Page 32 of Vendetta
In the centre of the kitchen was a marble-topped island, and beyond it was a glass table covered with several sheets of paper and scatterings of pencils. Sitting at the table was a boy. He was drawing.
‘Hello?’ I said again, though I could plainly see he knew I was there.
He looked up and his piercing blue eyes found mine immediately. I zeroed in on them, frowning, as my stomach turned to jelly. ‘Luca?’
He didn’t respond. He just put his pencil down and sat insilent contemplation, his elbows atop the table and his chin resting just behind his steepled fingers, as though he were praying.
I felt my breath catch in my throat. ‘Oh!’
It wasn’t Luca. It was the boy from the window. Just like on that very first night, his eyes grew, but this time in recognition. Set against his olive skin, they were a brilliant, startling blue. They were just like Luca’s, but something about them seemed different – warmer, perhaps.
‘I recognize you,’ he said in that pleasant, lilting voice.
I moved towards him, utterly captivated. He had Luca’s searing eyes, his golden-brown skin and his jet-black hair. But while Luca’s hair was shaggy, falling in strands across his eyes, this boy’s hair was short and clean-cut, combed away from his face entirely, revealing a pointed chin and severe cheekbones. He was thinner, too, and slightly hunched. I couldn’t tell if he was older than me – he didn’t seem it, but his likeness to Luca made me think maybe he was.
‘You were watching my house last week.’ He lowered his hands and rested them on the table in front of him, but his eyes remained hooded with caution.
I stopped when I reached the table, hovering uncertainly. I realized then why he hadn’t moved towards me, and why he hadn’t played in the basketball tournament last week. He was in a wheelchair.
‘Yes, that was me,’ I replied. I tried not to stare, but he was so like Luca, and yet so unlike him, it was hard to reconcile. ‘I was just curious.’
‘I believe you fell rather spectacularly just afterwards,’ he added, but not unkindly.
‘That’s a point of contention. Your brother actually crashed into me.’
He smiled, and it made him seem suddenly very young and boyish. ‘I hope he apologized.’
‘He did – eventually.’ I shuffled a little closer until my hands brushed against the edge of the table. ‘You’re so like him.’ It was those eyes – they were so unnatural. That they should exist in two different faces seemed unbelievable to me. ‘Luca, that is. I don’t mean to stare, but it’s really incredible.’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘we may be twins, but we’re not the same.’
I was only partly surprised by the revelation. Even though their similarities were startling, all of the Priestly brothers shared the same features, and this boy had an aura of innocence that Luca did not. He seemed sweet, and unblemished by whatever had made his twin such a resounding ass to be around.
‘For one thing, he can’t manoeuvre a wheelchair half as well as I can.’ He tapped the wheel beneath his right hand and released a wry smile. ‘And for another, I’m smarter.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’ He seemed appeased by my agreement. ‘I’m Sophie. But I said that already.’
‘Hello, Sophie.’ His smile was a beautiful sight. To think, Luca had the potential to look and act like this and yet he chose not to. ‘I’m Valentino.’
He shifted forwards and picked up his pencil again, twirling it between his forefinger and thumb. My attention followed it, and I gasped as the sheets of paper came to life below me. I tried to study them all at once. ‘These are incredible.’
Valentino waved his hand over the sketches with a casualness that seemed out of place. They were stunning, and surelyhe could see that. And more than that, he should beowninghis talent and agreeing with me. I used to think my father was good because he could draw Mickey Mouse, but this artwork was on a whole other level.
I raked my eyes over the drawings and stopped when I found a side profile of Nic. Drawn in pencil, careful shadows swooped across his creased brow line and gathered beneath his cheekbones. His lips were parted in concentration, his hair twisting in strands below his ear as he looked ahead, focusing on something out of frame.
‘You make it seem so real.’
I glanced at Valentino. He was chewing on his lip, thinking. ‘I look for the qualities that aren’t always apparent at first,’ he said. ‘The ones that define part of who we are and how we really feel deep down. I try to look below the surface.’
His voice started to bubble with passion, and his hands took on a life of their own. ‘This life is so complex that we rarely get to be the people we are truly meant to be. Instead, we wear masks and put up walls to keep from dealing with the fear of rejection, the feeling of regret, the very idea that someone may not love us for who we are deep in our core, that they might not understand the things that drive us. I want to study the realness of life, not the gloss. There is beauty everywhere; even in the dark, there is light, and that is the rarest kind of all.’
I watched the enthusiasm brighten his features. ‘I don’t know anyone who thinks and talks like that,’ I admitted. ‘It’s… refreshing.’
‘It’s the truth,’ he said simply.
‘Can I see the others?’
He laid his pencil down and wheeled his chair back. I drapedthe hoodie over the chair beside me and leant across the table, balancing my weight on my palms.
