Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79747 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I take a harsh swallow as Marco sits there expectantly. The maid brewed us all a mug of coffee earlier. The only one who has taken a sip is Rya. It’s her day off, and I’m sure this is not how she’d planned to spend it. But Crue isn’t here, so at least I know I’m not stealing her away from him for too long. Lord forbid.
Rya clears her throat. “I think perhaps you should start with an apology, Honey.”
Obviously.
My gaze darts up to Marco and quickly falls back to my hands, where they clench my dress. He’s so pissed but hurt as well. It’s the worst combination. Of course, I feel guilty, but it was the only thing I could think of to ensure he wouldn’t track me down. Marco is a well-trained hound.
I clear my throat. I want to grab my coffee, but my hands are too shaky. I’ve stood up to many people in the past, but Marco is basically family, so it’s different.
“Honey,” Marco starts. “I need a very clear explanation.”
I let out a shaky breath and want to burst into tears. Most likely a mix of still trying to process last night and now the consequences of my decisions.
I don’t have any regrets.
I just feel really shitty.
I shoot a glance at Rya, who is casually blowing on her coffee to cool it down.
I roll back my shoulders. “I just…” The words fall short, and then I pin him with a stare. “Marco, I don’t want you here anymore,” I blurt. The hurt that overtakes his expression is immediate, so I quickly add, “And I don’t mean it like that.”
I sigh. “It’s just… I want to be by myself, truly by myself, for a while. I don’t want to be followed. I feel like I’m still being treated like a child. And it weighs on me that you had to leave your family back in Italy.”
“I go where you go,” he says dutifully.
“No, Marco, that’s not fair,” I exclaim.
He seems slightly taken aback by my outburst. And maybe it’s because I’ve always been quiet. That’s what I thought everyone wanted from me—to speak when spoken to, to be the perfect daughter and representation of the Ricci household, and to make my father and mother proud.
“Miss Ricci,” he says. And I hate when he speaks to me so formally. He makes it sound, yet again, like a job, even though he has been as much of a father to me as my own because Marco has always been there. Always. And now, I want to breathe a little like Rya. I suppose it isn’t a good point to make when two guards stand outside the kitchen door, but still.
“Honey,” he starts again. “You know I can’t leave your side. This is my duty. And the pressure lies as heavily on me as it does you to uphold the Ricci name. I swore from when you two were born that I would protect you with my life.”
“But you have your own children, Marco. A wife,” I say, almost pleading. I always worried that his wife, even his children, might hate me for taking so much of his time.
“And that was my decision to have both.”
“And what about what I want?” I argue. “I came to New York to try and figure out who I am and what I want to do with my life. And it just feels like everything I do is still tracked. That I can’t do anything right and I’m always being judged.
“I want to go on dates with boys. I want to go to a job where I’m not being collected like I’m still in school. I am smothered. And not by you. I know it’s my father’s hand by extension. But I wanted an evening to myself, and I hate that I hurt you and went to such measures to put something in your drink so I could do that. I never wanted to hurt you.”
Rya is watching us. She probably assumes that I spent the night with Dawson. And that little white lie was so much better than the reality, even with her reservations concerning Dawson.
Marco exhales. “That act could’ve cost you your life, Miss Ricci.”
I exhale in frustration. “No, Marco, I had a very lovely evening. I want to have what Rya has.” I point to her. “I want to live my own life. No one here knows who I am.”
“There will always be people who know who you are,” he says.
I growl out a frustrated noise and stand up. “Yell at me or something, Marco. Be pissed off that I spiked your drink. But stop treating me like a child!”
I can see the muscle bounce in his jaw, and I throw my hands in the air.
“If your father found out about last night, I don’t think you realize the consequences it would have on me,” he says, banging his hand on his chest.