Chapter 28

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

BELLA

" W hat did you talk about?" Emily asks, sitting cross-legged on the bed. She has that spent look she gets after a poetry frenzy.

"Music, mostly," I say, my heart still beating hard from the second guitar performance Matt gave me on the ride home. "He's so knowledgeable, and when he talks about music, it opens a whole different side of him. I felt it even when texting, but it's so much more special in person."

Emily has that same can't-believe-this-is-happening expression on her face Mom was wearing earlier before I left for the date. "Does he still think you're only doing this for Samantha's tuition?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I guess so."

"Are you okay with him thinking that?"

"I don't know if he even thinks it. Sure, the date had a purpose, but it felt more than that." I lean forward, lowering my voice. "Doesn't it make me … weird …" I struggle to think of a better word. "… if I accept the dark part of him? He's killed people, tortured them. Shouldn't that make me afraid?"

"Maybe stop worrying about what it should make you feel and just ask yourself how you really feel?"

I swallow, my hands spreading across my stomach. Since coming to this estate, my body has sent me bubbling, crazy signals. The weirdest part is that it all feels so natural as if this was meant to happen like a song played a thousand times. Yet, it feels new with each rendition.

"I feel like, when this is all over, I'd like to see where this goes."

"Hmm."

"What's hmm about that?"

Emily smirks. "Because if that isn't the biggest understatement I've ever heard, my hair isn't pink."

"What do you think the real statement would be, then?"

"I think you've found the man of your dreams. I think you're trying to scramble to find any excuse to back off or imagine why it can't possibly work. Yet deep down, you know this is for real. It's for life ."

"Jeez, Emily," I say, shaking my head. "When you get in these poetic moods, you say some out there stuff."

"Or maybe I just know you better than you know yourself."

" Riiiiight ," I say, along with an eye roll, for good measure. Emily gets in these moods sometimes, gripped by sudden visions of the future and poetic ways to frame the world. It's one thing that makes her such a passionate, exciting person, but it often gets her into trouble, too.

"I'm going to take it slow," I tell her.

"Slow?" Emily laughs softly, not in a demeaning way. "I think you're kidding yourself. I think the idea of slow with you and Matt stopped when you exchanged your first text."

"What if I rush into this and everything turns to dust? What if he's lied to me? What if he's worse than he's admitted?"

"Do you think he has lied to you?" she says.

"That's the thing with lies. I wouldn't know, would I?"

"That's not what I asked."

"No," I snap. "I'm sure he's telling the truth, but I could be wrong."

It would break my heart. That's the part I don't add, but it's the truth. If it turned out that he was using me or deceiving me, it would wreck me. That's why I have to try, at least, to keep up the fa?ade. This is all for Mom. If I let this be for me , it feels like I'm risking everything.

"Bella?" Emily says softly.

"Yeah?"

"What are you thinking about? You suddenly look sad."

"Life's easier when I live for somebody else. I don't have to think about what I want. Everything is simple. Work, pay bills, help Mom. Now, I have to choose."

Emily springs up from the bed and walks over to me, leaning down and taking both my hands. "No, Bella, you get to choose."

Later, as I'm drifting in and out of a nap, dreams of a should-be-impossible future try to tug at me. I see a sun setting over a beautiful nature scene, snippets of Matt's smile as he holds something in his arms, or some one —a child, a family—and then there's a knock at my door. I shake my head as I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes.

What crazy tricks is my subconscious playing on me now?

"Yeah?" I call.

"It's me. Sofia."

"Two secs."

After quickly wiping my sleeping face down with a wet wipe and adjusting my hair, I open the door. Sofia's sharp cheekbones are drawn into a determined expression, and she's holding her violin. "I want us to play a duet at the party together. Elio told me what's happening. You're going to play to draw out the Gallos. Well, I'm tired of being a spare part."

"What does Matt think about this?" I ask.

"It doesn't matter. If you're willing to risk it, and you're not even a DeLuca, I am, too."

I bite the inside of my cheek, a bad habit. "What if Matt says no?"

"He won't … not if you ask him."

"What difference would that make?"

Sofia tilts her head at me. Lately, everybody seems to be looking at me the same way, as though they know something I don't, or maybe they're acknowledging something I refuse to recognize. "He'll listen to you. Please. At least let me show you what pieces I've picked out. I've tried to go for ones where you can show off your skill, and I won't mess it up."

"Hey, don't say that." I gently touch her arm. "You're making incredible progress. You're not going to mess up anything."

"Progress, yeah," she says, nodding, "but that doesn't mean I will learn to play like you overnight. Can we at least discuss it?"

I sigh, then nod. There's no way I can say no to her when she's this eager, and this isn't just about the Mafia stuff. This is about my swelling pride at seeing a budding violinist so enthusiastic about pursuing her craft.

"Okay, yes. Of course!" Her smile is all the reward I need. "Let me grab my violin, and we'll …"

"Oh, about that," she cuts in. "I was wondering if you'd accept one of my mine? As a thank-you gift? I've got like ten, way more than one girl needs!"

"They're still yours, Sofia," I say. "I don't want to take them from you, but I will practice with you."

"And ask Matt if I can play the duet? I have to be useful, Bella. Meeting you made me realize how crazy it is that I'm twenty-four years old, and I've never had a real job. I've never had a real boyfriend. I've never had an anything . I know my brothers have always wanted the best for me. That's why they do their best to keep me safe. But what if, by keeping me safe, they've stopped me from living?"

Her words slam into me with impact. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to tell her no. She's pleaded her case with so much passion and conviction. I'd feel like the world's biggest asshat if I didn't try.

"You're putting yourself at risk," she murmurs, maybe thinking I'm debating telling her no.

"That's for my mom," I say, but the words even sound weak to me.

"So you can do it for your family, but I can't?"

Well, crap. "Touché! Let's look at your selections first."

We move into the living room, which we have to ourselves for now. She takes a piece of paper from her pocket and unfolds it dignifiedly. She's taken great care by making these choices. I can't fault a single one. From "Pachelbel's Canon in D" by Johann Pachelbel to "Waltz" from "The Sleeping Beauty" by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, her selections allow for a more experienced player to take on the complex parts. In contrast, the less experienced person focuses elsewhere.

"Well?" she says, seeing me looking up and down the list.

"Every one of these could work," I tell her, sliding the paper across the coffee table. " You choose."

She beams, looking so happy and proud I think I might cry. That's happened a few times when teaching students. Seeing their progress and their pride makes me so proud.

As we review the pieces, Sofia talks about the pros and cons of each. I know I will ask Matt for her. The tutor in me wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I didn't otherwise.

While discussing each piece's nuances, I can almost forget what this is all for. I can almost forget that we'll be in grave danger while playing. Amidst all the romance and the excitement, somehow, it's far too easy to forget all that.