Page 111 of Forsaking All Others

“I watch you when I can,” I told her, because I didn’t want to hide the things from her I did not have to.

Better she knew me, even if the act of giving myself over for the first time in my life felt like the worst kind of torture, like slicing ribbons of skin off my own back to tie in pretty bows for her.

To my surprise, Fia only smiled at the confession, touching the rim of her wineglass to her mouth before lowering it to say, “My ghost, then.”

I raised one brow but inclined my head, because she was right.

I was her ghost, tied to someone and somewhere else but inexorably drawn to her no matter how hard I tried not to be.

These days, I didn’t try at all.

“Which do you hate more? Pretending to be Dario or sliding back into the dark?” she continued, her eyes bright with curiosity, torso leaned forward as if she wanted to catch my answers straight from my mouth.

No one had ever asked me such a question.

Why would they?

The only people who knew I was someone other than Dario were Lando, Carla, Cesare, Ciro, and Bonnie. The first two were my parents, in their own way believing they knew me better than anyone, and the last were employees. Ciro, I thought, cared for me in a brotherhood kind of way, though Cesare was always wary of me when I traded places. Bonnie was terrified of me, even though she was always respectful.

Fiammetta, it seemed, was the only one curious about me as a person.

As Luca.

When was the last time someone had even called me by that name?

Ghost, I decided, sounded even better.

“I don’t have feelings about it,” I told Fia honestly. “I don’t allow myself to think about things I cannot change.”

“You think about me,” she accurately guessed. “You can’t change the fact that I’m married to your brother.”

“I don’t need to.”

Something passed over her expression, a shadow that looked like fear.

“I don’t need to because your marriage to my brother means I am married to you too,” I explained slowly, watching closely to see how she processed that. The little mark of tension between her brows ebbed. “I get to taste you and touch you and talk to you because you are my brother’s wife. Otherwise, I would not know you.”

It was strange to think about, a life without Fia.

Almost as impossible as a life without Dario.

We were connected, the three of us, in a kind of fucked-up symbiotic relationship. None of us existed without the other.

“If you could have me be yours alone,” she said slowly, as if each word was a bomb and she didn’t want to set off an explosion. “Would you take that chance?”

“I don’t let myself think about the future,” I reiterated. “It isn’t mine to shape. I told you, principessa, I am not the king, I am the knight. I go and do what I am told.”

“You don’t have any of your own dreams?” she asked, voice laden with sadness.

Her hand twitched on the expensive tablecloth as if she was going to reach for me.

I wished she would.

“I don’t dream,” I said baldly. “Awake or in sleep.”

“You always tell me come vuoi.” As you wish. “Maybe you don’t have dreams, but everyone has wishes. What are yours?”

“Even if I told you I wanted you for myself,” I rebutted, irritation prickling like hot needles along my skin. “What would that matter? You are married to Dario. He is the one who lives in the light with you on his arm. You have as much autonomy as me, which is to say none. And even if you did, would you take me as I am? Would you dream about a future with a man who kills because he must but also because he enjoys it?”