Bastian
It’s late. I swim in the light of the moon hours after Vittoria and my brother go to bed. Hours after I should have followed them. I can’t sleep, though, not after what happened tonight.
What she said is true. I hate her—or want to hate her—because her father loved her. Because she loved that monster. And I also see her. It’s what I’ve accused my brother of, but I’m just as guilty. I see her. And she’s not what I expected. Not the villain I’d made her out to be for all those years as I planned her punishment.
Movement catches my eye when I come up for air, so I stop and turn toward it. There, standing a few feet from the pool, is the last person I’d expect to see. The little girl.
She’s wearing a pink nightie with a princess on the front of it, carrying her weird pig. Her hair is a tangled mess around her tiny face as she rubs her tired eyes.
“What are you doing out here?” I ask, climbing out of the pool and drying myself with my towel before wrapping it around my hips and pulling a T-shirt on.
She doesn’t answer. Just stares up at me.
“Why aren’t you in bed?”
Again, no answer. I wonder how they communicate if she’s got this issue.
“How did you get out here?”
She turns and points at the open door. Duh.
“Where’s Vittoria or your nanny?” I look into the house but see no one.
She points upstairs.
Okay. So she came down here by herself? It’s pitch black in the house. Wasn’t she scared? She’s got her ratty shoes on. They’re on the wrong feet and unlaced. It makes me smile.
“Come on, I’ll take you back up to bed.”
She shakes her head.
“Do you want some water or something? Are you hungry?” What am I supposed to do with a five-year-old?
She points at the water glass which was actually filled with whiskey just a little while ago. I’m going to have the mother of hangovers come morning.
“All right,” I say with a sigh. Isn’t she supposed to be afraid of me? I walk toward her and I’m surprised when she holds up her arms to be picked up. I stop, confused, then bend to lift her and carry her into the house. “You know you’re not allowed to go near the swimming pool alone, right?” I ask her as I close the patio door. I don’t care, but I’m not a fucking monster, either. She’s a kid. Don’t want her drowning in our pool.
She tilts her head to the side and points at me.
“I don’t count,” I tell her.
She shrugs a shoulder, and I push the door open to the kitchen. I set her on the counter, take a water glass and fill it then hand it to her. She takes it with two hands, takes exactly one sip and holds the glass back out to me.
“That’s it? I thought you were thirsty.”
She pushes the glass at me, so I take it and set it aside. She watches me with eyes much older than that of a five-year-old. I think about what Vittoria said. How her father only looked at Emma with scorn. I guess seeing her only reminded him of what his wife had very clearly done. I’m surprised Vittoria doesn’t realize it, but I don’t think she does. I almost gave it away in the library earlier tonight. Amadeo would have stopped me if I hadn’t caught myself. But the science doesn’t lie. Two blue-eyed parents cannot have a brown-eyed child.
I lift her from the counter and look away first, which is pathetic. She’s five. But then she does something unexpected. She lays one tiny hand on my cheek, right over my scar. She traces it with a finger, then sets it flat again and does the same with her other hand to the scar on her own cheek. And it does something to me. This little thing. This point of connection.
I sit down on one of the kitchen chairs and take her hand from her scar to trace it. It’s still pretty red, but it will fade. And it’s not as deep as mine or my brother’s. It will always be visible, though. Her father did that to her. Maybe not intentionally, but it’s on him all the same. What I believe he intended, though, was much worse.
“You’ll grow into it. Don’t worry,” I tell her.
She does look worried, though. Then she lays her head on my chest and closes her eyes. And moments later, she drops off to sleep in that way kids have. It’s a little disturbing.
A sound comes from the kitchen door, and I turn to find Vittoria standing there. I wonder how much she heard. She looks at Emma asleep in my arms. Without a word, I stand to carry the little girl upstairs. Vittoria follows, and when I deposit her into her bed, I expect Vittoria to stay in the room with her sister, but before I can close the bedroom door behind me, she catches it and follows me out.
We stand there for a long minute, and I’m not sure what she wants. What happened in the library was to put her in her place. But it hasn’t done that. And it hasn’t got her out of my system either.