THIRTY-NINE |

during the journey home. She sat in the back of the car, my arms cradling her against me, while Cecelia and Marco chatted in the front as though there was nothing fucked up about this whole situation.

There was.

What I had done was necessary, but that didn't make it any less evil, and I was still working out a way to reconcile those two ideas. I was still trying to work out a way to prove I could be good, could be better, for Florence.

"I love you," I offered quietly, stroking her hair that was damp from sweat and tears.

Her fingers tightened around my shirt. "I love you too," she mumbled.

I pressed my lips together, trying to ignore how hollow her voice sounded, a brittle shell ready to shatter. Had I gone too far this time? Every day I learned more of her boundaries; how deeply she loved, how strongly she suffered, how high she could climb or fall. I measured myself against them, tried to match them, tried to understand how one word could make her crumble with desire or pain. Did I really understand at all, could I ever?

What she didn't understand was that I was the one ready to shatter; she could destroy me with a softly spoken syllable faster than I could ever destroy her with a gun.

The vulnerability was almost as dizzying as the power.

"I didn't mean to make you scared," I admitted so that only Florence would hear. It was more of a confession to myself, an admittance of guilt and prayer for absolution that could only really be granted by one person.

Florence's soft eyes tilted up to meet mine. I winced at the redness beneath them, the cracks in her dry lips.

"I know you didn't," she said.

She didn't sound angry, but the knot inside of me still hadn't dissipated. As the silence dragged on it only grew and coiled, writhing like a snake before its charmer.

"Can you forgive me?" I swallowed hard, glanced out of the window, counted the passing buildings so I didn't have to think. "I should have told you about the plan. I just–"

"I forgive you." Her answer came without hesitation.

I glanced down, confused and relieved, expecting to find her lips awaiting mine, her smile already forming. Instead I found her face a mask, one even I couldn't read, as she stared into the distance at nothing. "I forgive you because you admitted you were wrong," she said without looking at me. Then finally she did, and I could see the flash of warning that streaked over her face like lightning. "But next time I won't forgive you. If you keep me in the dark again then I will walk away. I mean it."

"I know," I breathed into her hair, curling my body further around hers, "I know."

"We're partners, equal partners, which means we face things together and we don't keep things from each other. Not even if it seems safer." Florence's voice wavered on the last word and I could tell despite her facade that the night's events had shaken her.

"I promise. I swear to you on everything I hold dear."

**

Almost as soon as we arrived home, I carried Florence up to our bedroom and laid with her, talked to her about books and the songs she likes and how the universe is so big and empty yet here we are. She did most of the talking, but I listened, asked questions, was enthralled by every word she said. Even when she started to talk about entropy and I was completely lost and all I could think was how can one person be so clever? it still felt like falling the second she stopped talking.

Am I confusing you? she had asked.

Only a little, I said.

The whole universe tends towards disorder, she explained calmly, in that tone of voice that's soft but never patronising

Oh

I liked that idea. That everything was so fucked up anyway, there was nothing I could do about it. What could go wrong, would. But that didn't mean I would stop trying.

My whole life it felt like I had been fighting against something, fighting to escape, to win, for the glory. Now I had something to fight for.

Florence fell asleep mid sentence, a calmness settling over her pale skin that made it look like satin. I stroked her cheek, kissed her lightly parted lips, watched the hint of a smile play with them as she dreamed. Then I pulled the covers up over her and switched the light off. You can only put off reality for so long.

I found Cecelia and my sister in the kitchen, sharing a bottle of wine and a packet of cigarettes. Sofia watched me as I came down the stairs, not warily but with interest, as she took a drag. She was waiting to see if I would berate her for smoking in the house.

"Where is Marco?" I asked, leaning against the island.

Cecelia flicked a spray of ash into the empty wine bottle but stayed silent. I looked to Sofia who was smirking, glancing between me and the pack of cigarettes on the counter. Her smirk was prickly at the edges; it wasn't born of amusement but something else.

She stubbed our her cigarette and stood. "He went to bed. Said to call if you needed him for anything."

I nodded, pulling a chair out opposite Cecelia's. "Why don't you go to bed, Sofia." It was a question framed in the tone of a demand, and I waited for her to pick up on it.

Her smirk melted into a frown before she rearranged her features neutrally. She wasn't happy about being sent away, but Cecelia was a whole new factor to add to the complicated equation that was my life and I needed to decide what to do about it.

"Yes, it is getting late," Sofia agreed, a hard edge in her voice, "goodnight, Cecelia." Her eyes flashed back to mine as she stalked around the island, coming to stand next to me. She leaned down so that her mouth was right beside my ear. "I love her, and I know you love her too, but don't forget about what she did, Arturo," she hissed.

I nodded a silent dismissal at my sister.

Now Cecelia and I were alone in the kitchen, the years of absence stretching between us. Her eyes were fixed on me as she dragged on her cigarette. Her delicate features were concentrated, a thoughtful look written on her face. Looking at her was painful, like staring right at a piece of my past self, but I forced myself not to look away.

"Surprise!" Cecelia exclaimed suddenly, throwing her hands up with a smile. A trail of ash scattered across the floor behind her movement.

I was dazzled momentarily by her sudden shift in mood, the brightness of her smile. The dark circles beneath her eyes and bruising on her face gave her away, but she would never show weakness to me, not now, not anymore.

"I thought I'd never see you again." I watched her face, gauging her reaction. When her smile only widened I reached for the whisky decanter and poured myself a glass.

"Well isn't today your lucky day? Here I am." She stubbed out the end of her cigarette and took a large gulp of wine.

"You never used to drink," I observed.

"Desperate times," she shrugged, watching me over the rim of her glass. "I see you've changed a lot, too."

"It's been years." My voice came out harder than I anticipated and Cecelia's smile finally fell.

"I won't be in your hair for long."

"Where would you go?"

"I haven't decided yet. Maybe I'll go to Saudi Arabia, find myself a hunky oil baron to settle down with. Knock out five kids and pretend to be surprised when I find out he has six other women." She snorted. "You know I've always had a thing for men who disappoint me."

"I'm being serious."

"So am I."

I threw the whole glass of whisky down my throat and poured another. I didn't like how easily Cecelia drove me to drink. "You think I'm going to let you run away again just to get caught by someone else who can use you against me?"

Her face turned hard. "Oh, please, Arturo, you don't need to pretend to care about me anymore. I never asked for your help."

"You'd rather I let you die?"

"I can handle myself."

"That wasn't the question."

Cecelia finished her wine but didn't pour more. Her lips were pursed, brows furrowed, as she swirled the final drops of liquid around the bottom of the glass. "I disappeared for a reason. Have you ever considered that I didn't want rescuing?" She couldn't quite meet my gaze as she spoke.

"I don't believe you. I know you, Cece, and I don't believe you."

She scoffed, "Believe what you want. You don't know me anymore."

"You think so?"

"People change."

Cecelia's eyes flickered up to mine and this time I met them with as much intensity as I could. "You really think I haven't been keeping tabs on you all this time?"

Finally she faltered, all bravado melting away. "You...you couldn't have found me. There's no way..."

"It took years. My PI couldn't even find you at first, not until a couple of years ago, anyway."

"You're lying."

"Amsterdam, the drugs, the men, the...sex. If you can even call it that, what they did to you." My hands clenched into fists.

"What I asked them to do to me."

"You were self destructing and you wanted someone to notice."

"You're wrong." She folded her arms.

"You remember when you overdosed and woke up in hospital? How do you think you got there alive? Because it sure as hell wasn't because of any of the men you were fucking. You wanted someone to see you Cece, to really see you, well here I am. I am looking at you."

"You're not looking at anyone other than her." Cecelia's eyes widened and she pulled another cigarette from the packet on the counter. "I didn't mean that."

"Her name's Florence," I said.

"She's pretty."

"I know."

"Want one?" She held the pack of cigarettes out to me and I took one, pressing it between my lips. "Can I ask a question?"

"Go ahead."

"If you were keeping tabs, how did the Genovese manage to take me?"

"I kept tabs but you weren't under constant surveillance. When you first disappeared I thought nothing of it, I thought you'd got tired of playing those stupid games with your life and wanted to vanish for good this time."

Cecelia took all of this in, lighting her cigarette then reaching over to light mine. "Are you going to ask me, then?"

"Ask you what?" I sighed.

"Why I left."

"Does it matter anymore?"

"Doesn't it?" She was staring at me hard, trying to root out some information I wasn't willing to offer. When she found my expression blank, Cecelia pressed, "Does she know about us?"

"She knows that you're from my past."

"Is that all I am, some distant background figure?" When she leaned closer and tilted her head, her expression transported me back to Sicily, back to my childhood. The comfortable familiarity of it unmarred by time, each feature a template of once-felt emotions.

I leaned back with effort, trying to keep my voice level. "It's all you allowed yourself to be."

Cecelia nodded and her blonde hair swayed with the movement. I watched the warmth of her brown eyes melting, liquidating, forming pools of glistening water she'd never let spill. "I should get to bed," she said quietly, jutting her chin up. "I can sleep on the sofa."

When she got up from her chair I followed without thinking, an ancient tug in my gut stopping me from letting her walk away. "Wait," I said but when she didn't listen I grabbed her wrist.

"Get the fuck off me." She jerked her body away, a moment of genuine fear flashing across her face. It was a shadow, an echo, really, instigated by memory.

I recalled the way she had let men use her, too doped out of her mind for it to really register. It was painful for me to watch from a distance, painful to hear the reports second-hand. But when Cecelia ran she ran from me. I had no right to mess with her life decisions, to question how she spent her time.

"Cece–"

"It's fine." But the tremor of her lips said the opposite. She moved closer, turned to me, tilted her head up. "Thank you, Arturo," she said. "I know you don't approve of what I was doing, but I know were keeping me safe all this time."

I brushed the pad of my thumb over the bruise on her cheekbone. "I'm sorry that they did this to you." My throat ached at the thought, at the feel of her damaged skin against mine after all this time. "I'm sorry I didn't get to you sooner."

"Don't be. I'm still alive."

A feeling washed over me, a jolt in my stomach, like I was stood swaying on the edge of a cliff looking down, wondering whether to jump. "I'm glad."

Cecelia smiled wanly, the brown of her eyes slanting with sympathy. "Goodnight, Arturo."