“Respect?” I scoff at him. “You expect something from us that you don’t give to us in the first place. I’m sorry, Papà, don’t expect something we all know you don’t deserve.”
I watch my father’s eyes soften toward me. For the first time I see the father I used to love sitting there, waiting to resume his position after the devil possessed him. I could fall for it all, but I need to remind myself to keep in mind what he is really like.
“I stand by what I said when I called you a monster. You might have thrown a huge party and dedicated it in my honor, but you’re the one all eyes are on. This isn’t how I want to spend my birthday.” I take a steady breath, keep myself calm, and allow my prior resentment to recede. “And, from your absence this morning, I can tell you don’t want to spend my birthday with me.”
“Amelia,” my father says, taking a step forward.
“Stop,” I command and shake my head. “I know you’re disappointed in me. I get that, but I just want to get through tonight so we can resume whatever life we live.” It’s with my piece said that I decide to leave. I need some air before I say something that I will regret.
“Amelia, don’t go quite yet.” My father’s command is softened with a gentle tone. Reluctantly, I give him another minute of my time by turning back expectantly, and waiting for some sort of hellish insult or threat. What I’m met with quite surprises me. “I was going to withhold giving these to you until your twenty-fifth birthday, but I couldn’t keep them sitting in a box for much longer,” he comments and reaches into his jacket, pulling out soft baby pink box.
“You don’t have to get a gift,” I counter, pushing it back toward him. “Seriously, I don’t need sweetening up.”
He sighs, his shoulders slump in defeat. “You were right when you said you were more a Romano than an Abbiati, though,” he tells me softly. “You are definitely your madre’s daughter. I see her in this house more than ever with your tenacity and unwillingness desire to give up and just play by my rules.” He opens the box, and I gasp. “Her wish, ever since having you, was that these would one day be yours. I see no other perfect moment than right now.”
He pulls the length of pure pearls from the box. He puts the box aside, and as he motions for me to turn around, I wonder if I’m a fool to obey, but this is one of my only chances to have a piece of my mother close to me. He puts them on, and I feel the weight of them around my neck as they drape across me. I never realized a necklace could be quite so suffocating, but these are. I don’t know if it’s the mental weight of remembering my mother wearing them on most special occasions, including the night she died, or going from a bare chest to a heavily smothered one. Either way, I’m overwhelmed.
“They’re slightly different, but still as beautiful,” my father comments as he drops away from my personal space. I turn to face him as he stands, waiting for my approval. “Your mother would be so proud, Bambina,” he admits, his hand stopping at my chin in a small gesture of fatherly love.
I could say so many things right now. I could praise him, I could rip the beading from my body, but I choose neither. I feel my eyes begin to well uncontrollably, and I blink the burdening tears away enough to see me through this moment.
“I need some air,” I tell him and quickly find my feet carrying me from the room. I barely acknowledge Giovanni making a comment about how ungrateful I am and Enzo immediately telling him to shut up. All I’m concerned with is breaking away from the house and seeking out some freedom.
I take a few moments to find my getaway from the party, but the moment I burst out onto the patio at the back of the grand mansion, I feel fresh air wrap itself around me. It doesn’t take me long until I’m wandering around the large grounds that form my backyard and decide to head toward a wooded area. My father had a swing put in the middle of the large, overgrown trees – keeping it a shrouded, hidden sanctuary. Right now, it feels like the right place to go and hide away from the party. The moment I see it, the stress drizzles away, waiting to stake claim later on.
“Care to dance?” Zane whispers, his mouth directly by my ear as he steps in behind me.
My mouth dries as my back straightens, and I feel myself unable to move. I hesitate - more so to revel in his entire existence here, at my party, than in shock horror. But I turn to face him, all because he’s here.
“Happy birthday, Sweetheart,” he comments and then looks at me, a little aghast. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he remarks, looking down at my entire formal wear for the night. “Every man that lays his eyes upon you is so fucking lucky.”