’t do a thing. This is on me. I can’t blame him for my feelings. That would be unfair. It’s not his fault that I read too much into his actions, that I wanted to see more than there really was.

The car stops, jolting me out of my miserable thoughts. We have arrived at the Bianchi mansion, its dark outline looming over me like a crypt. I hastily thank Tomaso and slip out before he can move. I know that if I see the pity in his eyes, I will break apart. He has always been kind to me. Although he has never crossed the line between our designated roles, I always feel his reassuring presence when he watches over me like a kind uncle.

I climb the front steps and compose myself before quietly opening the door. Inside, everything is as usual. Cramped with heavy furniture and knick-knacks, the air is stifling and the silence so loud it booms in my ears. I step inside, despair clawing in my throat.

Then I see him. Father. He is sitting on the sofa in the living room, his usual companion of late, an almost empty bottle of whiskey, on the low table next to him.

“Had fun, didn’t you?” he sneers when he sees me, slowly getting up from the sofa to lurch toward me. My spine straightens and my breath becomes shallow.

Not now, please.

“Good evening, Father. It was the mayor’s gala. Please excuse me, I’m tired.” I step past him but he brutally grabs my arm.

“You’re like your mother,” he spits, and the smell of alcohol hits me, making my stomach churn. “Always parading around to be noticed, to feel like someone important.”

I grit my teeth, wanting to tell him that I hate social gatherings, always hated them. I wanted to tell him that since his condition I have been covering for him as the representative of the Bianchi family.

Appearances are everything in this world, my mother sneers from beyond the grave.

Father knows that keeping them up is expected. But I am also aware that it is useless to contradict him when he is in this state, and I avert my face, willing him to let go of my arm. His hand is clamped so tight that I know I will be seeing another bruise tomorrow morning. He never hits me, but it might be only a matter of time because his drinking is getting worse by the day.

“Father, please, I am tired,” I whisper brokenly. I don’t need this on top of everything.

“Found yourself a husband yet?” he jeers. “That’s what you want, right? What that bitch wanted so badly.”

I can’t hold back my tears anymore. How has my life become this nightmare?

Father must see them because his grip loosens and I am able to rip my arm out from his hand. He sneers one last time and returns to the table, pouring himself another glass.

I run up the stairs to slip into my room, feeling numb all over.

I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t…

I step into the adjoining bathroom and fill the bathtub despite the late hour. When I sink into the scalding water, my mind splinters and my body is wracked by loud sobs.

Chapter Four

Chiara

I am sitting in the bath, forehead resting on my knees. The sound of water dripping from the tap into the bath echoes loudly like detonating bombs.

Drip…drip…drip…

* * * *

Cold droplets hit me and I screech in outrage. “Lucas, go elsewhere if you want to shake water off like a dog!”

“No can do, sweetheart. I like this side better.” Lucas grins and flops on his back on the towel laid out at the edge of the pool, right next to where I have my feet dangling in the water.

I make a show of rolling my eyes, but I chuckle at his antics. He looks younger than his thirty-five years. He could easily pass for ten years younger with his dirty-blond hair, twinkling blue eyes and boyish grin. But his face is all but immature, the high cheekbones, straight nose and sharp jaw making a stark contrast to his full lips and his dimple that appears on his clean-shaven cheek every time he grins. He is unfairly handsome.