Two
Vanessa
After Bones left, I didn’t open the letter.
Watching him drive away and disappear down the road broke me in a whole new way. I immediately went to bed, lay in the sheets that I shared with him every night. The bed smelled like him, and in some ways, it felt like he was still there.
I stayed in that spot for a long time. I cried on and off. Sometimes, I fell asleep. When I woke up, I cried again. I became a woman I didn’t recognize, someone so weak and pathetic. Before Bones, a man had never had such an intimate hold on me. I didn’t refrain from walking away if I didn’t like him. If he had the audacity to say something insulting, I didn’t hesitate to insult him back. I never lost sleep over a guy, and I certainly never cried over one.
But Bones was different.
Over the span of a few days, I hardly moved. It wasn’t until I got a serious migraine that I realized I hadn’t eaten in several days, so I forced something down my throat. My phone never rang, but I didn’t expect Bones to call me.
He never would.
We both knew that would make this so much harder.
I wondered where he was. He’d probably returned to Lake Garda, his favorite retreat in the world. The snow was long gone, but it was still his favorite hideaway. It was preferable to his apartment in Milan, which still had all of my things.
After I showered and had a small breakfast, I finally opened the letter Bones gave to me. I hoped it wasn’t a heartfelt goodbye because I couldn’t go through that again. Bones had never been big on words, so I doubted he had much to say.
I read through the words, but I squinted in confusion. It was just an address in Florence along with a single iron key. There was no message. He didn’t even sign it. I turned it over to make sure I hadn’t missed anything, but there was nothing there.
What was at this address?
I didn’t have a car, so I called a cab and got a ride into Florence. My parents had a lot of extra cars at the house, but I refused to ask them for anything. My anger and resentment would last a long time. As a Barsetti, I was stubborn and emotional. Just like my father, I had a poor temperament. If I came face-to-face with him right now, I would have nothing nice to say.
The cab pulled up to a two-story building in the center of town, and I stepped out and checked the address one more time. I was in the right place, so I looked at the large window in front of the building. It seemed to be a shop of some kind.
Why did Bones give me the key to a shop?
I walked to the front door and inserted my key, expecting it not to work. But it slid in perfectly, and after a turn, the door opened.
I stepped inside and my shoes tapped against the hardwood floor. The walls were plaster-white, and the large windows allowed natural sunlight to enter the large, open room. I took a look around and didn’t see any distinguishable features that answered the question lingering in the back of my mind.
On the table was a single note, along with two sets of keys. I picked up the letter. In handwriting I’d never seen before, Bones had written his message.
I know you said you wanted to do this on your own, but you know I never listen to you. I wanted to leave you with something, something that would bring you joy every single day. I hoped I would be the man to take care of you, to give you the life of luxury you deserve. So let me do this. Let me have a piece of you forever.
This is your gallery.
Upstairs is your apartment. I’ve left the paperwork of ownership on the coffee table. The gallery and the apartment are both yours.
And I got you a car.
Yes, I know you’re pissed. But you look cute when you’re pissed, so that’s fine with me.
Take it all, baby. And be happy.
-Griffin-
He didn’t say he loved me, but I knew that would be too hard for him. I wasn’t sure when he’d written this letter. Maybe he stopped by here after he left the house. I wiped away the tear that had dripped down my cheek and carefully folded the letter before I placed it in my purse. On the table were two keys. One was for the apartment upstairs, and the other was for the car. I hit the black button and heard the car outside release two quick honks.
I looked out the window and saw the white SUV at the curb.
Of course, he got me an enormous car I didn’t need.
I wasn’t angry about any of it. In actuality, I was touched by the gesture. I’d never needed his money, but I was more than happy to receive such a meaningful gift. Time would pass and our lives would change, but I would never forget how I opened this gallery and who was responsible for making it possible.
Now it would seem like he was always with me.
I left the gallery and ventured upstairs to the apartment. It was a two-bedroom place with a nice living room, full kitchen, and two bathrooms. The living room had a large window that looked across the city, and sitting there were an easel and a stool. A stack of blank canvases leaned against the wall, and all my art supplies were waiting for me.
He must have moved everything here.
I examined the plush couches and the coffee table then noticed the large painting on the wall.
It was the painting I’d made of him. He was standing beside the water in Lake Garda, only his backside visible. He looked across the water, his powerful shoulders wide and intimidating. It was quiet, cold, and beautiful. It was a snapshot of the night we met, the night that changed my life forever.
He got it for me. He knew I would want to look at that painting every single day.
To remember the man I fell so madly in love with.
The best way to combat the pain was to keep busy. So I worked in the gallery downstairs, added a new coat of paint to the walls and set up the floorplan to display my paintings. I wanted my work to have an elegant atmosphere since my paintings were rich with emotion. I wanted people to connect with my artwork, so they needed to connect with the gallery just as much. Instead of making it dark and moody, I brightened it up, hung two chandeliers in the center of the ceiling, and added a few art lights. I didn’t know anything about wiring through the roof, but I didn’t let that stop me. I had the money to hire a professional, but I needed something to do. The longer it took, the better.
I’d just unrolled a new rug to go in the center of the room when my phone started to ring.
My heart always hoped it would be Bones, but I had to remind myself it never would be.
I would never talk to him again.
I pulled out my phone and saw my father’s name on the screen.
Anger, ferocity, and disappointment flashed through me in a split second. The logical part of me knew my father was just trying to protect me, but I wasn’t logical at the moment. I was an emotional wreck, devastated that I’d lost the love of my life. My father was the only man to blame for this heartbreak. I considered not answering, but I knew there was never a time in my life when my father didn’t take my calls.
So I answered. My silence was my only greeting.
My father was quiet too, sitting on the line. He must be able to detect my anger through the hush because he didn’t start speaking right away. “Tesoro—”
The second I heard his masculine voice, the rage exploded inside my chest. It was the only time in my life when I thought I hated my father. I despised him for causing this pain. I despised him for taking away the love of my life. I despised him for being so hypocritical. “I’m not ready to talk to you.” For the first time in my life, I hung up.
I hung up on my father.
I shoved the phone into my back pocket and got back to work, forgetting the phone call happened in the first place. In my heart, I knew I didn’t really hate my father. The rational woman inside me knew he was putting my best interests first. But right now, I didn’t care about that. I saw him as the enemy.
Two weeks passed, and I spent that time perfecting my gallery and my apartment. Once the gallery was ready for business, I realized I didn’t have any artwork to display. I’d given my pieces to my parents to put up at the winery.
So now I had to get back to work.
It was hard to get back into painting because I’d been too depressed to feel creative. It showed in my work. My pictures were moodier, with darker colors and sensations of isolation and loneliness. I tried to force myself to make paintings that were popular with my customers, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
Instead, I painted images that meant something to me.
I painted Bones.
He was everywhere in my paintings, his face never visible. I painted him lying in my bed, standing underneath the stars on a dark night, and working at the winery. I painted the places we’d been together, from Lake Garda to Milan.
Over the course of a few days, I made five different pieces.
I wasn’t sure if anyone would buy them. Most subjects in paintings were beautiful women, whether they were naked or dancing. It was rare to see a beautiful man as the focal point in an image.
But that didn’t stop me from trying.
I displayed them in my gallery, the first artwork that would be available for sale. I wrote down the prices I thought they were worth, making them expensive on purpose so no one would buy them. It was hard to imagine someone taking these artworks, the pictures of my memories, and putting them in their home. A part of me didn’t want to let them go.
I never wanted to let them go.
The front door opened, and my first customer walked inside. It was the first day that I’d been officially open for business, but I didn’t expect anyone to stop by. I didn’t market my gallery or tell a single person that I was open. My family didn’t know about any of it.
I was basically on a different planet.
I heard heavy footfalls against the hardwood floor, so I knew it was a man who’d walked inside. I was adjusting one of my paintings in the corner, so I didn’t see him right away. Once the image was straight, I turned around to see my first potential customer.
But I came face-to-face with my father instead.
He was dressed in dark jeans and a black t-shirt, his tanned skin complemented the dark colors he wore. With jet-black hair and green eyes, he possessed the masculine version of some of my features. His eyes settled on me, and instead of being angry that I’d hung up on him, he looked like the one who’d just had his heart broken.
The anger I felt for him diminished when I saw his expression, when I remembered how much he loved me. He knew I hated him in that moment, but that didn’t stop him from pitying me, from feeling the same heartbreak I did.
I crossed my arms over my torso, my heart racing in my chest. I had no idea how he’d figured out where I was, how he knew about this gallery. I wondered if he and Bones had had a conversation, but after my father pulled a gun on him, that didn’t seem likely.
He stared at me with his hands in his pockets, his eyes hesitant because he didn’t know what my reaction would be.
I wasn’t sure what my reaction would be either.
He stayed quiet for a long time, giving me the chance to speak first if I wanted to.
But I didn’t have anything to say. Right now, I didn’t care about anything. All I cared about was the insufferable depression that had sunk in all the way to my bones. I didn’t want anyone’s company. All I wanted was to be alone.
My father turned to one of the paintings, the one of Bones working at the winery. With the backdrop of the endless vineyards and the cobblestone pathways between the buildings, it seemed like a beautiful day in Tuscany. Bones was passing between the buildings, carrying a barrel of wine to the storage room. My father stared at it for a moment before he turned back to me. “Beautiful gallery.”
My arms tightened over my chest, and hearing him speak made me realize how upset I still was. I didn’t want to make small talk and pretend nothing happened. But I didn’t want to have an honest conversation about what really happened either. “I’m still not ready.” I lowered my gaze, unable to look my father in the eye. I didn’t want to see his sadness. Despite how much he’d hurt me, I didn’t want to hurt him.
My father stayed still, his hands in his pockets.
When my bravery returned, I looked at him again.
His expression hadn’t changed, but his eyes hinted at his sadness. He breathed a deep sigh, his frustration and heartbreak evident. “Tesoro, please don’t hate me.”
“I don’t hate you,” I blurted. “But that doesn’t mean I want to talk to you.”
His eyes flinched, like my words packed punches. “Your mother and I are worried.”
“I just lost the love of my life. Don’t expect me to feel better in a few days.”
“Vanessa, it’s been three weeks…”
I had no grasp of time. Sometimes I slept all day, and sometimes I didn’t sleep all night. I didn’t eat at regular times, and I didn’t even know what day of the week it was. The last three weeks felt like a painful blur. I wasn’t sure how I’d lived that long without speaking to Bones, without looking at his pretty blue eyes. How much longer would I feel this way? Would a pain this intense ever end? “I guess I lost track of time…” I rubbed my upper arms with my palms, fighting a chill that hadn’t descended. “How did you find me?”
“I never lost you.”
He’d probably been watching the house since he ordered Bones to leave. He’d followed me all the way here and kept an eye on me from a distance. This whole time I thought I’d been alone, but I’d never really been on my own. “He bought me this gallery…gave me an apartment and a car. I never asked him for those things. I’ve never wanted his money. But he wanted to give me something before he disappeared.”
My father held his indifferent expression, Bones’s gifts meaningless to him.
“You never really gave him a chance, did you?” My anger started to rise again, my bitterness burning in my blood.
“You know I did.”
I shook my head, unsure if I could believe him.
“I know you’re upset right now. I know you’re hurting, and that hurts me. But one day, you’ll realize this is the best thing that ever happened to you. You deserve a lot more than that man, and I’m not going to let you settle for anything less than someone who’s perfect.”
“There’s no such thing as the perfect man. Even if there were, that’s not what I want. I love him for who he is, all of his strengths and flaws. And he loves me despite all the baggage that comes along with me. Why would I want a perfect man when I have the perfect love?”
Speechless, he just stared at me.
“You made the wrong decision.”
He shook his head slightly. “No, I didn’t. And I won’t change my mind. You’re lucky I didn’t kill him. The only reason I didn’t was out of respect for you. But if I cross his path again, I won’t hesitate.”
“You’ve got him all wrong…”
“A man who forces a woman to sleep with him is fucking trash.” His jaw clenched, and his eyes darkened with threat. My father and I never talked about this stuff, but that discreetness was long gone.
“He didn’t force me—”
“He didn’t give you a choice. You either had to comply, or he executed your whole family. What other option did you have? You think I would ever walk you down the aisle and give you away? To him? Over my dead body. I know you love this man, but you never would have loved him if you had a choice. Maybe it’s water under the bridge for you, but it’ll never be that way for me.”
“It was never any of your business. You shouldn’t have even asked him that.”
“When a man has vowed to kill my whole family, yes, it’s my damn business, Vanessa. If he wants my daughter, he needs to prove he’s worthy of her. And that asshole isn’t worthy of you at all. His father raped my wife and killed my sister. You think I’m going to let this endless cycle continue with you? My only daughter? The only woman in the world I love more than my damn wife?” His nostrils flared and his shoulders tightened. Slight shakes erupted down his arms, like he wanted to punch the painting on his left. “Every man has a few skeletons in his closet. If he didn’t, that would be more alarming. But this man is despicable. His actions are unforgivable. Your affection and lust have blinded you to what’s right in front of you. I’m not a man who’s blinded by anything—”
“Except hatred,” I spat. “Maybe what he did was wrong, but he’s not that man anymore. He’s grown into someone who does deserve me. He’s grown into someone who should love me. When he came home and told me what happened, I said I didn’t care what you thought. I said I wasn’t going to let my family keep us apart because I couldn’t live without him. You know what he said?”
My father was too angry to show vulnerability. Now he stared at me coldly, his eyes shifting back and forth slightly. We’d always been close as I aged. Anytime we fought, it was over something petty. But the second Bones came into my life, the distance between us seemed to get bigger and bigger.
“He said I would regret it later. He said my family means more to me than anything else in this world, and he would never get in the middle of that. He knows what it’s like not to have a family, how depressing it is, and he would never want me to understand how that feels…”
Silence.
“You can say what you want about him, but his love is selfless, true, and real. He would do anything for me…even let me go.”
He remained quiet, his green eyes still fierce.
“He’s proven himself a million times over, Father. You need to let it go.”
“I can let go of a lot of things. I can forget who his father was. I can forget that he’s a hitman for a living. I can forget that he captured you with the intent of killing you. But forcing you to sleep with him…I can’t forget that. I will never forget it.” His chest rose with the deep breath he took, and his nostrils flared again. His anger reached a new peak. “I don’t give a shit if he’s a saint now. He crossed a line he can never uncross. I will never forgive him for what he did. My decision is final. And you will thank me for it one day.”
I took a step back, the distance between us not enough. My father and I would never agree on this matter. I was a grown woman, but his decision somehow dominated mine. If my family didn’t mean so much to me, I would storm out of there and run away with Bones. But even when I was livid, the anger was never strong enough to overcast my love. I hated my father in that moment…but I would never hate him more than I loved him. “You should go.”
His anger simmered slightly, showing his disappointment.
“I’m not ready to move on. I’m not ready to come over for dinner and be a family again. Right now, I’m devastated. I don’t want to pretend nothing happened. I don’t want to pretend that everything is fine. I just want to be alone.” Instead of waiting for him to walk out, I turned around and drifted away, keeping my back to him so I wouldn’t have to see the rage on his face any longer.
My father didn’t move, staring at my back in silence.
I didn’t want to ask him to leave again, so I stared at the painting on the wall and waited. I had all the patience in the world since I had nothing to live for at the moment. I could wait all day.
Finally, his footsteps tapped against the hardwood floor as he headed to the door. They grew fainter as time passed, and then they disappeared altogether once the door shut behind him.
The gallery turned quiet now that he was gone.
I stared at the painting of Bones in my bed, his chest bare and his face cut out of the frame. My eyes started to well with tears for the hundredth time, but these tears were for a whole new reason. I felt so distant from my father, the man I’d trusted my whole life. He was the kind of man that inspired me, that made me a stronger person. I’d always imagined my husband would be like him, and ironically, I thought he and Bones were a lot alike. But now, he was the reason I was so devastated. He used to protect me from everything, but now he was the very reason I could barely stand on my own two feet.