Page 49 of Lost Room Lawyer
“Yes, that’s why it’s such a pity that Nicola Rossi has never shown herself in public.”
I want to write!
A single thought rolled through my veins like a powerful storm.
I clutched the book in my hands, unable to put it down. Maybe it was because I didn’t have a single copy at home. After I won the award, my block had worsened, and I wanted nothing to do withThe Birds’ Song of Laughter. Yet, I felt something changing within me. And what I held in my hands was the bridge back to writing.
“I’ll take it,” I murmured, as if it were an admission I needed to make to myself to truly embark on the path.
“Is there anything else you want to check out? I can hold it at the register for you if you like.”
“No, I’m fine.”
I followed the saleswoman to the register and paid for my book. It cost 45 francs. Okay, it had just over a thousand pages, but still. I was sure the young woman had no idea that publishing authors only received 8-15 percent of the sale price. Thanks to my father, who had secured me favorable terms, I was able to enjoy 15 percent that went back into my pocket, but most authors weren’t so lucky.
“Should I wrap it for you?”
“No,” I answered, opening my messenger bag. “I’ll take it as is.”
The saleswoman slipped the receipt into the book and handed it to me. “Enjoy your reading.”
I only had a faint smile to offer. “Thank you.” Feeling somehow uplifted, I made my way to the art section.
“What did you buy?” my mother asked. She was sitting in an armchair with three books, trying to decide between Alberto Giacometti, Picasso, and Auguste Rodin.
Her friend Maya was in the same studio as her, and they had attended many exhibitions together. I had known Maya since I was a child, and since we moved back to Zurich, she lived less than five minutes away from my mother.
“You really don’t want to know what I bought,” I replied, sitting down in the empty chair next to her.
“Show me,” she said with a wink.
Knowing she wouldn’t let up, I opened my bag to give her a glimpse of my purchase. My mother’s mouth dropped open, and she looked at me in surprise.
“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” I said, closing the bag again.
“How is that supposed to work?” she asked with raised eyebrows. She set the Giacometti book aside and moved a little closer to me. “I’m happy for you. I know it’s a big step and a good sign.”
“I want to finally move on. The time has come. I want to write again.”
The love in my mother’s understanding glance meant the world to me. She had tried to support me back then, after my father forced that contract through—driven by his fear of being recognized as Luciano.
How often had I cursed myself for visiting him on that day and being in the wrong place at the wrong time? It was one thing to hear him talking in the study with a guy, offering him money in exchange for fake evidence that would guarantee his client an acquittal. But I had no idea how big the case was, as I didn’t care. The brief conversation was all I needed to give Luciano the final touches. Turning him into a mobster who controlled and terrorized the family with rage made my novel a bestseller.
Leo’s fear of being recognized and losing his license—or worse, going to jail—was so great that he did everything to protect himself. That our relationship had suffered due to his volatile character wasn’t shocking.
For a while, I had completely lost my footing. I blamed myself for signing that gag order. Every time I reminded myself that I had no other choice, I cursed myself for having written the book at all.
Yes, I had considered it a curse. A curse I had imposed on myself, and for which I had simmered in the hell of writer’s block for years. But that was about to end. I could feel it. I was inspired and wanted to start something new. Maybe it wasn’t even necessary to use all the notes I had gathered over the years.
When I looked up and saw my mother’s gaze, I felt exposed. “What?” I asked, trying to act casual.
Her smile was too suspicious. When she left my question unanswered and nodded knowingly, I wanted to know even more.
“What is it?”
“You’re in love.”
I burst out laughing. “Nonsense!”
