Sempre (Forever) (88 page)

She stared at him, debating how to respond. “I’m dealing.”

“Are you starting to remember things?”

She nodded, anxious of where the conversation was heading. “I’m not sure how much of it to believe, though. I hallucinated a lot.”

“It's not my place to press you for details, but if you have any questions, I can answer them for you.”

She debated his offer. “Am I really a
Principessa
?”

He leaned back in his chair, giving her an interested look. “Technically speaking, yes. My wife got too close to discovering that, which is why she was murdered.”

Guilt consumed her. “Because of me.”

“No, not because of you,” he said, his tone serious. “For you.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes, there is,” he said. “I once blamed you, believed it was because of you, and it took me a long time to see that my anger was unfounded. There are a few people I could reasonably blame, myself included, but you aren’t one of them. I wish I would’ve realized that sooner. It could’ve saved us both a lot of hurt.”

She stared at him with surprise, and he continued after a brief pause. “The day we found you in Chicago was October twelfth. I was so caught up in everything that it wasn’t until the next afternoon that it dawned on me that it had been the anniversary of Maura’s death. Last year on that day, you didn’t stand a chance. No matter what you did, I would’ve gotten you, because it wasn’t about you—it was about her.”

A chill shot down her spine at the memory of that afternoon.

“I want you to know that I’ve never hated you. I couldn't hate you, because I never knew you. And I didn’t want to know you, because I didn’t want to care about you. Nine years in a row, I spent October twelfth wishing I could punish you, but this year, all I could think about was rescuing you, which is what got her killed in the first place.” He paused. “I’m probably talking in circles, and I’m not sure if you’ll even believe me, but I want you to know that I’ve grown to care for you. And as for what I did to you last year, I don’t expect forgiveness, but I am sorry about it. If I could take it back, I would. But I can’t.”

He pushed his chair back and walked over to her, pulling up his pant leg to show his ankle bracelet. “Do you know what this is?”

“No.”

“It’s a GPS monitoring device. A stipulation of my bail was that I had to wear it.” Her eyes widened, and he laughed at her expression. “It’s something, isn’t it? You don’t know what it’s like to have your every move watched until it happens to you. Somewhere there’s a man watching to see where I am to ensure I’m not trying to get away.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“I’m sure it does,” he said. “I had my reasons for chipping you, but that doesn’t mean what I did was right. I called in one last favor with a colleague of mine, the one that fixed Carmine up after the accident, and I made an appointment for you. I may be stuck with my monitoring device, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have yours removed.”

Her mouth fell open as she struggled to find words. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but I don’t deserve your gratitude. I’m only fixing my mistakes at this point.” He sat back down as tears started to spill down her cheeks. “Anyway, one more thing before you go. I want to give this to you before our guests start arriving.”

“Guests?”

“Yes, guests. It could very well be my last Christmas with my family, so I’d like to make the best of it.”

His words made her stomach twist. “You think you’ll go to prison?”

“I’m sure they’ll get me one way or another,” he said as he opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a familiar leather bound book. He set it down in front of her. “My wife’s journal. I think you should keep it.”

“Me? Why?”

“She wrote a lot about adjusting to life after what she went through and her conflicting feelings about the world I belonged to,” he said. “It might help you going forward.”

She picked up the book cautiously. “Are you sure?”

“I’m positive. I think Maura would’ve wanted you to have it.”

Standing up, Haven headed for the door, but she hesitated before she reached it. “Not long after I got here, you asked me not to call you Master because it made you feel like my father. Michael Antonelli was a horrible man, and despite everything, you’ve been kinder to me than he ever was. So I do forgive you for hurting me, because you've helped me more than anyone else. You’re a good man, Vincent, and I think sometimes good men just find themselves doing bad things.”

His expression remained blank, but for the first time since meeting him, Haven saw his eyes glass over with tears. “Thank you, Haven.”

Haven
. The sound of her name on his lips felt foreign as he finally said it. She smiled and wiped her tears as she walked out, knowing there was nothing else left to say after that. She stepped out into the hallway the same time Carmine came up the stairs. She eyed him peculiarly. “You’re home awfully early.”

“Yeah, school was a bust,” he said, shrugging. “How are you today?”

“Okay.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Okay? Is that an, ‘Okay, I’m about two seconds away from finding a window to throw myself through, but I’m not gonna tell you that because you’ll stop me,’ or is it an, ‘Okay, I’m pretty fucking peachy, Carmine, so stop questioning me?’”

She laughed. “I’m just… okay. Especially now that you’re here.”

He smiled, kissing her before the two of them headed upstairs. Settling into the chairs in the library, Carmine grabbed his guitar as Haven gazed at the cover of the journal.

“You still reading
The Secret Garden
?” he asked.

“No, I finished that book months ago.”

“Really? What happened in it?”

He didn’t truly sound interested, his gaze on his fingers as he strummed the guitar, but she smiled at the fact that he’d even ask. “The girl comes to the conclusion that the mean man she lives with isn’t as bad as she assumed him to be. He’s just grieving because he lost his wife. She makes friends with the son, who the father can’t face for a long time, because he reminds him of his wife.”

Carmine’s fingers stilled, the music abruptly stopping as he looked at Haven. “No shit?”

She shook her head. “Nope.”

“Fate,” he said, his eyes drifting from her to the book on her lap. “My mom’s journal.”

“Uh, yeah. Your father gave it to me.”

He nodded after a moment and turned back to his guitar. He started strumming it again, music filling the room as sunshine streamed in on them from the window. She watched him in silence, her chest swelling with love as her favorite passage from
The Secret Garden
sprung to mind.

One of the strangest things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever... sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in some one’s eyes.

Haven felt it then, sitting in the library with the scarred boy who had stolen her heart, his deep green eyes twinkling as the beautiful notes poured from his fingertips.

Sempre
. No matter what happened next, or what went on tomorrow, nothing would ever take that away. Their love existed, despite everything else, and it was that love that would go on forever. The moment was etched in time, transcending the constraints put on them by life.

For even after they were gone, when life continued to go on, a part of them would always exist in everything—and everyone—they ever touched.

She turned back to the journal and opened it to the first page. Taking a deep breath, she read the first line:

Today is my first day as a free woman.

###

Acknowledgments:

To my mother, the strongest person I know. She leads by example every day, teaching me never to give up.

To my father, for watching
The Godfather
so many times when I was younger, without which I never would’ve been inspired.

My family is amazing. I love you all.
Per sempre
.

And to Jupiter, thank you for teaching me all about thunderbolts.

To my ninth grade English teacher, Melissa Agee, who was the first one to say, “You could be someone someday.” You made me believe in my work. And to my college creative writing professor, who shall remain nameless, for telling me I’d never produce anything worth reading. You made me push to write better.

Traci Blackwood (for the countless hours of invaluable help and support), Sara “Andy-Sandy”, Pat Sills-Bertola, Sarah Anderson, Iris Jurado, Rhonda DuBoce, Jessica Faulkner, Renee Lunbeck, Naitasia Hensey, Lori McMullin, Katie Norman, Ariela Pacifici, Jessica Sato, and Laura Zapalski. You’ve each given me something special.
Grazie mille
. Shots of Grey Goose for all.

This book is also dedicated to you (yes, you). You know who you are. It would take another 500 pages to thank everyone who has helped me along the way, but I treasure you all. From volunteering your time to look over my words, to sharing your opinion on plot points, to humoring my random polls about nonsense, to sending me inspiration in the mail (my writing fairy, Toblerone bars, cards), to making art inspired by my words, to running blogs/tumblrs/pages, to encouraging me to continue when others pushed me to give up, to just simply taking the time to read… I’m eternally grateful and blessed to have all of you in my life.