Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Why does it fucking bother me? I knew what would happen when I left.
But there’s something else, too. They both have wet hair. Fresh from a shower, I guess. He was determined to consummate the marriage. I understand that. But I expected more animosity between them than anything else after. She should hate him. But it’s not hate I feel coming off either of them. There’s something new between them. A thing that leaves me very firmly on the outside.
Vittoria hugs, then whispers to the nanny, who is close behind me. She takes the little stuffed pig that had finally slipped from Emma’s fingers when she fell asleep along with her pink backpack and touches the little girl’s head once again.
“I’ll take her to her bed,” I say, and walk into the house between my brother and his wife, less ready to see them, to converse with them or confront them, than I thought I would be.
It’s early morning, orange light just breaking the horizon. The house is situated so you can see the sun rise from one side and the sun set from the other. Inside, it’s still quiet. Everyone’s still asleep.
Jostling her as little as possible, I carry the sleeping girl up to the room prepared for her and the nanny. I’m surprised she doesn’t wake. Surprised she can sleep so deeply considering. But maybe that’s kids.
Amadeo opens the bedroom door. Vittoria is on my heels as I enter. Two beds stand at opposite sides of the room, one for the kid and one for the nanny. The walls are still white, but the bedding is pink, and there’s a pink carpet on the floor as well as a giant dollhouse, also pink, with dolls inside, a slew of toys and books, and clothes in the closet.
Vittoria looks surprised by what she sees but hurries to pull the covers back on one of the beds, and I lay the little girl down. Her curly blond hair settles like a halo around her little face, her nose an upturned button, her mouth open. Her eyes remain closed as Vittoria covers her, then sits on the edge of the bed, caressing that mass of hair. My brother stands beside me as we take it in. See Vittoria with this tiny girl. See how she wipes a tear from her eyes and looks at her like she can’t believe she’s here.
Love. This is the physical manifestation of unconditional love, and it’s hard to watch. Harder to look away.
Amadeo pats my back. We should go. Leave Vittoria to her reunion. He and I walk quietly out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen, leaving the women with the sleeping girl.
I make myself a double espresso while he watches when what I want is whiskey. I wonder what he sees on my face. My brother knows me.
“Congratulations,” I say, the grinder loud. I tamp the coffee down, slide the portafilter into the espresso machine, and flip the lever to watch the black liquid turn creamy. I switch it off and take the cup, holding it up to him in a mock toast. The action is too animated. Too unlike me.
“It’s a piece of paper,” he reminds me, hands in his pockets again as he leans against the counter. He looks refreshed. Almost relaxed. But fucking does that to you. Takes the edge off. I feel the opposite.
I drink the burning hot espresso before talking. “The girl didn’t utter one word.”
“I’m sure that’ll change when she wakes up.”
“No, it was strange. Something is off.”
Just then, Vittoria pushes the door of the kitchen open and enters. I’m used to seeing her escorted by a guard or by my brother or myself. This is new. What happened between them that she’s allowed to roam free?
“Thank you,” she says to me, and she looks like she’s about to hug me but stops short. “Thank you for bringing her to me.” The relief is clear in her tone.
I shrug. “It was more for us than you, Dandelion.” She winces at my cold delivery. I’ve hit my mark. Put her back in her corner where she belongs. Because I like the look of my brother and our enemy standing side by side less and less.
Amadeo studies me as Vittoria fumbles for words.
“What’s wrong with her?” I ask, putting my empty espresso cup in the sink and tucking my hands into my pockets.
“Nothing is wrong with her,” she says defensively.
“She doesn’t talk. Not a peep. That’s not normal.”
“I meant medically. There’s nothing wrong with her. The therapist calls it selective mutism.”
My brother and I exchange a glance.
“She hasn’t spoken a word since our mother died,” Vittoria finishes.
Amadeo’s eyes meet mine. It’s clear he knows as much about this as I do.
“Was she scared of you?” Vittoria asks.
I shrug a shoulder. “Maybe. I don’t know. I told her I was bringing her to you so maybe not.” I was surprised the girl didn’t startle when I showed up at the therapist’s office. Surprised when she set her hand in mine so easily.