Page 18 of Ache for You (Slow Burn 3)
“I’ll get the doctor!”
I start to move, but my father grips my wrist with surprising strength. His eyes fly open, and the look in them is sharper, more focused. For some reason that strikes a chord of terror deep in my heart.
“No. It’s too late for doctors. Listen to me now, angel. I have something important to tell you.” He pulls me closer, his breath leaving his chest in a wheeze.
“Papa, please, don’t talk! Let me get the doctor—”
“Your mother was the love of my life.”
I break down and start to sob, resting my forehead on my father’s frail chest and clutching the cold bedsheets. I can’t bear to listen, because I know deep in my bones that whatever he’s about to tell me will be the last words he’ll ever speak.
“From the day we met, I never looked at another woman. No one could compare. When she died, my heart became a wasteland where nothing could grow. You were the only thing that brought me joy, angel. The only thing that kept me going.”
I cry and cry, unable to stop the flow of tears.
“But life is strange.” His chuckle is faint, so faint I barely hear it. “Just when you think you’ve got it figured out, it throws you a curveball to make sure you know you’re not the one making the decisions.”
He strokes my hair off my face and smiles at my wet cheeks. “I found love again, angel. In the winter of life, this old man found love.”
I lift my head and blink, tears streaming down my face and dripping from my chin. “I’m happy for you, Papa.”
He nods, his eyes gaining that faraway look again. “I knew you would be. And I know you’ll love her as I do.” He draws a breath for strength, then focuses all his energy on his next words. “Just remember: nothing worthwhile is easy. That goes for everything. The easier it comes, the easier it goes. The truly valuable things and people will always test your mettle, but every bit of pain will be worth it in the end. Don’t give up when something is difficult. Dig in your heels.”
A delicate tremor runs through his chest. He closes his eyes, and he seems to sink down farther into the mattress, as if all his muscles have lost their fight against gravity. He gives my wrist one final, weak squeeze. A sigh slips past his lips. His mouth goes slack, as do his fingers on my arm.
Terror devours me. I whisper, “Papa?”
The heart monitor emits a long, flat electronic tone.
I scream, “Papa?”
Dominic and the doctor run into the room, but my father is already gone.
SIX
Hours later, after they’ve taken away my father’s body and I’ve completed all the necessary paperwork, Dominic helps me out to his car and drives me to my father’s house as I weep against the window, looking out into the starry night.
I’m an orphan now. No father, no mother, no other family except two stepsisters who are complete strangers and a stepmother who couldn’t be bothered to be there for Papa in his final moments.
When Dominic tells me she never came to the hospital at all, I want to curl my hands around her throat and choke the life right out of the uncaring witch. She should’ve married Brad. They’d have been a far better match than she and my loving, sweet-tempered father.
Il Sogno, our family’s ancestral villa, was built in the fifteenth century by an intrepid DiSanto who’d made a small fortune in textiles, then promptly lost it once construction was completed. Every other DiSanto who’s inherited the place has suffered from the same bad financial luck, my father included. If you knew nothing about my family, you’d assume we were wealthy based on the majesty of our property alone.
But, as with so many things, appearances can be deceiving.
Boasting classical Italian gardens, a reflecting pool, and spectacular views of Florence, Il Sogno lies on a hill above the city while going about the business of quietly crumbling into ruins. When we round the bend of the long gravel drive and I catch a glimpse of the stately old building, I’m breathless with the realization that my father won’t be running out from the front door to greet me like he always did when I arrived on my summer breaks from school.
For a moment the pain is so huge I can’t breathe.
Then Dominic parks the car, shuts off the engine, and turns to me with a somber face.
“I’ll come in with you,” he says darkly, as if he’s carrying a concealed firearm we might find ourselves in need of.
This stepmother of mine must be something else.
Gravel crunching underfoot, we trudge past the row of cypress trees that lines the driveway until we’re standing in front of the tall wooden doors of the main house. I apply my knuckles to the wood, then we wait in silence unbroken except for the singing of crickets and a breeze whispering through the trees.
Finally, footsteps echo from inside the house. Unhurried, they grow closer. Then the door swings open to reveal a man I’ve never seen before.
