Page 81 of Obsession & Oath

A delicate blouse from the market—white linen, embroidered with tiny flowers by a woman who had smiled knowingly at Dante when he bought it for me.

The leather sandals he insisted I needed because,“Everyone wears them here. Just let me buy you something nice.”

The small silver locket he slipped into my hand one evening, its chain warm from his skin. I never asked why he gave it to me. I just kept it.

The book of Italian curse words, now tattered and torn, pages folded, phrases highlighted, then whispered in jest. Or screamed into the night when our bodies were close enough to share the very molecules of our skin.

Everything I touch is a memory. A reminder. A piece of him.

I almost don’t want to take them.

But I can’t bear to part with them.

I fold them carefully as if that will somehow make this easier, tuck them into my suitcase like they’re fragile things. Maybe they are. Maybe I am.

I snap my suitcase shut, breathing hard. Evelina’s suitcase. The one she said I’d need if Dante ever took me to visit Modena.

This can’t be it.

But the sharp knock on my door tells me otherwise.

“Let’s go,” Dante’s voice cuts through the air, void of warmth.

I don’t turn around. I don’t want to see him like this.Cold. Indifferent.

The weight of everything crashes down on me as I force myself to my feet, dragging my suitcase behind me. I make it to the hallway. Then, down the stairs. The ones I’ve hurried down a hundred times by now.

Then, we step outside into the dark night. The car is already waiting, the engine on, the door open.

And before I can take another breath, Dante shoves me inside.

“Dante!”

Evelina’s voice is sharp, breaking the heavy silence that has settled between us.

I freeze. Dante does too, just for a moment, before his jaw tightens, his hand gripping the car door. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t acknowledge her at all.

I barely have time to process before she’s in front of me, her expression raw in a way I’ve never seen before. Not the composed matriarch, not the shrewd, untouchable strategist—just a mother.

She clutches my arms, searching my face with desperate, pleading eyes. “You don’t have to go.”

My breath hitches.

“I do,” I whisper, though the words feel like shattered glass on my tongue.

Evelina shakes her head fiercely, her hands tightening. “No, Carmen.Listen to me.You are worth more than this. More than your father’s expectations. More than what men in dark rooms decide your life should be.”

My throat constricts. “It’s not that simple.”

“It should be,” she says, voice thick. “It should havealwaysbeen.”

I don’t realize I’m shaking until she pulls me in, her embrace fierce, unrelenting. I clutch her just as tightly, my fingers digging into the elegant fabric of her dress as I squeeze my eyes shut.

I don’t want to go.

God, I don’t want to go.

Her hand smooths over the back of my hair, soothing, motherly, and it nearly breaks me.

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