ADELINE

 

"YOU'RE NOT CONCENTRATING, Adeline."

The voice of my piano teacher makes me jump, and my fingers stumble over the keys, creating a horrible combination of notes and making him cringe in disgust.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Moreau," I tell the tall, lanky man hovering over me.  He's older, in his sixties, and he's trained some of the world's best pianists.  When he retired to New York City several years ago, my father hired him to give me lessons; thus, replacing old Mrs. Beaumont, who started teaching me at the tender age of five.

To say Mr. Moreau is tough to please would be the understatement of the year.

He watches my every move as I continue with the Chopin composition, his narrowed eyes still projecting his disappointment over my blunder.

He's absolutely right about me not concentrating, and I inevitably stumble over the keys once more, much to his dismay as well as mine.

"Stop," he says before sighing exasperatedly and grumbling under his breath as he reaches into his brown, leather bag on a nearby chair.  He retrieves a metronome and places it on top of the piano.  That's something I haven't had to use since I first learned to play when I was a little girl, when I was starting to learn the harder pieces of music.

He's clearly trying to embarrass and undermine me.

And it's working.

I shift on the hard bench seat and cringe from the shooting pain that rockets up my spine.  My back and bottom are covered in bruises from the beating my father gave me when we got home.  He used his belt on me the moment we stepped through the front door.  I thought when I got up this morning that there would be blood soaking my sheets from the severity of the beating; but, fortunately, he didn't break the skin…this time.  I'm just severely bruised from my collarbone to my thighs.

More bruises to add to the ever-growing collection on my body, I think to myself.  It's not the first time my father has beat me for some minor infraction, and it certainly won't be the last.

The piano teacher sets the metronome to a steady pace and says, "Begin again."  And then he adds, "And try to keep the timing this time, Adeline."  He says my name as if it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

The rhythmic clicking threatens to drive me up the wall, but I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.  And then I begin the Chopin piece again, keeping in perfect timing just like he asked.

And that's something I always strive for --- to be perfect.  Always.

My whole entire life I have had people around me always demanding perfection --- my father, my teachers, my tutors, my dance instructors, my father's associates and so on.  And I'm always quick not to disappoint and be the epitome of a perfect Italian mafia princess…so that I don't have to endure the consequences of attempting to be average.

A knock at the door startles me out of my thoughts and breaks my concentration.  I end up making a few sour notes on the piano before stopping altogether in frustration and balling my hands into fists on my lap.  Mr. Moreau scowls at me and stops the metronome before going to answer the door.

One of my father's guards peers inside and tells me, "Piano lesson's over.  Your father's gettin' ready to leave, and he wants to say goodbye to you before he goes."

I have to force myself not to roll my eyes.  My father doesn't want to tell me goodbye.  He wants to tell me not to mess up while he's gone.  He wants to enforce his rules, ingrain them inside of my head until I can no longer think about anything else.

But what he doesn't understand is that he's already done that.  He's been doing that my whole life.

Last night was a mistake.  A careless mistake.  I have a curfew, albeit a new one since I was never really allowed to leave the house before my father deemed Giovanni Morello a suitable future husband for me.

Gio and I have been on three dates.  Only three. And after a long day on the beach yesterday, I foolishly fell asleep on his couch.

I'm sure normal twenty-somethings get in a whole hell of a lot more trouble than that, but they have the good fortune of not being under my father's rule.

In a strange way, the beating was worth it, though, because it meant for at least one night I was actually living outside of this home, which is more like a prison to me.

Sometimes I think that I'm nothing more than a living, breathing porcelain doll to my father.  He takes me from my shelf to show off to his friends, but then I'm returned to the same spot when he's done with me.

I'm forced to stay in this house under supervision, under lock and key almost twenty-four-seven.  My father tells me it's for my own good because of who he is and how many enemies he has, but I'm starting to not believe that any more.  I'm not the naïve little girl he raised by himself after my mother died shortly after I was born.

And the more he lets me out of the house to be with Gio, the more I start realizing that my life is anything but normal, like I once believed it was.

I bite back any hateful words that want to spit out my mouth and follow the guard downstairs, grateful to at least escape my torturous piano lesson.  My father and his entourage are all standing in the giant foyer of the mansion, and all eyes connect with me as I glide down the stairs in seamless form.

I'm wearing a long, dark gray dress with simple heels, and my hair is styled flawlessly off to the side on one shoulder.  I did my makeup a little darker and heavier today in an attempt to hide my swollen eyes from the crying jags I had last night and this morning.

People tell me I'm beautiful all the time, but my father beat the self-confidence right out of me years ago.  I'm never good enough for him no matter how hard I try, and I'm made to constantly feel like I'm failing him.

And so I always look my best, no matter the occasion, and don a mask of flawlessness in the hopes that one day it will be enough.

I just want to be enough.

My father stands proudly, wearing a dark, pinstripe suit, red tie and his signature fedora, looking very much like the mob boss that he is.  When he glances at one of his goons, who looks like he wants to eat me alive and is literally starting to drool, he smacks him in the back of his head and mutters, "That's my daughter you're looking at." 

Immediately, all the eyes in the room focus on something else other than me…all of them except one pair of hazel eyes that I never want to stop staring. 

Giovanni is leaning against the wall in a casual dark suit sans tie and with a blank look on his face.  When he sees me glance in his direction, though, a crooked grin instantly graces his mouth.  And that's when I notice the bruise on his jaw and his cracked lip at the corner.  I realize that must have been the punishment he received from my father last night.  And it's all my fault.  I'm the one who fell asleep on his couch instead of going home in time to meet curfew, but Gio received part of the blame.

Feeling completely mortified, I stare down at the floor, no longer able to face my future husband.

My father holds his arms outstretched, and I reluctantly go to him.  He crushes me to his chest in a hug, pressing against my bruised back, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out in pain.  Tears well in my eyes, and I gently sigh with relief when he finally lets me go.

My father stares into my eyes and wipes a stray tear away from my cheek.  "I'll be back before you know it, Adeline," he tells me, obviously convinced I'm crying because I'm going to miss him.

I glance at Gio, who is giving me an empathetic look.  I wonder if he knows…  It wouldn't surprise me if my father bragged to him about my beating.  My father loves to brag about all the horrible stuff he does to me to "put me in my place"…even when he thinks I'm not listening.

Giovanni steps forward.  "Sal, would it be all right to take Adeline to dinner tonight?" he asks suddenly.

I hold my breath as I wait for the answer.  My father will no doubt be angry about the request considering what just happened last night.  I wait for him to make a decision, and he takes his time glancing from Gio to me and then back again.

"That's fine, but I'm sending Bruno and Dario with you.  And don't even think about bringing her back here after her curfew this time, Giovanni," he warns.

Gio nods in compliance and then winks at me once my father's back is turned.  I can't help but smile.  He certainly has become the only light in my dark, lonely world as of late.

We watch my father and his men leave, and then it's just Giovanni, me and some other of my father's hired help milling about the mansion.

Gio gently places a hand on my shoulder.  "Did your father hurt you last night?" he asks in a low voice so no one else can hear.

"Not any more than he usually does," I admit fretfully.

Giovanni winces at my words.  Then he takes my hand and pulls me into the study, closing the door behind us.  "Adeline," he starts, but then pauses, his eyes searching the floor as if he's trying to find what he wants to say.  When his hazel eyes meet mine, he says, "I know I may have seemed…reluctant when your father first arranged this relationship between us."

Reluctant is a poor way of putting it.  I remember when my father first tried selling him on the idea of marrying his youngest daughter, producing an heir and, consequently, taking over the family business.  All three of us were in my father's study, and Giovanni had angrily slammed his fists on the desk, causing me to jump.  He outright refused my father's proposal, saying he was too old for me and that he could never see me as anything more than a little girl.

Giovanni is twelve years older than me, but I never saw our age difference as being an issue once I turned eighteen.  And now that I'm twenty-one, I think the disparity in our ages is insignificant.

Gio takes my hands in his, pulling me out of my reverie.  "It's only because I watched you grow up.  I just couldn't think of you like that.  But now…now I've come to realize how beautiful you are inside and out.  And I want you to know that I'll always protect you."

I stare up at him with adoration.  He has no idea how much love I have for him already.  I've had a crush on Giovanni ever since my father first took him under his wing.  He's always been a handsome and powerful man, and his presence constantly took my breath away when he entered a room.

In fact, it still does.

"If anything ever happens to you, know that I'll find you.  I'll always be with you…in here," Giovanni says with a very serious look before pressing his fingers against my chest right over my heart.

My heartbeat stutters under his touch, and he flashes me a breathtaking smile that has me practically melting to the floor.

"I have to go now, but I'll pick you up for dinner at seven," he tells me before placing a quick kiss on my cheek and leaving.

It takes me a few moments to gather my wits before I go upstairs to get ready for our date tonight.