Page 89 of Taming Dahlia

That she was back at the house, safe and sound, waiting for us to come home.

Home, however, now felt desolate. The absence of Ludovica’s bright smile and cheerful greetings echoed in the hollow spaces.

Reminders of her presence scattered around the house — the vacant place on the couch, her blanket still laid over the arm of the armchair, untouched. Her room had remained undisturbed, kept the same as it was when she’d been living here with us.

None of us had the heart to get rid of anything that had been hers.

I hadn’t even gone to the library since she left.

That place reminded me the most of her.

The books that she used to trail her fingers over, in search of something new to read. The bay window that she always looked out of, her eyes full of want and longing.

Yes, this was for the best.

She wasn’t made to be a thing kept within a gilded cage. She was meant to spread her wings and be free.

Weeks had passed before I mustered the will to enter the library. I had a few important documents left in there so I knew that I couldn’t avoid it forever. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel too terrible when I entered. Perhaps it was the lingering expectationthat I‘d see her there, sitting by the window with her head in a book.

However, that was a sight that I’d never see again.

As I retrieved the documents, my eyes caught a glimpse ofThe Little Princelying on the desk.

She hadn’t taken it with her?

Perhaps she just didn’t want to be reminded of this place.

An ache settled in my chest as I reached for the book, intending to place it on a shelf, but then I saw something underneath it.

It was an an envelope.

I tilted my head to the side, confused.

Inside the envelope, I discovered a neatly folded letter.

I began to read.

“Hello, King or Jack or Ace - whichever one of you guys is reading this right now.”

A chuckle escaped me. I could almost hear her sweet voice in my ear.

“You’re probably wondering why I left this letter to you. Well… I think that it’s for the best if I start at the beginning.”

I took a seat on the sofa, making sure not to crumple the letter in my hands.

“First, I would like to tell you something about myself.

When I was very young, four or five years old, I was brought to an orphanage.

I don’t remember a time before that, where I came from or who my family was. I spent a few years at that orphanage before Francesco decided to take me in. I was about ten, at the time. But I didn’t write you this to talk about Francesco, although you’ll see later why he’s important. What I wanted to talk to you about are the three friends that I made during my stay there.

They had been the three most wonderful boys I ever had the pleasure of knowing. They were kind to me and took good care of me. If I was feeling hungry, they’d generously offer me their own food. If it got too cold in the night, they let me sleep in one of their beds. If someone was picking on me, they’dimmediatelyjump to my defense.

And I loved them with all my heart in turn.

We had once made a promise to each other that we’d never let anyone or anything tear us apart. But… life is a fickle bitch, isn’t she?

I was stolen away in the middle of the night and, from what I came to learn, the three boys went on believing that I had died. A lot of years passed since then and I thought that I’d never see them again. Until a couple of months ago, that is.

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