Page 17 of The Vanishing
“How much work can you miss?” he asks.
“Work is slow now, but my schedule toward the middle of summer is crazy. It doesn’t matter—I’ll make it work until Nino is back here and safe.”
“I have associates that can handle some of my meetings, but I have to leave in a month to check on Father. I can come back after that if needed. Let’s look at their schedules and talk about covering their appointments. Divvy up what we can. What do you think?”
Cellina nods. She wants to help, even if it means working with Giovanni and constantly ignoring the elephant that follows them around like a shared pet. As long as they keep things surface level and focus on the work, it’ll be fine. “Let’s do it. I’m in.”
“We can tell the vamps of your realm that the two of you are busy with an important, confidential project,” Giovanni asserts. “We did that with Father in the early days of his illness, when we were keeping it a secret that Mom had starved in the war. Nobody questioned it when I started taking over—foryears. So that should settle any unrest within your community.”
“Sounds good to me.” Asao stands from the counter and moves toward the wide doorway. “Let me show you where your rooms are. You two get settled and I’ll start dinner.”
Giovanni pushes up from the table. Cellina as well, but they both pause. Their eyes trail down to Haruka. He sits hunched with his elbows against the wooden surface, palms rubbing his face. The mug of tea sitting in front of him is cold and full.
Misery. The blackness radiates from him in waves. Cellina has witnessed these raw, visceral emotions from another vampire in her life. She’d been young. When she thinks back to that particular day, the sadness she feels and the burden of it still sit like a rock in her chest.
Cellina looks up at the broad male standing across from her. The male responsible for that weight.
Eight
Summer, 1914
The ballroom sparkles with glittery chandelier light and joyful energy. Cellina smooths her flowing silk gown the color of champagne, nervous as she adjusts the lace sliding down the curve of her brown shoulder.
She looks around the crowded room and at all the fancifully dressed adults. She mumbles, “Where is he?” Sighing, Cellina decides to go sit in the courtyard. The garden at the Bianchi Clan estate is magical at night, with its beautiful marble fountains and ivy-woven gazebos.
She steps forward, and two large hands catch her at her waist. Surprised, she flips around. “There you are.” She smiles, looking into his bright hazel-green eyes. “Where have you been?” She isn’t certain, but it seems like Giovanni has grown at least three inches taller since last summer. At seventeen, he towers over her.
He returns her open smile at first, but then narrows his eyes, mischievous as he looks to his left, then right. He bends toward her ear. “Boring business and war talk with the old vamps. I snuck out.”
Cellina scrunches her nose. “I’ll be your accomplice. Garden?”
He nods, grabbing her hand and rushing toward the courtyard doors at the back of the room. Cellina squeezes his warm palm in hers. She could take flight from the frenzy of butterflies in her stomach. Just as they reach the double doors, a familiar voice calls out to them.
“Sneaking off again, are we?”
Giovanni stops dead, causing Cellina to awkwardly crash into his solid back. They both turn to face Giovanni’s mother. Her jet-black hair is pinned up, elaborate and adorned with gorgeous flowers. She’s chosen to wear a traditional kimono tonight, and she looks incredible: the belle of the ball.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in the sunroom with your father?” she asks, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“Mother, I was,” Giovanni explains. “For the past two hours… I just wanted a little break? Please?”
Her stern expression melts, a knowing smile forming in its place. “Hai hai, wakatta wa. Jaa, Ototo mo issho ni tsuretette, ne. Amari osoku naranaide ne.”
Cellina stretches her mind, remembering everything Giovanni’s mother has taught her about her native tongue. She says yes, but they need to take Nino and they have to come back soon. Cellina looks down at Nino. He’s adorable in his fancy suit, and he’s gotten a little taller, too. He’s quiet as he holds his mother’s hand. Nino’s amber eyes scan the room, as if at any moment something might jump out and grab him.
Giovanni sighs. “Sì, Madre, ho capito.” He reaches down and grabs Nino’s free hand, gently pulling the silent seven-year-old forward. Cellina takes hold of Nino’s other hand, and he looks up at her, smiling. The three of them head into the garden.
The moon is high and round, brilliant against the dark, star-speckled sky. It’s a warm summer night and the balmy heat feels good against Cellina’s exposed shoulders.
“When I’m home, she makes me take him everywhere,” Giovanni complains as they walk down the winding path and toward their usual gazebo. Cellina can already hear the fountain through the brush of trees surrounding them. “He’s not my kid—he’s yours.Youtake care of him.”
Cellina laughs and swings Nino’s arm, looking down at him. “You like spending time with G, right?”
He nods as they walk forward, but Cellina’s smile fades. “Nino, are you having fun tonight?”
“It’s okay.” He shrugs. Inside, Cellina’s heart is strained. Nino isn’t related to her by blood, but with the way they’ve grown up together, he may as well be. In truth, Cellina adores Nino more than her actual younger brother. Cosimo is a little punk, but Nino? He’s sweet. Timid. She doesn’t know why, but she feels like she needs to look out for him.
“You’re going to miss Mom when she goes away to Japan next week, yeah?” Cellina asks. War is calling and so is Nino’s grandfather—demanding that his daughter return home to support her clan.
