Page 91 of Privilege

Not surprised.

“I went home every day to a home that would comfortably fit five of those families. To parents who have more money in their bank accounts than most of those people will ever see in their lifetimes. I came home to people who never neglected or abused me, or left me to fend for myself.”

Sighing, she added, “I slept in Egyptian cotton—some of them are lucky if they have cardboard to make the ground softer. I know where each meal of mine is coming from. I can drop five thousand on a pair of shoes, and it won’t even make a dent in my trust fund. I can go to any college I want because my surname affords me that—I didn’t even need the fucking grades for it. Hell, my father was able to get me in for the second semester in California despite their classes being full just because he had enough money to get me on the list.”

“Lucia—”

“And I had the privilege of meeting Renzo,” Lucia continued, ignoring her uncle altogether. “And it is a privilege, Uncle Gio, because despite everything I was seeing at the shelter, I still felt removed from it because I didn’t have to deal with those things at home. He made it real, and he taught me to look beyond what you see on the surface. There is more to people than their money, status, or lack of it. He’s someone who isn’t like me at all, and doesn’t care about my life because he’s too busy trying to survive in his own. But yeah, you go ahead and tell me about how I forgot where I came from. I can’t fucking forget.”

How could she?

“I can’t forget,” Lucia repeated, “because my reality will never be his, and we both know it. So fuck you, and Daddy, and anyone else who wants to tell me what I forgot.”

Yeah.

Fuck all of them.

“Lucia.”

“What?”

She wished she wasn’t one of those people who cried when they got mad, but here she was. It made her look weak, like she was ruled by emotions, when all she wanted to do was just fade away. Using the back of her hand, she swiped away the tears but refused to meet her uncle’s gaze in the rearview mirror even though she could practically feel him begging for her to do exactly that.

She expected her uncle to lecture her on their life, and tell her to suck it up. Or even to tell her that, despite what she wanted to do, her father was still her father, and she needed to respect his choices and decisions even when all they did were hurt her or someone she loved.

Because she did.

Love Renzo.

Entirely.

Her uncle surprised her.

“Give Lucian time,” Giovanni murmured as he took the exit ramp off the highway that would soon lead them to her family’s home. “I think part of your father has, for a moment, forgotten where he’s come from, but beyond that … he’s scared. Lucian has never done well when he’s scared of something. History shows us he overreacts, makes bad decisions, and tends to become un-fucking-bearable.”

Lucia couldn’t help it. She let out a small, bitter laugh. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Giovanni shrugged his broad shoulders. “But not a lie.”

“Hmm.”

“So, he’s scared,” her uncle continued quieter, “because one daughter is starting her own life, and another has already left him … mind you, after nearly being killed by a man who professed to love her. But she is gone now, in her own life with her husband, too. And John—well, let’s not get into your brother because that is a whole other topic, Lucia. But that just leaves you. The youngest of the bunch. His last child. And he’s terrified that you might leave, too, or he might not be able to protect you … but mostly that you’re going to leave him behind.”

“You say that like it should excuse the things he’s said, or done.”

“Not excuse. Explain.”

“It doesn’t really help, though,” she said, going back to staring out the window.

“No, I imagine it doesn’t.”

Thankfully, her uncle quieted for the rest of the trip home. He did follow her inside her parents’ home once they arrived, although without saying very much to her. She found her mother waiting inside.

Jordyn Marcello was an enigma. She’d not been brought up privileged like the man she married, or the family that welcomed her with open arms. Her life hadn’t been easy—Lucia heard those stories, too. Maybe that was why, once her mother had kids of her own to love and raise, Lucia couldn’t even remember Jordyn raising a hand or her voice to them over the years. She protected them with everything she was—so fierce, and full of love. She did whatever she had to do for them like a mother should.

But right then, her mother just looked sad.

And disappointed.