12. Bella

12

BELLA

I wake up feeling groggier than usual, dragging myself into the shower to wake up so I can go and get Cecelia and Danny without looking like death warmed over. I didn’t dream, thanks to the sleeping pill, but the moment I wake up, thoughts of that almost-kiss flood back in.

It would be one thing if a part of me didn’t wish it had happened. It would be easy to push it away then, to take steps to make sure that we don’t get that close to each other again, and leave it at that. I could make sure to avoid it.

But a part of me, the part of me that tried to touch myself last night when I haven’t even wanted to try in months, wishes that he had kissed me. That he’d just leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, and given me a chance to find out if maybe I’m not as completely broken as I think I am. If maybe what I need is someone gentle enough to let me figure it out slowly.

Gabriel isn’t going to be that person, I tell myself firmly, as I get into the shower, putting my head directly under the hot spray in an effort to wake up. The truth is that even if I wanted to try, I don’t get that option. An arranged marriage is the only thing that awaits me on the other side of this job, and letting myself hope for something else is the height of foolishness.

I already have more than I hoped for. I shouldn’t let myself start thinking about things that are utterly impossible.

What I need is someone to help me get my mind off of all of this. I haven’t seen Clara in weeks, not since she helped me pack up to move to Gabriel’s, and I miss her. We’ve texted back and forth, of course, but even those conversations haven’t been as lengthy as we’re used to. I’ve been worn out from work, and focused on settling into my new routine.

I dry off, pulling on a pair of jeans and a lightweight hoodie, and shove my feet into a pair of sneakers as I reach for my phone. On impulse, I text her what’s on my mind right off the bat, without giving myself time to talk myself out of it.

Bella: Hey. Are you off today?

Clara: No, but I have a PTO day I could take. What’s up? I could use a day to play hooky, honestly.

Bella: Do you want to come over to Gabriel’s and hang out? I miss you. Starting to feel a little isolated out here on my own.

Clara: Are you sure it’s ok for me to just come over?

Bella: I don’t see why not.

Clara: Okay. Text me directions and I’ll be over about noon.

The thought of seeing Clara, and spending an afternoon together immediately lifts my spirits. I throw my hair up in a bun, reaching for a hair tie sitting on my nightstand, and I notice that I left my pill bottle out last night when I went to sleep. Normally, I put it right back in the drawer, not wanting anyone to see it, but I was so preoccupied last night that I must have forgotten.

I go to put it back, but when I pick it up, nothing rattles inside. I hold it up to the light, and realize there’s nothing left.

Shit . My first thought is that some might have fallen out, and I quickly run my hand over the mattress and look on the floor, to see if some tipped out last night. But there’s nothing, and when I look at the date of the last refill, I see that it’s been just a little over a month.

I’d been so preoccupied with my new job, and everything going on here, that I’d forgotten to call in a refill.

I take a deep breath, shoving my phone into my pocket. It’ll be fine, I tell myself. I’ll call the pharmacy after breakfast, and either ask Gabriel to let me use the driver that I hope he has to go get them myself after he gets home, or I’ll ask Clara to swing by and grab them on her way here. It’s a small oversight, but I’ll have them by tonight, and it won’t be any big deal.

Quickly, I go to gather up Cecelia and Danny, making sure they’re dressed and presentable and herding them downstairs for breakfast. Agnes already has a platter of scrambled eggs, sausage, and sliced toast with a side of fruit salad waiting for us, and I get the kids’ plates ready before I glance over at her.

“Do you mind watching them for just a second?” I ask, feeling a little guilty for it, but needing to get this settled. “I just need to make a phone call really quick.”

“Sure.” Agnes sits down at the table, clearly perfectly at ease with my request. “Just hurry back before yours gets cold.”

I flash her a smile, and hurry out into the living room, dialing the number for my pharmacy. A bored-sounding woman picks up on the second ring, rotely repeating the standard greeting.

“Hi—I need to get a refill? It’s under D’Amelio. Bella D’Amelio. I have a trazodone prescription.”

“Hang on.” There’s the sound of the woman tapping away at a keyboard, and I chew on my lower lip, hoping that nothing will go wrong with it, and berating myself for losing track of the days. But it’s never been a huge problem before. If I had to go a few days without it, no one in my house cared if I woke up with nightmares. It was for my own sanity, not anyone else’s. And while having them is awful, sometimes I felt like I needed to take a little break from the pills anyway. I usually didn’t take them at home if I felt like I could manage on my own. But here, I’ve done it every night, just in case.

A few moments later, the woman comes back on the line. “I’m sorry. You’re out of refills. You’ll need to make an appointment with your doctor to see you, and then we can refill the prescription.”

Shit. I let out a sharp breath, feeling a prickle of panic along my skin. There’s no way I’m going to get in to see my doctor today. “You can’t just give me an emergency refill while I make an appointment?”

Now, the woman sounds exasperated as well as bored. “No. You need to call your doctor’s office. I don’t have any control over this.”

“I didn’t realize?—”

“The number of refills you have remaining are listed on the label. I’m sorry, but you just have to call your doctor.”

“Okay. Thanks?” I hang up, glancing back towards the kitchen. I hadn’t expected to need to make more than one phone call, but now this is turning into a much bigger thing. I try to tamp down the growing anxiety, sinking down onto the couch as I look for the number for my psychiatrist’s office in my contacts.

The nurse who answers sounds friendly, at least. “Hi,” I venture. “This is Bella D’Amelio—I’ve run out of refills on my trazodone prescription. The pharmacy said I need to make an appointment for a refill, but is there any chance I can get at least a partial refill until then? I really need them to sleep.”

“I’m sorry. But we need to see you before we can refill the prescription. Dr. Langan will want to talk to you, to see how you’re doing before we prescribe more medication. You’re due for a visit anyway.”

“I have a new job. And it’s really stressful?—”

“I understand, Ms. D’Amelio, but we do need to see you before we refill your medication. Dr. Langan may want to make adjustments. But I can get you in—the end of next week. Will that work?”

I don’t really feel that it will, but I also don’t feel as if I have any choice. “There’s nothing else you can do?” I half-whisper, fighting back tears, and the nurse makes a sympathetic sound that tells me even before she speaks that the answer is going to be no.

“We’ll see you then, Ms. D’Amelio,” she says with finality.

I hang up after confirming the appointment, and drop my phone into my lap, trying to breathe deeply so I don’t cry. The last thing I need is to go back into the dining room, with Agnes, Cecelia, and Danny there, looking as if I’ve been crying over something. It will open up all kinds of questions, ones that I don’t want to answer.

All I can do is hope that the nightmares don’t become a disturbance, until I can get to the appointment. It makes me even more glad that I’m going to see Clara today. She always lifts my spirits, and it will make me feel better to have my friend here for an afternoon.

If anyone notices the change in my mood when I come back to the breakfast table, they don’t say anything. I pick at my food until Cecelia and Danny are finished, and then we help Agnes clean up, before going to collect our books for the hour of reading in the living room.

Clara shows up right at noon, as promised. She texts me just as her Uber is dropping her off, and I tell Cecelia and Danny to stay put, hurrying to the front door. I want to intercept her before Agnes can, just in case there are any questions.

I swing open the front door, just in time to see Clara walking up the steps. She’s dressed for a summer day—light wash jean shorts, a loose graphic t-shirt with a faded print of a classic car on the front knotted just above her waistband, sandals, and her blonde hair pulled up in a high ponytail. I feel a small flicker of envy—not at her, but just at the idea of being able to dress like that in general. I miss wearing summer clothes, feeling light and airy and free, enjoying the sun on my skin. I miss not feeling like I had to wear my clothing like armor, disappear into it to keep anyone from seeing me, so I wouldn’t be in danger.

I used to be able to relax. To just be myself, without worrying about the world around me. It feels like I was a different person then, and the change in my clothing is just a symptom of a much larger change, one that I don’t know how to reverse.

“This place is gorgeous,” Clara breathes, staring up at the Georgian exterior of the house for a moment before walking inside. “This Gabriel guy has some real style. Good taste.”

“You should see his favorite car.” I close the door, and Clara raises an eyebrow.

“You mean the Ferrari you said he took you out in? It means something that he took you out to dinner in his favorite car, doesn’t it?” Her eyes twinkle mischievously, and I glare at her, pressing a finger over my lips.

“It means he wanted an excuse to drive it. Cecelia and Danny are right in the other room, so please don’t let them hear you making jokes about their father flirting with me,” I whisper, keeping my voice low. “That’s not what this is about, and that’s the last thing I need getting back to them.”

The near-kiss from last night flits back into my head the moment I say it. It’s impossible for it not to. I can only imagine what Clara would say if I told her about it—but I don’t have any intention of that. The last thing she needs to know is that there’s any spark of attraction between Gabriel and me—I’d never hear the end of it if she did.

I hear the clicking of shoes on the tile a moment later, and Agnes comes around the corner, both of her eyebrows shooting into her hairline as she sees Clara standing there. “Who’s this?” she asks in a tone that suggests she’s not sure if Clara should be there or not, and I wince, turning to look at her.

“This is my best friend, Clara. I’ve known her for years. I mentioned her to Gabriel when we met for dinner to talk about the job?—”

“And he said it was fine for her to be here? Not to be rude, Miss Clara,” Agnes adds, giving Clara a faint smile. “Gabriel is just careful about who comes over, that’s all.”

It’s understandable. Gabriel runs in the same circles my father does, circles occupied by the mafia and Bratva and the Irish Kings, not to mention the pockets of yakuza and other smaller, criminal organizations that lurk in the underworld they do business in. I’m sure Gabriel has enemies, just I’m sure my father does, dangerous men like the ones who hurt me. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want just anyone coming over to his house, where his children live.

But Clara isn’t anyone , she’s my best friend. With a flicker of guilt, I remember telling Clara that I would ask Gabriel if it was alright if she came to visit, and I haven’t mentioned it to him since then. But I can’t imagine it being a big deal.

“I don’t think he’d mind,” I say quickly. “Clara doesn’t have any connections with anyone that Gabriel or my father works for. She’s outside all of that.”

“I can confirm,” Clara says with a laugh. “I have a very boring, normal job.”

“Do you want me to ask Gabriel? Or you can—” I hesitate, my stomach tightening at the idea of Gabriel being angry with me, or telling Clara that she needs to leave. Today, of all days, I really need her here. Having her over will distract me from all the things that have happened since last night that have left me feeling anxious and off-kilter, and I need that anchor to steady me.

Agnes lets out a breath, glancing between the two of us. “He was a bit out of sorts this morning, so I’d really rather not bother him. He trusts you, Bella, so if you vouch for her, I’m sure it’s fine. Just make sure you’re not too distracted, having her here.”

“I won’t be,” I promise quickly, at the same time, Clara echoes it.

“I won’t be a distraction at all,” she says. “Thanks?—”

“Agnes.”

“Thanks, Agnes.” Clara flashes her a broad smile, one that I’ve seen charm just about anyone within its radius, and Agnes nods, giving me one more look before disappearing down the hall.

My stomach twists, and I wonder if I’ve once again done something I shouldn’t. If Gabriel is going to be upset about this. But why would it matter if Clara is here? She’s not going to interrupt our usual day, just hang out while we do all of the things I would normally do with Cecelia and Danny. I can’t see how it hurts anything.

“So.” Clara rubs her hands over her shorts, looking at me with a lopsided grin. “Now that we’re past the gargoyle, what do we do for the rest of the day?”

“Agnes is actually really sweet,” I promise her. “She’s just protective of Gabriel and the kids. I’ve seen how he is with her and her husband since I’ve been here—he treats them like family, not staff. And they worked for Gabriel’s parents since before he was born. She’s more like a grandmother than a housekeeper. So I get it.”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” A small smirk tilts Clara’s smile, and I look at her guardedly, sure that I’m not going to like whatever she says next. “I can’t help but notice you keep calling him Gabriel. Not Mr. Esposito , which feels like the right way to refer to your boss?—”

“I told you, it’s very informal here. It doesn’t mean anything.” I shake my head at her. “You gotta stop, honestly. There’s nothing going on between us like that.”

Just a moment last night where I thought he was going to kiss me. A moment where I actually wanted to be touched. That’s all. Nothing major .

“So what’s the plan?” Clara asks again, jolting me out of the memory, and I nod towards the living room.

“You can come meet Cecelia and Danny, and then we’re going to go outside for Danny’s baseball practice. They usually like to go swimming after that—I don’t know if you brought a bathing suit—and then we eat lunch and they take a nap. And after that, we usually watch something educational, and chill out until their dad gets home.”

“This sounds like a pretty sweet gig,” Clara says with a laugh. “Maybe I should get out of coding and look for a nanny job.”

“It can be really tiring,” I tell her honestly as we walk to the living room. “They have so much energy. I don’t remember having this much energy at their age, but maybe I’ve just forgotten about it. But it is a pretty cool job.”

“You’re living a five-star lifestyle and getting paid, so yeah—pretty cool.” Clara laughs, and I wince.

“I don’t get paid.”

“What?” She turns to face me, her eyes going wide. “He’s not paying you?”

“Shh!” I hiss. “I don’t know. I think he and my father came up with some arrangement. And honestly, I don’t care. I have everything I need here, like you said. Room and board paid for, the best of everything, my evenings to myself to do whatever I like—and I’m not constantly being hounded with the possibility of being forced into a marriage that I don’t want. My father is probably taking advantage of it to make money off of Gabriel—but honestly, I really don’t care, if it means I get to stay here.” My voice rises as I speak, defensiveness coloring my tone.

“That makes sense,” Clara says, a soothing tone to her voice that I know is her way of trying to calm me down. “I get it. I just don’t want you to be taken advantage of.”

I take a deep, slow breath. “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get so—passionate about it,” I admit with a small laugh. “But I feel like this has been good for me. Being away from home, away from my father, all of it. Having something to do . I know I’m going to have to go back eventually, but?—”

“Hey, maybe you don’t.” Clara loops her arm through mine. “Maybe this can lead to something other than just going back to marry some rich asshole that your dad has decided is good for your family name or his bottom line or whatever. But for now—” She glanced towards the living room. “We’ve probably kept the kids waiting too long. Let’s get introduced.”

I lead Clara into the living room, where Cecelia is still nose-deep in her book, and Danny has started zooming his Batmobiles—there are multiple iterations of them, apparently— back and forth across the bricks in front of the fireplace in a simulated car chase. Cecelia looks up as soon as we walk in, a curious expression on her face.

“This is my friend Clara,” I tell Cecelia, before she has a chance to say anything. “She wanted to come meet you guys and hang out today.”

“Does my dad know?” Cecelia asks, ever the prim skeptic. Her eyes narrow a little, and I realize, for the first time, that her attitude towards me when I first arrived wasn’t personal. She’s suspicious of everyone . Which, actually, will probably serve her well in the world as a woman when she grows up.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask him,” I admit. “But Clara is a really close friend. I’ve known her forever. So I’m sure he won’t mind.”

The expression on Cecelia’s face tells me that she’s not entirely convinced of that. But she just shrugs, closing her book and getting up from the couch. “Are you going to play baseball with us?” she asks Clara, who shrugs.

“I’m down for it.” Clara glances at me, and I nod.

“Let’s go out back, guys.”

We head out to the backyard, where we make a square instead of our usual triangle, since we have a fourth person. If Clara didn’t plan on spending her afternoon throwing a baseball back and forth with me and two kids she only met today, she shows absolutely no sign of not having a good time. She’s grinning broadly as we toss the ball back and forth, around the square and then back and forth across the corners, trying out different patterns to keep Danny on his toes. When we’re all sweaty and tired, Cecelia asks if it’s pool time, and when I nod, she grabs her brother’s hand and they both tear across the lawn to the pool house.

“I’ll grab you a bathing suit if you want to get in the water,” I offer to Clara, and she looks at me curiously.

“Aren’t you going to swim?”

I hesitate. If I say no, it’s going to open up more questions that I don’t want to answer. I caught the way she looked at me earlier, while I was standing in the hot sunshine throwing a ball in long sleeves and jeans. She’s not going to push for answers I don’t want to give, but I also don’t want to worry her.

Quickly, I cast a surreptitious glance around the yard. There are no landscapers out today, and the pool is set pretty far back from the house. Gabriel also won’t be home for a while. There’s not really any chance of anyone except Clara and the kids seeing me, and I do want to get into the pool. It’s hot, and I’m sweating, and the cool water sounds blissful.

“Of course,” I tell her quickly. “I just meant I’d grab you one while I get mine.”

We all traipse back to the house, Cecelia and Danny running to their rooms to collect their swimsuits, and Clara follows me to my room as I go to get mine. She lets out a low whistle as we walk into the room, grinning at me as I glance back at her.

“This really is something,” she says, looking around. “Just a regular guest room, hm?”

“You’ve been in my room at home before.” I shake my head at her, rolling my eyes a little. “This isn’t that crazy.”

“I’m just saying, it’s just about the size of my whole apartment. Really considering looking into nanny jobs,” she says with a laugh.

“That’s why I said I didn’t want to move in with you. Imagine how cramped it would have been.”

“I’d do it for you, though,” Clara assures me swiftly. “But I’m glad you found this job, Bella, honestly. I saw you out there while we were playing catch, and you looked genuinely happy. I honestly didn’t think you liked kids all that much, but you seem to be having a great time.”

“I still don’t know if I like kids,” I admit. “But I like these kids, and I think that’s what matters.”

I fish out two bathing suits, a couple of one-pieces that I had shoved in the back of a drawer. I toss the red one with white borders to Clara, since it’s a little more attention-grabbing, and take the black one with a high neck and thick straps for myself. I honestly don’t know why I bought it—it’s not the kind of thing I would have worn back when I wore swimsuits at all, but I’m glad I have it. A bikini would be impossible for me to put on now.

We change quickly, throwing our clothes back on over the swimsuits, and corral Cecelia and Danny to head back down to the pool. Clara lets out an envious little sigh as I open the gate to the pool, immediately sinking down on a lounge chair and beginning to slather sunscreen onto her legs.

“I forgot how much I missed being able to come over and use the pool at your house. It’s a perfect day for it, too.”

It was a perfect day for the pool. I feel my fingers tremble a little as I start to pull my t-shirt over my head, but there’s nothing for it except to go ahead and strip down to my swimsuit. Cecelia and Danny were already coated in sunscreen and running into the water. Clara is busily finishing swiping lotion over her arms to do the same. If I keep delaying, it’ll defeat the purpose of forcing myself into a swimsuit at all.

Quickly, I sweep a look around the perimeter of the house again. There’s no one around. I clench my fingers in the hem of my shirt, and yank it over my head.

Oh, god. The breeze on my overheated skin feels fantastic, and I know the cool water will feel just as good. I try to ignore the faint crawling feeling on my skin at being so exposed, and undo the button of my jeans, gritting my teeth against the panic I can feel starting to unfurl right behind my navel.

No one is looking at you, I remind myself. No one is going to hurt you. The people who would aren’t here. They can’t see you. You’re safe. Clara is here, and it’s just me and her and two kids having a great time in the pool. Everything is fine, I repeat in my head, taking a deep breath and pushing my jeans down my hips.

I fold up my clothes to buy myself a little more time before I let anyone see the expression on my face, wanting to calm down a little more. I set them on the lounge chair, and finally turn to Clara, who is capping the sunscreen bottle. “Can I have some of that?”

“Sure.” She tosses it to me with a grin. “See you in the water!”

I watch as she walks to the diving board, neatly diving in, sleek as a fish. Cecelia claps at that, a shining expression on her face, and I remember her saying that she wanted to try out for the swim team at school. I should tell Gabriel about that, if he doesn’t already know, I think, smoothing sunscreen over my arms, and I feel a startling tingle at the thought of him. Not the anxiety I felt a second ago while I was undressing—but something else. Something like what I felt last night.

For the briefest of moments, I imagine him out here with us. I imagine his eyes on me as I rub the sunscreen over my thighs, following the long line of my legs, sweeping over my figure in the tight one-piece swimsuit. I imagine his gaze resting on my hips, my breasts, moving up to look at my lips like he did last night—and for a moment, I feel okay. The thought of him looking at me doesn’t terrify me like it usually does, when I catch men looking at me in public now. The thought of him wanting me doesn’t feel like something to fear.

But then I imagine him coming closer, taking the sunscreen out of my hand, pouring some of it in his palm. I imagine his hand sweeping over my back, touching my skin—and every part of me freezes for a second, my breath coming in sharp, quick gasps as I press a hand to my chest and try to keep from spiraling into a panic attack.

“Hey, Bel, you okay?” Clara calls from the pool, snapping me out of it. “We’re all waiting on you!”

“Yeah, I’m fine!” I yell back. “Just making sure I don’t miss any spots. Wouldn’t want to get sunburned.”

I firmly push all thoughts of Gabriel out of my head, finish getting the last bits of sunscreen on, and go to join the three of them in the pool.

The water is every bit as blissful as I knew it would be. It’s been a long time since I’ve been swimming—since last summer, and it feels incredible. I sink down into the cool water, luxuriating in the contrast between the hot sun beating down and the crystalline water lapping at my skin, and let out a slow breath.

I’m missing out on so much like this, I think, a little sadly. I have to find some way to get better.

My psychiatrist has said it’s only been a few months. That it takes years to heal from something like what happened to me—and that maybe it won’t get completely better. That I should expect to always have lingering vestiges of the PTSD I was diagnosed with, that I should learn to live with it. Depression, anxiety, nightmares, jumping at shadows, and a fear of any kind of touch or physical intimacy—those are all a part of my life now. Things that I should learn to coexist with in case they don’t go away.

He’s right that it’s only been a few months. But that doesn’t make me feel better. Those few months have felt like a lifetime. I don’t want to keep losing chunks of my life to this, to keep wondering over and over if I’m going to feel like a shell of myself for years. If I’m going to be in my thirties, trapped in a loveless marriage with children of my own before I ever start to feel like I’m better at all—or, worse still, if being forced into that will really make certain of the fact that I might never recover. If I’ll always feel like this because the future my father wants for me can only be put off, not escaped altogether.

I want more moments like this. Feeling happy, free, splashing in the pool with my best friend and the two children I’m in charge of helping to take care of, feeling like I have purpose and direction for the first time in my life.

We stay out in the pool until Agnes calls us in for lunch, and I get Cecelia and Danny dried off, all of us changing back into our clothes and going inside for a lunch of lemon chicken salad sandwiches and sweet potato fries. Clara compliments Agnes at least twice on her cooking, which I can tell softens the older woman towards her a bit, and then I take the children upstairs for their nap.

Clara is in the living room when I come back down. “This place really is nice,” she says, tucking her feet up under her as she sits in the armchair. “It feels more like a home than your dad’s place does.” She winces. “I’m sorry if I shouldn’t say that, but?—”

“No, I know what you mean. I feel the same way. My house has always felt so—cold. It feels like a place to live, not a home. This house doesn’t feel like that at all.”

“How long are you supposed to stay here for? Has Gabriel said anything about that?”

I shake my head. “I think it’s kind of open-ended.” Just saying it out loud, the impermanence of it, makes my stomach twist. “I think at first he just wanted to see if I liked the job at all. If I would be able to settle in alright. And then after that—I guess a lot of it depends on my father. Ultimately, if he says he wants me to come home, I have to. Otherwise, he’ll cut me off, and—” I shrug. “I don’t really know what I’d do then. We’d be right back to where I was, the last time we talked about this.”

“But you work for Gabriel,” Clara points out. “You already said he was sympathetic to your whole situation, right? So what if your dad orders you home before Gabriel wants you to stop working for him? Couldn’t he just pay you directly, then, if your dad cut you off?”

I bite my lip. Truthfully, I hadn’t thought about that. I hadn’t even considered the possibility that I could work out something separately with Gabriel, if the day came when my father wanted me to leave, and Gabriel still wanted me to stay. The thought of taking that much control of the situation, of taking that much risk, scares me more than a little. But I tuck the idea away, because it feels like the smallest sliver of a possibility. Like something that could work, if and when the time comes.

“It’s worth thinking about,” I say slowly. “I don’t know if it’s that simple. But it’s a possibility, for sure.”

We relax in the living room until Cecelia and Danny are done with their naps, chatting about Clara’s job and what she’s been up to in the city. I show her the movie room once we collect the two children, which she absolutely loves, and we settle in to watch one of the list of nature documentaries that Cecelia and Danny have said they wanted to see.

Gabriel isn’t home yet when it’s over, so we go hang out in the living room while we wait for him. Clara and I are sitting on the loveseat talking, while Cecelia and Danny read, when I hear the sound of footsteps coming into the living room.

I know it’s Gabriel. My heart does a little flip in my chest, a feeling that I absolutely do not want to examine more closely. I turn to look at him, intending to introduce Clara.

My heart drops when I see the look on his face. His mouth is set in a thin line, his jaw tight, and he looks pissed . Not curious or even slightly annoyed, but angry . He crosses his arms over his chest, and I feel my stomach go queasy as his frown deepens.

“Bella, what the hell is going on?” His voice is sharp, ringing through the room, and both Cecelia and Danny freeze halfway through jumping up to run to him. They sink back down to the floor, glancing at each other uneasily, as though they’re not sure why he’s so mad.

“I—” My throat feels like it’s closing up. “This is Clara. I told you about her before—she’s my best friend. I had asked her if she wanted to come over for the afternoon, just to hang out while I was watching Cecelia and Danny?—”

I trail off, because it doesn’t seem like my explanation is helping. If anything, it just seems like it’s going to make things worse. Like every word I say is making him angrier.

“You had a stranger come over to the house without asking first?” His voice is sharp as a knife, anger lacing every word. I feel myself stiffening, my mind starting to feel slow and muddled, fear cramping my stomach and chest as I physically react to the sound of an angry male voice directed at me.

“Cecelia, Danny, go find Agnes.” Gabriel glances at them, his voice softening marginally. He looks up at Clara, who looks painfully uncomfortable. “I’d appreciate it if you’d head out, now. I have a driver who can take you home if?—”

“Already calling an Uber.” She waves her phone, a forced smile on her face. “Sorry about this, Mr. Esposito. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

Clara glances at me. “See you soon, Bel,” she murmurs, and gets up, hurrying out of the room to wait for her Uber. I can’t blame her—to me, at least, Gabriel’s anger feels like a physical thing. I try to fight through the reaction to it, trying to figure out if he’s really as angry as he seems or if I’m overreacting, but I can’t focus my thoughts.

“I appreciate that I’ve made it clear that you’re a part of the family in this household, Bella, but this is still a job,” Gabriel continues. “You should have cleared it with me before inviting anyone over. I would have liked to meet Clara personally before she was around my children.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I know her really well, I have for a long time, so I didn’t think?—”

“You didn’t think. Correct. I’m sure you know her perfectly well, but I don’t, and therein lies the problem.” Gabriel’s voice hardens. “I expect that this won’t happen again. If you want her to be here in the future, I want to meet her myself, first.”

I nod, my throat so tight that I feel sure I’m about to burst into tears. My hands are shaking, and I can feel myself flinching with each word, recoiling as if from a physical blow. The panic is spreading through me, and I need to get away, get upstairs before Gabriel realizes just how bad this is. Just how close I am to unraveling.

“I’m sorry,” I manage again. “I won’t—it won’t happen again.” I scramble up from the couch, waiting for Gabriel to keep talking, to say something, or tell me not to leave yet, but he says nothing. I back away, my panic flaring as I realize I have to go around him to leave the room. It’s not as if he’s ever hurt me, or I ever think he would, but my mind can’t seem to separate him from those who have hurt me right now. I can’t seem to think straight.

“I—” I can’t think of anything else to say. I dart around him, biting my lip so hard that I taste blood, trying not to cry until I get out of the room. I rush for the stairs, up to my bedroom, glad that I don’t see Agnes or the kids on the way there. I run all the way up to my room, flinging myself inside and closing the door, and then the tears start to come.

He’s going to fire me. He’s angry with me. He’s so angry— I don’t even know if he is as angry as I think he is. My mind feels tangled, the fear bleeding through all of my thoughts and emotions until I don’t entirely know what’s real and what isn’t, my heart beating so hard it hurts. I squeeze my hands into fists, feeling my nails bite into my palms, pressing them against my mouth as I sink to the floor and start to sob.

I’m not sure how long I sit there for, crying. I know there’s no way I’m going down for dinner. I end up changing into a pair of lounge pants and a soft sweater, curling up in bed with a book, but I can’t focus. When I hear a knock at my door, I nearly jump out of my skin, pressing my knuckles to my mouth to stifle a gasp.

“Bella?” Gabriel calls out from the other side. “Are you going to come down tonight for dinner? Agnes needs to know whether to set a place for you or not.”

He doesn’t sound angry, just tired. But the sound of his voice sends another flood of panic through me, which only builds on itself— am I just going to be afraid of him, now? One argument, and everything is ruined? Did I fuck everything up with one mistake?

“No,” I whisper, my voice cracking. I clear my throat, repeating it a little louder. “No,” I manage. “I’m sorry. I have a headache. I’m just going to go to bed early.”

“Alright, then.” I think I detect a note of disappointment in Gabriel’s voice, but I can’t be sure.

I hear him walking away, and my shoulders relax, just a little. But the dread of how things are going to be tomorrow stays, lingering as I shower and get ready for bed. When I slide under the covers, I reach for my pill bottle, turning it over in my hand. After what happened today, I’m even more afraid of what’s going to happen when I go to sleep. I’m going to have nightmares, I feel sure of it. And if it disturbs Gabriel?—

I close my eyes tightly, trying not to think of the possibility of being sent back home, of the marriage that will be almost immediately waiting for me if I am. But the fear winds its way through me, keeping me awake until my racing heart and thoughts finally make me so exhausted that I drift off.

I’m walking down the aisle. Pyotr is standing there, waiting for me, and there’s a look of satisfaction on his face that I don’t fully understand. But I was told that this marriage was to make up for him being ‘cheated’ out of his marriage to Gia D’Amelio, my cousin, so maybe the satisfaction is that he’s still marrying a mafia daughter. A lower-ranking one, but still ? —

I’m nervous, but a part of me is a little hopeful. He’s young, at least, and handsome. I’m afraid of the Bratva, all mafia daughters are, and we all know why Salvatore stole Gia from him at the altar—the gossip has been going crazy for weeks. He thought Pyotr would hurt her. That she wasn’t safe.

So I’m being given to him instead.

But Salvatore promised I’d be safe. My father promised I’d be safe. And I’ve tried to be optimistic about this. To tell myself that maybe it won’t be so bad.

I hear the sounds of the church doors slamming. There was music, but now it twists and distorts, and I hear screaming instead, gunfire. I feel hands on me, dragging me back behind the altar, to the back of the church. I protest that I’m getting married, I’m supposed to be getting married, but there’s only laughter, rough voices telling me that there’s no wedding. I’m not going to be a bride. But they’re taking me somewhere anyway. Pyotr has a claim on me, even if he’s not going to make me his wife.

My ears are ringing from the gunshots. My hands feel warm and wet, and when I look down, I see a spray of blood over the bouquet I’m still holding, over my white dress. I wonder why I don’t feel any pain at first, and then I realize.

It’s not my blood.

The hands on me hurt. Voices are shouting at me, telling me not to fight, that it’s not worth it, that I’ll only make it worse. I wonder why my throat hurts, and I realize that it’s because I’m screaming, too. I’m screaming ? —

I jolt awake in the darkness, panting, tears streaming down my face. My throat feels tight and scratchy, and I press a hand over my mouth, panic washing over me.

If I was screaming?—

The door opens, and I let out another, sudden cry of fear.