Caterina
“Let me make sure I’ve got this right,” my best friend Tatiana says leaning over with her elbow making a squeaky <b>noise </b>on the leather seat while trying to bnce a ss of champagne. She brushes her blonde hair away from her <b>face</b>.
“So, you just graduated, and your boyfriend of five years didn’te to the ceremony or spend any time with you afterwards?”
I grit my teeth. Her straightforwardness can be a bit much. Even though she’s had quite a bit to drink today<b>, </b>her honesty <b>is </b>nothing new. We had to attend five graduation parties, ording to her. It was fun<b>, </b>but I felt like I was just watching from the sidelines, feeling like something was wrong with me.
My absent boyfriend seems like a convenient excuse, though it doesn’t feel entirely right. There are deeper issues, but I’m not ready to face them.
“He had to work early tomorrow,” I say, repeating the excuse he’s given me too many times. “I guess I can’t me him for trying to be responsible.”
“An adult would have asked for the day off. He’s known about the graduation date for months,” she says with a shrug. “I don’t buy it, Caterina.”
She’s always calling me out.
I just shake my head.
“What matters is that it’s important to you,” she continues. “If he really cared, he’d be here. He’s treating you like an afterthought, and that’s not right. If he were trulymitted<b>, </b>being with you would be his top priority. I know you don’t want to admit it, but you don’t seem to matter to him, and it makes me want to do something drastic.”
I sigh, unsure how to respond. There’s no answer that will make her ept my choice to stay with him. Luciano has hurt me so many times that I can’t see any good left in him. I don’t know why stay.
Maybe it’s the fear of being alone or hoping he’ll change. I’m not sure. We’re not engaged or nning a family.
I can’t spend the rest of the night hearing things I’ve already told myself, so I try to shift the conversation.
“Hey, it’s not all bad. His absence means we get
boyfriend couldn’t join us tonight either.” I y regret
saying it when I see her confident smile fade.
spend the whole day and night together. And from what heard, your
“Yeah, I guess we’re both unlucky in love. He had other things to <b>do </b>too.”
She won’t say what, and I wonder if he even told her. She talks about her rtionship with Christopher as if it’s <b>perfect</b><b>, </b>but! know it’s not. She <b>seems </b>to have learned to hide her true feelings, just like her powerful father, who can’t <b>show </b><b>his </b><b>emotions</b><b>. </b>
Our driver, Roger, turns onto the road leading <b>to </b>the Rossetti estate. My stomach flutters. Gianni Rossetti is <b>both </b><b>dangerous </b><b>and </b>intriguing. <b>He </b>has many enemies <b>because </b>he doesn’t <b>always </b>follow <b>the </b><bw</b><b>, </b>which my father warns <b>me </b>about
<b>The </b>guard at the gate waves us through<b>, </b>and we drive up <b>the </b>long<b>, </b>winding <b>driveway</b><b>. </b><b>There’s </b><b>so </b><b>much </b><bnd </b><b>that </b><b>even </b><b>Gianni’s </b>bodyguards <b>live </b><b>in </b>small houses <b>near </b>the high stone wall.
Tatiana finishes her champagne and looks at me <b>with </b><b>dazed </b><b>eyes</b>. What were we <b>talking </b><b>about</b>?<b>” </b><b>She </b><b>taps her </b><b>chin</b><b>. </b><b>“</b><b>Oh </b><b>right</b><b>, </b>Luke the jerk<b>.</b><b>” </b>
I roll my eyes at her nickname. <b>“</b>He’s not a jerk, Tatiana.”
Maybe if I keep telling myself that<b>, </b>I’ll start to believe it too.
“But he really is, and you know it. I know it. His mom probably knows it too. You might be mad at me, though I doubt it, but it’s your graduation day–a once–in–a–lifetime event. He knew how important it was to you, and he couldn’t even make time for dinner when your dad specifically invited him.”
It bothers me more than I want to admit, but all I can do ise up with another excuse. “He couldn’t help that he had to cover <b>a </b>shift.”
Her snort fills the car. “Oh, right. I forgot about his job at his uncle’s gym.”
“The gym he’s going to take over,” I remind her gently. “It’s a big investment. If he wants to be taken seriously<b>, </b>he needs to make responsible choices; otherwise, what’s the point in taking over?”
“I’m just saying… you deserve better. He could have taken the day off. He didn’t even make an effort, which shows he doesn’t care.” She burps and then groans. <b>“</b>I’m sorry. I just hate seeing you hurt, and that’s all he seems to do.”
“I’m not hurt.” At least, not really. Not in the way I should be if I cared enough about him to let him <b>affect </b>me.
Roger parks the car, gets out, and opens the door for us with a sense of formality. I’m still getting used to the special treatment Tatiana and I receive when we’re together.
I grab my overnight bag from the seat and give Tatiana, who’s a bit unsteady, some space to get out.
“Do you need help?” Roger asks, noting Tatiana’s swaying. She’s tipsy but still on her feet.
Tatiana narrows her green eyes at him and purses her glossy pink lips. “Excuse me, sir.” She pokes his suit jacket with a manicured finger. “My dad pays you to look after me, not judge me. Yes, I had a few drinks. I graduated today. What did you do?”
Roger rolls his eyes, and I can’t help but smile at their dynamic. They’re like fire and gasoline<b>, </b>constantly sparking off each other. Of all the people Tatiana interacts with, Roger is the only one who stands up to her without flinching<b>. </b>
“Get her to bed before she makes a bigger fool of herself,” he says, not breaking eye contact.
I link my arm through Tatiana’s and guide her towards the front door.
“You’re incredibly rude, and I’m going to tell my dad to fire you,” Tatiana shouts over her shoulder.
“That would be fantastic. I could use a break from your high–maintenance attitude,” Roger retorts.
“You’re such a jerk!” Tatiana struggles, but I tighten my hold to keep her steady. She’s ready to argue, but it’s not worth it tonight.
I give her a gentle tug. “Stop. He’s just trying to provoke you, and you’re falling for it.” We’re adults, allowed to have a few drinks, but making a scene isn’t ideal. Thest thing we need is Gianniing out to scold us–if he’s even here.
“Why does he have to be such a jerk?” she asks, her whisper loud and slurred.
“I don’t know, but you’re not helping. You push back just as hard. If that’s how you flirt, I can only imagine what it’s like when you’re in love.”
“That <b>wasn’t </b>flirting,” she says, using her finger to unlock the door. As soon as it beeps and unlocks, she pushes it open. Stepping inside, a sense of calm washes over me. Unlike my home where my father’s questions and disapproval are constant, here it’s just peaceful.
“I should have eaten something,” Tatiana pouts as I help her to the <b>kitchen</b><b>. </b>She leans on me more heavily. “My stomach hurts<b>.</b><b>” </b>
“Of course it does. You only had half a sandwich today.” I <b>set </b>her down by the counter, grab <b>a </b>gran bar and some <b>water</b>, hoping it will help with the alcohol.
Then we head to her room.
I know I’ve made simr mistakes, but I’d never get this tipsy if I knew I was heading home to my father. Living with Luciano means avoiding my detective father’s reminders about how easy it is for college students to get into trouble. <b>He’s </b>seen a lot in his career, and his overprotectiveness can be overwhelming.
Gianni is different. Even before we could legally drink, he took a more mature approach to Tatiana’s partying,
“It’s pointless to forbid you, so just make smart choices and call me if things start to go wrong.”
As a notorious arms dealer, Gianni Rossetti understands the darker side of life as much as any detective. It’s intriguing how their approaches differ: one fighting crime, the other involved in it.
I’ve always been fascinated by Gianni. Since I was a teenager, he’s been drawing me into hisplex world, making me crave his presence without even realizing it.
As we walk to Tatiana’s room, our footsteps echoing on the polished floor, she answers my unspoken question about her father. “He’s working. Always working,” she whispers. “He said he had important things to do tonight. I doubt he’s even home yet.” He’s always working. After lunch<b>, </b>he mentioned he’d be homete so Tatiana is probably right. Running a business like Rossetti Explosives, which appears legitimate but is deeply entwined with mob activities<b>, </b>must be exhausting. Theyers of protection around the family’s dealings frustrate my father, who can only watch from the sidelines.
Once we reach the bedroom, I guide her into the bathroom and sit her on the closed toilet lid so I can remove her makeup. Her eyes are half–closed, but she gives me a grateful smile, likely relieved she won’t wake up with mascara smudged on her face<b>. </b>“I don’t deserve you, B.”
“Don’t say that,” I reply as I soak a cotton ball with makeup remover and gently wipe her eyes. “We’re friends, and that means being there for each other, even when it’s just holding your hair back while you’re sick.”
Her lips curl into a shy smile. “No sickness tonight.”
I return her smile as I finish cleaning her face. Then I help her change into pajamas and settle her into bed before changing into my own sleepwear.
“It would be wise to eat something before you…” I stop as I see her asleep, her soft snores filling the room. I ce the gran bar and two Advil on the nightstand. I had hoped to find some relief from my frustration with my boyfriend through drinking tonight, but taking care of Tatiana, as she has taken care of me, kept me in check.
With Tatiana asleep, I use the restroom, wash my face, and brush out my long, brte hair. The only light in the roomes from the moon shining through the windows, and I let out a deep sigh. I have a strange longing for the dark, a desire to escape the reality of what it hides.
When I climb into bed on my side, Tatiana stirs. “It’s just me,” I whisper.
“I know. I’m not that drunk,” she responds, turning to face me and fluffing a pillow under her head “I’m sorry.”
“For what, being drunk?”
“For giving you a hard time about Luciano. You’re right,” she admits with a sigh. “Christopher isn’t much better. Sometimes<b>, </b><b>I </b>don’t even think he likes me.”
It’s unusual for her to be so vulnerable, and her admission reveals that it’s been bothering her for some time.
“I’m sure he does like you,” I reassure her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and patting her cheek. <b>“</b>What’s not <b>to </b>like about you?”
“You know what I mean<b>, </b><b>He’s </b><b>so </b>inconsistent. One minute he’s loving and sweet, and the next he acts like <b>I’m </b><b>a </b>burden. It’s confusing and hurtful.”
I feel a pang <b>of </b>concern for her. “How long has this <b>been </b>happening?” Christopher has always <b>seemed </b>distant—-quiet and
reserved, almost perfect. But if he’s treating her poorly, that needs to be addressed.
She looks away, then meets my gaze again. “Not long. I’m worried he might be seeing someone else.”
“Someone else?” I’m taken aback. This is the first I’ve heard of this. “I don’t think he’s foolish enough to let go of someone like you. And if he is, maybe it’s for the best.”
“I’m hoping our trip to France will fix things,” she says, her eyes closing as sleep starts to take over. “A whole month together.”
“I’m sure things will work out,” I say softly, though I wonder if spending a month with a detached boyfriend is the best n. I’d hate to see him abandon her in another country, and if he hurts het… I can only imagine the fallout from her father and Roger.
With that on my mind, I know sleep will be elusive. Plus, I’m still wired from the whirlwind of parties, socializing, and the fact that I graduated. I did it. I smile at the thought, feeling a deep sense of pride. But despite that achievement, I feel emptier and sadder than I expected.
I worked hard, earned good grades, applied for internships, and went through interviews. My father was beaming all day, bragging about my uing job.
“You’re very fortunate to have secured a job
SO
quickly,” he said.
But I don’t feel fortunate. I feel trapped, like my safety–safe job, safe boyfriend.
life is
on a track with only one direction. I chose a career in economics for its
Safe. Safe. Safe.
I’m technically in control of my life, but it feels more like I’m performing a carefully rehearsed y. I can only adjust the speed, but the direction remains fixed–there’s no changing course or turning back. With a sigh, I try to reason with my own frustration, knowing that overthinking will only make me more miserable. I push back the covers, getting out of bed slowly to avoid waking Tatiana. Maybe a cup of tea and a snack will help clear my mind.
As I step out of Tatiana’s room<b>, </b>my thoughts shift. I try not to dwell on Gianni–where he might be or who he might be with. The truth is, I’ve nursed a secret crush on him for years, but he’s unaware of it, and it’s unlikely anything will evere of these unspoken feelings. He’s my best friend’s much older, captivatingly mysterious father, and that’s where it ends.
The stark reality hits me: Gianni will never know how I feel. I have Luciano and a secure job lined up. I should be content, but instead, I feel restless. Is it wrong to yearn for happiness when it seems so elusive? It can vanish as easily as cotton candy dissolves under a drop of water. I’ve always been taught to seek stability and security–a mantra my father has repeated for as long as I can remember.
“Happinesses after securing the basics and more. Ites from feeling safe,” I can almost hear my father’s deep voice saying.
I have a steady boyfriend, a degree, and a job waiting for me, yet none of it feels right. I can’t even pinpoint what I truly want. All I know is that when I think about happiness<b>, </b>the word thates to mind is passion. I want a life that excites me, one filled with new experiences and adventures.
But who’s to say? If I had that passion<b>, </b>maybe I’d long for the simplicity of a stable job with a boyfriend who likes routine and a favorite takeout spot nearby. Perhaps some people aren’t meant for constant excitement; they just think they are because they’ve never known it.
I wish I could convince myself that was true for me. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s something more fulfilling out there, just beyond my grasp.
The kitchen is dim when I reach it, illuminated only by the patio lights filtering through the sliding ss door. I navigate to the fridge<b>, </b>trying to push aside thoughts of Gianni, He probably doesnt even know I exist beyond being Tatiana’s friend.
-made yogurt <b>I </b>open the fridge to find it stocked with fresh produce<b>. </b>I consider making tea but am drawn instead to a pre- smoothie. Despite my mood, I grab the smoothie and settle onto <b>a </b>stool at the ind in the middle of the kitchen. The space is sleek and elegant, with its gray and blue tones and dark wood ents. It’s a far cry from the cozy, two–story home my <b>father </b>
<b>owns</b><b>. </b>
<b>415 </b>
As I twist
off the and take a sip, my enjoyment is abruptly interrupted by a sound. Not a voice, but a series of moans,
cap unmistakable and intense.