Page 27 of The Marriage Contract

“I can tell. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

“But I can’ttrustit—can’t trust him. This is all an act, and even if it weren’t, Aunt Rosa would never approve. His parents, at least his dad, wouldunquestionablynever approve of the real me, the poor girl from the wrong side of the tracks. Then there’s the small fact he’s afreaking criminal. There are three cars parked out front filled with Mafia men to keep me safe from another Mafia Family.”

“It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself this can’t have a happy ending.”

“Remind, not convince.”

Giulia shrugs. “Then maybe you should forget about the future. Maybe you should just try to have some fun. Savor the weeks you have together, earn some cash, and then move on.”

“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “You’re right.”

Yet it feels hollow to me. I’m not sure when I started thinking like this, but I’d rather keep it cold and distant if this doesn’t have a happy ending. Itcan’thave a happy ending. So that’s it, then. I need to be closed off and distant.

“I’m going to check on Aunt Rosa,” I say.

Going into her bedroom, I find her sleeping on her back, her depressingly thin hands crossed over her middle, almost like a person laid out at a wake. The morbid thought disgusts me. I push it away as I walk across the room and sit at her bedside, gently laying my hand on hers.

She murmurs in her sleep. “Sister, sister,” she whimpers. “Sorry. Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

Sister? As in my mom? Aunt Rosa rarely speaks about my parents, little brother, and the fire. It left scars on me, but I’ve learned to deal with them. Life is just sickeningly tragic sometimes.

“Forgive me,” she moans. “Forgive—” She wakes with a yelp, her eyes flitting to me. “I thought you were your mother for a second.”

I gently squeeze her hand. “It’s just me, Aunt Rosa.”

“Was I dreaming?”

“I think you were having a nightmare.” I almost don’t mention it, but she mentions Mom so rarely that I can’t help myself. “You were apologizing to Mom, sayingsister, sister, forgive me.”

“Hmm.” She chews on the inside of her cheek, looking almost like her old self before the illness struck. She has that calculating, intelligent spark in her eyes. “That makes sense.”

“Does it?” I ask, my interest piqued. “Why would you have to say sorry to Mom? You took me in after she … after what happened. The fire.” Even now, it hurts to say, though I’ve done a passable job at hardening myself to it.

“That never should’ve happened.”

“Accidents happen. It’s a tragedy.”

“But it wasn’t an accident,” she says.

I bury my shock, not wanting to freak her out. Also, she’s on meds. Her mind is warped by her condition. She doesn’t know what she’s saying. “Yes, it was. An electrical fire, remember?”

“An electrical … Is that what they told you?”

“That’s what everybody told everybody,” I say, my voice quivering, “because that’s what happened. You took me in, and we got on with the business of living. That’s what you said to me.We have to get on with the business of living, Elena. Do you remember?”

“I remember so much,” she whispers. “More than I’d like.”

“So you remember the accident.”

“I remember the fire.”

“Which was an accident …”

“There was noaccident,” she says, appalled. “I’m in this bed because of that fire. I’m being punished. Don’t yousee?” Her voice rises.“Don’t you see?”

I watch as a panic attack grips her, her breathing coming fast, her hands shaking uncontrollably, and sweat beginning to bead her brow. I take her hand in both of mine and talk her through some breathing exercises. Finally, she calms down, her eyes falling closed again.

“Is she okay?” Giulia asks quietly from the doorway.

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