Flipping off the lights, I fall on the bed and turn on the TV to the same Italian family drama as every other day. My gaze stays on the screen only for a few seconds before I grab my phone and open the text, which has my stomach in knots since it arrived this morning.
Keith: If love slips from my hand a second time, I’ll not be able to survive.
I squint my eyes, reading it over and over again.
What are you trying to tell me, Keith?
Isn’t the heartache I’m suffering enough?
Tears leak through my eyes when I read his words.
How can I slip away, when he never held me, even after I offered myself multiple times?
But now, I know why. He’s already holding what’s important.
Forever in my life I’ve had one wish, not to live under someone’s shadow, be it my mom, be it the Hawthorne name. If this isn’t irony, then what is? That I finally fell in love with a man who’s practically married to a shadow? Even if by some miracle we get together, Melanie’s looming presence will always be there.
Keith will forever struggle imagining how life would have been if it were her instead of me, while constant worry would nag me if I resemble her enough to please him.
Why can’t someone love me for just me?
The next morning my phone buzzes and there’s another text.
Keith: This picture is missing someone important.
The said photo is of the kitchen table with two cups. The oven clock telling me it’s five in the morning. He even made sure to click the picture from the top so I know it’s not coffee but really the frothy cinnamon latte I make and he hates.
Why are you doing this?
My swollen face becomes wet with fresh tears.
Does he expect me to reply to his comments, and say what? I’m sure his texts are out of some guilt trip that Mere put on him. But that’s not what I want, his pity, his apology. What I wanted was just him, but I now know he’s already taken for forever and there’s nothing to talk about.
I spend some more minutes looking at his text before lifting myself from the bed.
It’s two minutes before five and I wait for the knock on my door.
Exactly on time, at five, Tony stands with a cinnamon latte. As every other morning since we landed in Tuscany, my hands shake when I grab the mug from him.
It’s not a paper cup but made of real china. I don’t know where Tony gets it, and like the first morning, when he knocked at my door, I don’t ask him anything. I fear his answer will either crack my heart to pieces or give me too much hope. Both scenarios appear dangerous right now.
After finishing my coffee, once again I put on one of my perkiest dresses Kristy packed for me from Hawthorne Mansion. I apply more makeup than needed and gulp two Advil tablets with orange juice and wrap the high heels onto my feet.
As soon as I step out of the room, my phone buzzes and this time I know who it is.
“Luke, you don’t have to call every day. I know the drill. And isn’t it too early for you?”
“I don’t mind calling,” Lukas gives me the same reply. We have this conversation every morning when I leave my room. “Keep Tony close.”
“The amount of time Tony is spending backstage, he’ll qualify for a staff position in Vanshionista.” I eye Tony, who just joined me in the elevator. I watch his lips turn up a tiny bit but otherwise he remains stoic as always. “How is…everything there?”
“Everything is fine. Keith—”
“I have to go, Luke.” Just outside the elevator, I spot Vanessa ripping our new intern, Linda, a new one.
“Good morning,” I chirp, trying to lighten the tension.
Dressed in a tight lavender dress, lavender pumps, and sunglasses in the early morning hours, Vanessa turns to me.