Chương 14
“I’m having a productive afternoon.”
That surprised a short laugh out of her.
It disappeared quickly.
“She thinks she deserves to be alone.”
“That’s different from needing to be.”
Bianca’s mother looked at him.
“You still care about her.”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure this is over?”
He took his time.
“Yes.”
She nodded as though she had expected the answer and still needed a moment to absorb it.
“She won’t try to stop you.”
“I’m not worried about that.”
“You should knock.”
He did.
There was no answer.
He knocked again.
“Bianca.”
A few seconds passed.
“Come in.”
The dressing room looked less glamorous now.
The vanity bulbs were still bright, but the scattered cosmetics had been gathered into a shallow tray.
The broken perfume stopper was gone.
Bianca sat on the floor in her wedding dress with her back against the pink chair.
She had removed her earrings.
Her shoes lay under the vanity.
“You heard about Chicago.”
Alessandro stopped.
“Yes.”
She gave a small, humorless smile.
“My cousin.”
“Yes.”
“She always tells secrets when she’s angry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Bianca looked at the ceiling.
“Because I knew what you would say.”
“What?”
“Let’s talk about it.”
He frowned.
“That sounds reasonable.”
“It is reasonable.”
She looked at him.
“That was the problem.”
He sat in the chair opposite her.
Bianca continued.
“You would have made lists.”
“I make lists.”
“You would have checked schools, neighborhoods, flights, your office schedule.”
“Yes.”
“And then you would have looked at Livia.”
Alessandro said nothing.
“And I would have seen the answer before you said it.”
He rubbed one hand over his knee.
“You decided for me.”
“Yes.”
“You resented me for a decision I never made.”
“Yes.”
“And you never gave me the chance.”
“No.”
He nodded slowly.
Bianca looked at the floor.
“I told myself I was being generous.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
She pulled at a loose bead on her sleeve.
“I was terrified you’d say go.”
He looked at her.
“Go to Chicago?”
“Yes.”
Her voice dropped.
“Because then I would know you could imagine your life without me.”
Alessandro leaned back.
“And if I asked you to stay?”
“I would have stayed.”
“Then why not tell me?”
“Because I wanted you to need me without having to ask.”
He closed his eyes.
“That isn’t how adults are supposed to do this.”
“I know.”
“Apparently neither of us was very interested in being adults.”
Bianca almost smiled.
Then her face folded again.
“I hated that house sometimes.”
“I know.”
“I hated Elena.”
Alessandro opened his eyes.
Bianca looked directly at him.
“Not her.”
She swallowed.
“What she represented.”
He waited.
“The version of you I could never meet.”
Her voice shook.
“The woman everyone loved after she was gone because dead people don’t disappoint anyone anymore.”
Alessandro’s jaw tightened.
“That isn’t fair to her.”
“No.”
“It isn’t fair to Livia.”
“No.”
“It isn’t fair to me.”
Bianca nodded.
“No.”
He let the anger come and go without using it.
“Did you ever hate Livia?”
Bianca stared at the vanity.
“No.”
A long silence followed.
“Sometimes I hated what she could ask from you without being afraid you’d leave.”
Alessandro looked away.
That answer hurt because it was honest enough to be ugly.
Bianca continued.
“She could cry, be rude, need you, wake you up, ruin plans, change her mind.”
“She’s seven.”
“I know.”
“And you were jealous of that.”
“Yes.”
Her face tightened.
“I hate saying it.”
“You should.”
She nodded.
“I do.”
Alessandro leaned forward, forearms on his knees.
“You need to stay away from her.”
“I know.”
“For now.”
Bianca looked up.
“For now?”
“That isn’t a promise of later.”
Her expression fell.
“I understand.”
“If she ever wants contact, it will be her decision.”
“Yes.”
“And I won’t ask her to make you feel better.”
Bianca closed her eyes.
“Thank you.”
He studied her.
“You should take the Chicago job.”
She gave a startled laugh.
“That offer expired months ago.”
“Then call them.”
“They may say no.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t need career advice from you.”
“No.”
He almost smiled.
“That was a habit.”
“Yes.”
They sat in silence.
Finally Bianca said, “I’m sorry.”
Alessandro looked at her.
“Not to you.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry to her.”
“I know.”
“And I’m sorry I made you become the person who had to stop me.”
He frowned.
“You made yourself do that.”
Bianca looked down.
“Yes.”
“That matters.”
“Yes.”
He stood.
At the door, she said, “Did she cut the rest?”
He turned.
“How did you know?”
Bianca looked toward the floor where the lock had fallen earlier.
“She wouldn’t want to leave it uneven.”
Alessandro’s expression hardened for a second.
Bianca saw it.
“I’m not pretending I know her better than you.”
“Okay.”
“How does it look?”
He thought of Livia moving her head in front of the mirror.
“Like hers.”
Bianca’s eyes filled.
She nodded.
“That’s good.”
Alessandro left.
Upstairs, Rosalie was sitting on the sofa with a paper cup of coffee balanced on one knee.
Livia lay on her stomach across the bed, drawing on hotel stationery.
She looked up when Alessandro entered.
“Did everyone leave?”
“Most.”
“Was Grandma bad?”
“Manageable.”
Rosalie snorted into her coffee.
Livia sat up.
“Did you talk to Bianca?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“A lot.”
“That means you don’t want to tell me.”
“It means some of it is adult stuff.”
She frowned.
Alessandro sat on the edge of the bed.
“But the part about you is simple.”
Livia waited.
“She knows what she did was wrong.”
“Did she say sorry?”
“To me.”
Livia looked disappointed.
“She wants to say it to you.”
Livia’s shoulders tightened.
“You don’t have to hear it.”
“Ever?”
“Ever, if that’s what you choose.”
She looked at the stationery in her lap.
“What if I want to later?”
“Then later.”
“What if I don’t know?”
“Then you don’t know.”
She considered this.
Rosalie stood.
“I’m going to find something edible that wasn’t designed for a wedding.”
Livia looked at her.
“French fries.”
“At last, leadership.”
Rosalie headed for the door.
Alessandro said, “Get something for yourself.”
“I was planning to steal hers.”
“You always do.”
“That’s why she trusts me.”
The door closed behind her.
Livia looked down at her drawing.
It was a house with three windows.
One figure stood outside.
Alessandro did not ask who it was.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Were you going to marry Bianca because you were scared to stop?”
He exhaled slowly.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because stopping would hurt people.”
“It hurt people anyway.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
“So that was dumb.”
He nodded.
“Very.”
Livia returned to her drawing.
After a moment, she said, “Mommy would’ve been mad.”
“At me?”
“Yes.”
“That seems likely.”
“She got mad when you bought the wrong yogurt.”
“That was a complicated week.”
“She said you never read labels.”
“She was right.”
Livia smiled faintly.
Then the smile faded.
“Do you miss her more today?”
Alessandro looked toward the window.
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
He reached for her hand.
She gave it to him.
They stayed like that without talking.
The wedding day ended without a wedding.
Guests went home with stories Alessandro could not control.
A few photographs appeared online, mostly flowers, champagne glasses, and confused relatives outside the hotel.
None showed Livia.
Marcy managed that much.
Bianca left through a service elevator with her parents after changing into a plain blue dress.
Three weeks later, she called the firm in Chicago.
The original position was gone.
They offered her another one in Boston.
She took it.
She sent no messages to Livia.
Instead, she mailed Alessandro one sealed envelope with Livia’s name on it and a note telling him to keep it until, or unless, Livia asked.
He put it in the locked box in his closet.
For once, he did not decide when someone else should be ready.
Summer passed.
Livia’s hair grew unevenly for a while.
She refused to let anyone “fix” it beyond occasional trims.
Rosalie found a salon where the stylist asked permission before touching each section, which Livia declared annoying but acceptable.
Alessandro started coming home before dinner more often.
Not always.
He still worked too late on Thursdays and sometimes answered emails while pretending to watch movies.
Livia still called him a hypocrite.
His mother still gave opinions nobody requested.
Rosalie still stole French fries.
Life did not become cleaner because the wedding was canceled.
It became more honest in small, inconvenient ways.
In October, Livia asked about the envelope.
Alessandro brought it to the kitchen and placed it unopened on the table.
“You don’t have to read it.”
“I know.”
“You can throw it away.”
“I know.”
“You can—”
“Daddy.”
He stopped.
She opened the envelope herself.
Bianca’s letter was short.
Livia read it twice.
Then she folded it back along the same crease.
“What did she say?”
Alessandro asked.
Livia looked at him.
“She said she was sorry she scared me.”
He waited.
“She said I told her no and she did it anyway.”
Another pause.
“She said that was wrong even if she was angry.”
Alessandro nodded.
“She didn’t say I have to forgive her.”
“No.”
Livia ran one finger along the envelope.
“Do I?”
“No.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Okay.”
“Maybe not.”
“Okay.”
She looked toward the refrigerator.
“Can we order pizza?”
Alessandro smiled.
“Yes.”
“With pineapple.”
“That is where I draw the moral line.”
Livia laughed.
By the following spring, her hair had reached her shoulders.
One Sunday morning, Alessandro found her standing in the bathroom with a brush, two elastic bands, and an expression of profound irritation.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to braid it.”
He leaned against the doorframe.
“You want help?”
She looked suspicious.
“Do you know how?”
“I used to.”
“That means no.”
“That means I’m out of practice.”
She handed him the brush anyway.
He stood behind her and separated the hair into three uneven sections.
The first attempt came apart near her neck.
The second leaned sideways.
Livia watched him in the mirror.
“Mommy made it tighter.”
“Your mother had unreasonable standards.”
“She had normal standards.”
“History has made her very powerful.”
Livia smiled.
He tried again.
This time, the braid held.
It was shorter than Elena’s had ever been.
A few strands escaped near Livia’s cheeks.
Alessandro reached to smooth them.
Then he stopped.
“Leave them,” Livia said.
He lowered his hand.
“Okay.”
She turned her head and examined the braid in the mirror.
“It’s crooked.”
“Yes.”
“I like it.”
Alessandro looked at their reflections.
For years, he had thought loving the dead meant preserving every shape they had left behind.
Then he had thought loving the living meant preventing every hurt.
Both ideas had demanded too much control.
Livia picked up one of the elastic bands from the sink.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Next time, let me do the last part.”
He moved his hands away from her hair.
May you like
“Deal.”
She took the three strands from his fingers and finished the braid herself.
