Isabella

“Happy birthday, Isabella, happy birthday to you,” Mark and Carmella finished singing as I sat in front of my cake.

My older brother, Mark, sat on my left and Carmella, my childhood nanny and mother figure, was on my right. They were the only people on earth who kept me going every day. Without them, I would be lost.

A few members of the staff crowded around the table. Their hands rose to clap for the occasion and to wish me a happy birthday. This was the norm in our house. I was lucky enough to have my brother and the people my father paid here with me. They were my family more so than my parents.

Mark smacked a kiss on my cheek. “Happy birthday, Bella. You’re an adult now. You can do anything you want. So, what’s it gonna be?”

“Except drink in a bar,” I countered. “Or gamble.”

Carmella kissed my other cheek and whispered, “Buon compleanno, mi amore,” in my ear, which translated to ‘Happy birthday, my love’ in Italian.

I kissed her back. “Thanks, Carm.”

“I can sneak you into a bar. If you want.” Mark sat back in his chair, with his hands behind his head, waiting for the cake to be cut and served. “We can also hang out here. I have some vodka in the pool house and wine coolers if you want some girly shit.”

I laughed and nudged him in the side. “I am a girl, silly.”

Since my eighteenth birthday was a day of firsts, I decided to take Mark up on his offer. My father was in Washington D.C. on business. He always had his spies in place, but I didn’t care. One drink wouldn’t kill me.

“How about some champagne instead?”

Mark nodded. “Done. It’s your special day, birthday girl.” He looked behind my chair at Carmella. “Do we have any champagne in the basement?”

“Plenty. Your parents always have a supply for parties.” She pushed her chair out from the table and stood. “I’ll grab a few bottles.”

I folded my hands on the long dining room table, which was large enough to seat twenty people comfortably, and glanced at Mark. “How’s college?”

“Awesome, one party after the next.”

“You’re so lucky.” I sighed, wishing I could have the life Mark was living in Manhattan at Columbia University, our father’s alma mater.

“You’ll be on campus with me in the fall.” He covered my hands with one of his and squeezed. “Only nine more months until you’re free of this place.”

“I’ll never be free of Dad,” I countered, annoyed by the truth. “We both know he’ll have me watched like a hawk. He never lets me do anything fun.”

He looked up at the ceiling and to the camera in the corner of the room. It was a tiny orb, almost invisible if you didn’t know where it was placed. My father had designed the security system in our house to blend in with the décor. But everyone who lived here knew where to look and the timing of each camera.

I lived my entire life under a microscope, each portion of it analyzed and inspected as if my entire existence was a specimen in a science lab. Sometimes, I felt like a lab rat, locked inside my cage until the mad scientist decided I was allowed out to play. This house was a prison more than a home. It was as cold and uninviting as my family. The only thing that gave the old mansion warmth was the staff. I knew every one of their names and considered them friends, where my father didn’t even acknowledge they existed.

Carmella returned with two bottles of champagne, one in each hand. She set them on the table next to Mark and ran into the kitchen to grab two glasses.

“Aren’t you going to drink with us?”

Carmella gave me a confused look. “I’m still on duty.”

“It’s my birthday. You don’t have to work.” I threw my hand out in the direction of the kitchen door behind her. “Get another glass and come sit with us. In fact, get one for everyone who’s working right now. They should be here for the toast Mark’s about to give.”

Mark laughed. “A toast? Who said I was giving one?”

“I did.” I smiled at him, and then rubbed my hand on top of his head, messing up his shaggy blond hair.

He had our mother’s light hair and pale blue eyes, where I had our father’s dark complexion and hazel irises. We looked nothing alike, so different you couldn’t even tell we were related.

Carmella came back into the formal dining room with several glasses. A few members of the staff stood on the opposite side of the table from us with their hands behind their backs, lined up along the wall. My father made them wait in the same fashion while he ate. I hated how he treated them. Even with my parents out of the equation for the night, the fear was still there. He had this effect on everyone he encountered.

Mark opened a bottle of champagne. The cork made a loud pop that echoed off the vaulted ceilings. You could hear everything in this house. With the exception of throw rugs, we didn’t have a speck of carpet. Every step someone took on the tiled and hardwood floors were audible to anyone within hearing distance. I’d suspected my father preferred it this way, so there were no surprises.

Mark handed glasses to Carmella and me and then raised his in the air. “My sister wanted me to give a speech for her birthday. I’m tempted to roast her, but she doesn’t have enough embarrassing moments for me to make fun of… not unless I count the time when she was eleven and—”

“Don’t you dare,” I warned, pointing my finger at him.

He stared around the room for a second until his eyes landed on me. “Ah, don’t worry, little sis, I won’t tell everyone your deep, dark secrets.”

That was a joke. How could anyone have secrets in this family? I couldn’t even steal a candy bar from the kitchen without my father knowing.

“Okay,” Mark recouped. “In all seriousness, it’s my baby sister’s eighteenth birthday. She’s acing all her classes, got her early acceptance letter to Columbia, and I couldn’t be more proud of her. Isabella is the best of us all and probably the smartest.” He covered the side of his mouth with his hand and laughed. “But don’t tell her that. We don’t want her to get a big head about it.”

I stared up at him with a wide grin and mouthed ‘thank you.’ Mark always knew how to make a shitty situation better. He was my rock, the one person I could talk to when I needed to vent. No one understood what it was like to be a Parisi more than him. I was so happy our parents didn’t care enough to be here with us. They would have made the entire night suck.

I clutched the feather charm between my fingers, feeling each ridge engraved into the gold. Stephan remembered my birthday, made sure it was special for me. My heart slammed against my rib cage when I thought of him. He was my addiction, one I wanted to feed as often as possible.

After we finished a piece of cake and a glass of champagne, Mark dragged me outside. The chill in the air caused the hair on my arms to stand at attention. Even for this time of the year, it was freezing. Our property was located at the top of the hill, with a perfect view of the Long Island Sound from beyond the wrought iron fence, which spanned the perimeter. I could hear the water from a distance, waves hitting the rocks below us.

We moved past the pool and to the small house behind it. To our right were living quarters for the staff, and to the left, the pool house where Mark spent most of his time when he was home from school.

Once inside, we plopped down on the plush couches. Mark took a sip from the bottle of champagne and handed it to me. “You know what I did on my eighteenth birthday?”

“Hmm…” I raised my eyebrow at him. “If I remember correctly, you had friends over, got drunk, and then trashed the pool house. Oh, and you stepped on broken glass from the craft beer bottles you stole from Dad’s private stash, and the concierge doctor had to give you a few stitches.”

He titled his head back and laughed. “It’s not a party worth talking about unless someone passes out or ends up in the hospital.”

I shook my head at him, not amused. More like I was jealous that our father gave him such a long leash, when I was on constant lockdown.

I raised the bottle in my hand and said, “To Dad not being here to ruin the night. He’s such a buzz kill.”

“Why do you think I like it out here? No cameras and no one to watch me. I can do whatever the hell I want.”

“Yeah, but you kind of need someone to look after you.”

My brother had addiction problems, which stemmed from his underlying issue. Mark was diagnosed with bipolar disorder when he was my age, explaining all the erratic behavior and mood swings. He’d dabbled in drugs and alcohol over the years to dull his condition. After his last stint in rehab, disguised as a vacation in the Hamptons, the doctor prescribed my brother medicine that seemed to be working. At least he was more docile than before.

Mark hopped up from the couch to lift a medium-sized box from the kitchen counter. The paper was bunched as if he’d gotten frustrated and balled it together long enough to slap a pound of tape and ribbon on it.

I chuckled when he set it on the table in front of me. “You shouldn’t have. What did the wrapping paper ever do to you?”

He rolled his eyes and sank into the space next to me, the plush cushions moving beneath his weight. “Hey, at least I tried. I could’ve pulled a Dad move and had the girl at the store wrap it for me.”

I patted him on the shoulder. “You get an A for effort that’s for sure.”

Mark smirked, stealing the bottle from my hand. “Stop giving me shit and open your present.”

I laid the box in my lap and tugged at the ribbon holding the crazy mess together. My fingers slid beneath the seams of the paper, revealing a black box with no markings on it. “There better not be something gross inside,” I warned him.

He held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

For my tenth birthday, Mark thought he was funny and slipped a fuzzy fake spider inside one of my presents. I screamed for ten minutes straight, now terrified of spiders for life because of him.

I flipped the top, the lid falling to the floor at my feet. A navy hoodie with COLUMBIA scrawled in white letters was inside, accompanied by a small box from Tiffany’s. All the men in my life were spoiling me today.

Mark pointed at the sweatshirt. “It has your name on the back.”

I held it up and turned it over to see PARISI in the same white lettering. The number twenty-three, my favorite, was below it.

I dropped it onto the couch next to me and leaned over to give Mark a hug. “Thank you. A real gift for once, not something a lady I don’t even know picked out for me. Dad’s presents are so depressing. They only remind me of how much he doesn’t care. But you do.” I released him from my strong grasp and sat back. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, big bro.”

He smiled and made a fist that he knocked into my arm. It was a light tap that didn’t hurt. “Don’t mention it. You deserve better than this.” Mark pointed at the Tiffany’s box. “Open it.”

I couldn’t believe my eyes or the fact I was holding a pair of diamond and tanzanite flower drop earrings. My mouth opened wide in shock when I locked onto Mark. “These cost a fortune. I can’t accept them.” I tried to give him the box, but he pushed it back to me.

“It’s not every day you turn eighteen. This is a special occasion, and I wanted you to remember it for a good reason for a change. Dad gave me access to some of the money in my trust fund. Don’t worry about it. They were on him.”

We both laughed.

So many birthdays were unsatisfying, sometimes ending with me crying or upset over something stupid my father did. But years of disappointment and being beaten down by life had made me tougher, more resilient to bad situations and crap holidays.

I held my hand over my heart and sighed. “Mark, this was so nice of you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like them.”

“How did you even know I was looking at them?”

I set the box on the coffee table and curled up next to Mark on the couch.

He passed me what was left of the champagne. “How do you think?”

I grunted in frustration. “From Dad spying on my Internet searches?”

He nodded. “Sorry.”

I yawned, sleep and alcohol taking over me. “It’s not your fault he’s a psycho.”

My cell phone was monitored along with my computer. A member of my father’s personal security team tracked every single thing I did. The GPS on my phone gave them my location at all times. Once, I’d turned it off and had a swarm of men with guns show up at my friend’s house to collect me. That was the last time I saw Jenny McAvoy. She was the last friend I’d attempted to have before my father paid her family off to keep her out of my life.

The alcohol was getting to me, my mind a little fuzzy. I rested my head against the back of the couch and turned my head to look at Mark. “What’s it like to be free and live in the city?”

“It’s fun, different from Long Island. You’ll like Columbia once you get used to being in the city.”

“We’re so secluded out here,” I confessed. “This place feels like a prison.”

“That’s why I had to leave. I couldn’t get better until I got away from all this.”

He was referring to his mental illness. It wasn’t something we talked about often, but his outlook seemed to improve once he was at college.

“I know Dad’s even harder on you, but it will get better.” Mark patted my hand to comfort me. “At least it did for me. He seemed to lighten up more once I was out of his house.”

Exhausted from the day I’d had, I closed my eyes and muttered, “I hope you’re right.”

“Tired?”

I yawned again, this time louder. “Yes.”

He covered me with a blanket from the back of the couch and took the bottle from my hand. My eyelids were heavy, and as much as I fought sleep, the alcohol won.