Page 44 of Goldrage
AURELIA
I’m in the dining room, with light filtering through the tall windows. I pick at my breakfast, not really wanting to eat. I know Ishouldbe eating and trying to gain some weight so my stomach is more padded but… I just can’t.
Silver forks scrape against fine china, the sound making me flinch. Breakfast is an elaborate spread of fresh fruit, pastries that smell of butter and sugar, and eggs Benedict drowning in hollandaise. It all looks delicious but my stomach churns from too much stress and exhaustion. Too many… regrets. It’s been two days since I was “presented” and I can’t stop thinking about Olivia.
Lorenzo sits next to me, cutting into his eggs cheerfully. He’s performing his role as the dutiful, excited cousin, but I can tell how the stress of our lie and situation is weighing on him. His shoulders have a perpetual hunch now.
“The bushes of yellow roses are blooming,” he says. “We could take a walk in the garden later.”
I catch the undercurrent in his words—we need to talk privately—and nod. We’re physically alone in the dining room, but there are cameras everywhere. They’re always watching, always recording. In the garden, there are a few spaces where it doesn’t seem the cameras can hear, only observe. So Lorenzo and I go to those spots and hide our faces so we can whisper to each other.
Olivia’s sharp yet kind gaze flashes in my mind again and my stomach lurches.
“If you ever need someone to talk to…”
I rub at my temples, willing the thoughts of Olivia to go away. How messed up would I be to seek support from the sister of the woman I killed in cold blood?
“Cugina?” Lorenzo asks, touching my arm.
“Um, walk. Yes. I could use a walk.”
He returns to eating and I return to staring at my untouched food. I push a strawberry around my plate, watching the juice bleed across the white porcelain like?—
No. I won’t think about blood. Or vodka. Fire. Victoria’s screams…
I hurl the remaining liquid at her, drenching her in vodka. I let the first candle fall to the floor.
“Fuck! What’re you doing?” Victoria screams. “Are you insane?”
“Maybe.” I walk to the next candle and tap it with my finger. One by one, they fall. “But now it’s time for you to feel the heat.” I lift a candle in my hand. “Your mother made the mistake of using mine as her personal ashtray. I’d like to repay the favor.”
Her eyes round. A mixture of confusion and fear cloudsher vision. But she doesn’t plead for her life. Doesn’t bat an eye as I hurl the candle at her vodka-soaked body.
Flames erupt on her skin.
She screams.
And screams.
She gets to her feet and runs toward the door.
I close the door behind me, locking her inside.
It’s too late.
Too late.
Too late.
“Cugina?”
Lorenzo’s hand on my shoulder makes me gasp.
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You’re shaking?—”
“Fine, um.” I lay my shaking hands on my lap, hiding them under the table. “Um, any word about Adrian’s recovery?” The question is mindless—my mind trying to think of anything besides Victoria—and I immediately regret asking. I already know the answer will be another disappointment.
Lorenzo’s shoulders tense and his dark eyes flick to the camera in the corner, then back to me. He lowers his voice until it’s barely more than a breath. “No specifics. But he’s stable. That’s something.”
