1. Petra

Chapter one

Petra

FEbrUARY

Sunday nights are the bane of my existence.

That’s because family dinner with the Diamantes is routine: Everyone shows up to Mama and Papa’s house way too early, and the smell of garlic permeates the room no matter what’s for dinner. The whole place is crammed with laughter and conversations with people who have no idea what an indoor voice is.

“I don’t want to be the monster!” Antonio yells. He runs through the kitchen and into the living room as his twin sister chases after him. “Mom!”

“Get your dad to be the monster,” Livi offers with a wink, and Darin’s groan is loud above all the noise.

This used to be my favorite day of the week. The day we were all connected, from Sunday Mass to dessert. But not anymore. Aunt Carla, Mama, and my sister, Livi, gossip around the stove while they cook, while Papa watches soccer— calcio —with the men in the living room. They all carefully navigate around me, avoiding contact with me like I have the malocchio .

“Petronia can’t sit around all day!” Mama hisses loudly, as though I’m not fifteen feet away at the dining table. She’s never quite lost her East Coast accent, which makes the knee-yah in Petronia extra grating. She stirs a giant pot of red sauce, and drinks a glass of equally dark wine, while her curly, espresso hair frizzes wildly in the steam. “She needs to move on—meet a man! If she was busier she would have no time to mope.”

I roll my eyes and shift Hailey in my lap. Her chubby cheeks round out as she laughs and grabs my nose, pulling me close with her sharp baby nails. Livi is always happy to pass Hailey over for a couple hours, and I soak up every minute of being an auntie that I can. Still, I wish she’d use her baby talons to rip my ears off so I don’t have to listen.

Livi murmurs something, and Ma scoffs. “Papa would have Petronia stay here for a thousand years if he could live that long,” Mama complains.

“If they saw my spiraling depression, they’d think differently,” I tell Hailey. She can’t understand me, but she smiles when I wrinkle my nose at her. I break the family rules—feeling more guilty about it than anyone over thirty should—by tucking an earbud into one ear. The sounds of a gently running spring make it easier to tune Mama out. She keeps talking, but I don’t pay her any more attention. Instead, I heft Hailey onto my hip and make my way into the living room, where there’s a soccer match on the big screen.

“This scemo !” Papa yells, gesturing wildly. “Clear shot, and what does he do?”

“Trips,” Darin mumbles. It’s obvious this is a taped match. Darin is the only blond in the room, and the reason Hailey’s eyes haven’t turned brown like the rest of ours. Not yet, at least.

“Trips over his own foot! If they had Totti—” Papa keeps going, and they hardly notice me as I settle in on the sofa. My brother, Tommy, catches my gaze and rolls his eyes. He’s too handsome for his own good since he seems to get out of any meaningful punishment, which means he’s still playful and immature at twenty-six.

Eventually, Papa overcomes his exasperation and greets me with a whiskery kiss to my cheek. His short beard is streaked through with gray, and his dark eyes have a blue ring forming around the iris. Not that he’ll see the doctor about it .

“How are my principessas ?” Papa asks, squeezing Hailey’s little hand.

“Fine.” I force a smile, and it comes out as a grimace. “Want to hold her for a while?”

Papa shakes his head, shadows in his dark eyes. I hate that I put them there. “This is your favorite part of the night, my Petra. Another time.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Thank you.” He nods, turning back to the game, and my phone pings in my pocket.

It’s a text from Silla.

Thinking of you. How’s dinner? What am I missing? Livi still being annoying?

Silla and Livi get along fine now, but I know what she’s doing. She’s always trying to cheer me up.

It’s fine. Ma would love you and Josie to come sometime.

Soon! Once Josie has some PTO from her new job, we’ll come down.

She sends three more texts, but I ignore them. One response is all I can muster.

“Dinner!” Mama yells loud enough to hear three houses over. I avoid attention as we dish up, quietly feeding Hailey small bites from my plate.

“I heard you arrested Georgie the other day,” Aunt Carla says. Her eyes are hungry for gossip as she leans in toward Darin.

“Georgie Faulk?” Mama asks. “He’s such a sweet boy! What’d he do?”

Darin rolls his eyes. “The kids just took a prank too far.”

George is sweet, and I want to know more, but the topic changes. I’ve forgotten basic conversational skills, and I’m rusty on how to navigate us back to Georgie’s predicament .

When we finish the first round, Ma stuffs second helpings down everyone’s throats. She huffs at me, mouth tight, while Tommy scrapes my uneaten portion onto his plate instead. “More for me.” Tommy shrugs and throws me a grin.

Livi slaps him upside the head, and then the twins copy her, slapping each other anywhere they can reach. After that, dinner falls into chaos. Stuffed full, Hailey nods off against my shoulder, and I’m left to fend for myself.

Mama sighs. “Tommy, it’s your turn for dishes, baby boy. I’m going to put my feet up.”

Tommy groans, but I see my opportunity. “I’ll do them,” I offer, and tuck Hailey into Papa’s strong arms. He melts as he gazes at her, and rubs circles on her back to soothe her.

Tommy’s charged with clearing the table, and he piles dishes in the sink faster than I can rinse them. When he bounds over to drop more in my way, he laughs and pinches my hip.

“Knock it off, Tomasso!” I slap his hand away with a glare. His grin drops, and his whole body deflates like I’ve shoved a puppy. Guilt stabs at my chest. “Tommy, wait—”

“It’s fine, Petra,” he grumbles, and retreats to the living room. He doesn’t come back.

Something pricks, hot and needlelike, at my sternum. It’s been five months of pushing my family away, and I can’t stop. I hurt them over and over, the way I’m hurting, and the shame of it swallows me whole. I drown in it the entire time that the water runs and dishes clink.

By the time I’m done, a knot sits high in my throat. “I’m going to bed.”

There are muttered goodnights as I drag myself up the stairs and into my bedroom. It hasn’t changed since I was seventeen and shared it with Silla. The desk is scratched, worn, and covered in unicorn stickers, but it does the job. Posters, accolades, magazine cutouts—anything important to my sister and me when we were teenagers—cover the walls from floor to ceiling. I ignore their smudges of color, just like I ignore the pile of unwashed laundry and the stacks of books on the floor.

The same way I avoid the hurt etched into Tommy’s face.

I slump into the squeaking chair, tuck my earbuds in, and open my laptop to my latest document. With the first few words, the gray and brown tone of the world is scrubbed away, and a more colorful one shines through. The coffee stain on the desktop disappears under a mint green toad, who plops herself down with a hot cup of tea. A silvery crane soars above me to perch on the pile of laundry, his gold-rimmed glasses glinting in the light of my computer screen.

My hair shifts in the gentle breeze stirred up by fluttering, lavender wings. The pixie giggles as she flies closer and perches on my printer. She waves her shining, diamond wand playfully in my direction, sparking rainbows to life across my bedroom walls.

“What adventure are we going on tonight? Can I invite the dragon to dinner?” Natalia asks. There’s mischief in her warm, green eyes. She’s only a child—bossy, but full of fun—with traits passed down from all of my siblings. Pulling pranks like Silla, as smart as Tommy, and always getting her way like Livi. There’s some of me in there, too: maybe the stubbornness I’d worn as a cape when I was her age.

“The dragon is mean è scontroso. ” Her cheek is soft against my knuckles. “Not good dinner company unless you’re the meal.”

She frowns at me. “Maybe he’s only grumpy because no one invites him to dinner.”

I laugh, unable to deny her. “Fair enough, piccina . You can try.”

I wish I could join her there. Oregon is dark and cold this time of year, but in the fairy world it’s warm and gentle—a kaleidoscope of bright colors even on the bleakest night. It might be fictional, but I’m more alive in Galin than I am in my own body.

I immerse myself in Natalia’s world, and the words pour out of me. Each stroke of keys brings it to life, until the words on the screen blur and all I can see are purple mountains and a sea of tall, emerald grass.

As I write, the shouts and laughter from downstairs shifts into quiet words that are few and far between. It’s a sign that everyone is leaving or heading to bed. Papa knocks on my door, pulling me out of my imagination. “Petra? What are you still doing awake?”

Papa would support me if I told him. He’d understand why I write books for children when I can’t sleep. “Just playing around.”

He hums and closes the door behind him. “ Sognare con la testa tra le nuvole, stellina? ”

“Always daydreaming,” I confirm. “You’ve known that since I could talk. Good luck breaking the habit now.”

Papa smiles as he sits on my bed. “I wouldn’t dare. Your mind is a beautiful place. Petra, you think I don’t see you, typing away at night?”

“Is it a vivid imagination, or mental illness? Who knows.”

Papa rolls his eyes at me and sighs. “Always defensive. You know, it’s not too late to finish school, to write.”

I shrug. I don’t have the drive I once did.

“I want you to be happy, stellina ,” Papa says. “I’ll pay for your school. You only had one year left—you don’t have to start from the beginning.”

“I would. I’ve forgotten everything.” Papa opens his mouth to argue, but I lay my hand over his. “I wasn’t meant to publish, Papa. That’s okay. It’s okay to have dreams that never come true. The dreaming is the fun part.”

I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince—him or me. It doesn’t matter, because Papa blinks back heavy emotion that I only see in him now, as he gets older. “I had a dream. A life with your mother. A business to run for myself and to keep her comfortable. Many beautiful children, who grow up to be happy.”

“I am happy, Papa. You achieved your dream.”

Papa takes my chin in his hand. “You’re my favorite, even when you lie to me.” He places a kiss on my hair and lets go. “Don’t tell the others.”

“They already know,” I say, trying to scrounge up a smile. I fail, and his frown deepens.

“I would do anything to see you laugh again. I hope you know that. When you smile, it lights up the room.” Papa stares at me as though he’s mourning my old face. “Goodnight, Petronia. Ti adoro più di quanto ci siano stelle nel cielo. ”

“ Ti voglio bene , Papa,” I whisper. His love is overwhelming, and I’m not worthy of it. My very existence brings him pain.

Papa gives me a sad smile and shuts the door behind him. I wish I could take away his exhaustion. Not only tonight, but every night. I was only twenty-three when I moved to Los Angeles. Livi and Tommy were still in high school, and Mama and Papa were busy chasing after them. They attended school functions, drove up and down the coast for Tommy’s soccer tournaments, and ran Bella Vita on top of it all. Now, though they’re only in their mid fifties, they are slowing down.

Most days, my face is as tired as theirs.