Excitement.
A feeling of wanting to be out there. Wanting to take the steps that will lead me out under that sky, into that sunshine. Wanting to breathe in the air and exhale and just be.
It’s the lightness of freedom.
Of home.
But my mind is quick to correct. And I clear my throat, take a step. I can see in my periphery that Dante saw it, though. Whatever that was must have played out on my face. Or he’s just so in tune with me. But that’s wishful thinking. I remember his rejection earlier. The hard no when I’d kissed him.
Heat flushes my face at the memory. How stupid I am.
I hurry after Matthaeus who exits first and watch him shake hands with the man standing beside the SUV that just came to a stop near the plane. They hug briefly before Matthaeus moves and the man turns his attention to the top of the stairs where I’m standing.
My breath catches in my throat, the gasp audible.
I hesitate, turn to find Dante at my back. He wraps his hand around the back of my neck, and I feel his warmth, his strength. His thumb rubs the hollow at my nape. He leans in close.
“It’s okay. You know him.”
I do.
I turn to the man who is smiling. He’s trying to hide the worry in his deep blue eyes that the furrow between his brows gives away.
It’s Cristiano. Dante’s older brother.
“It’s okay, Mara,” Dante whispers again.
I nod, take a deep breath, and fumble for the handrail. My hand is shaking. My legs too. But I take step after step, focusing on my feet, not on the man waiting.
Dante stays close behind ready to catch me if my legs give out. When I step onto the tarmac, Cristiano walks toward me but is careful to keep distance. They’re all so careful with me. Like they’re scared to spook me. Don’t they know I can’t be any more spooked?
I look up at him. See the warmth in his gaze. See the gray at his temples. The lines around his eyes. The boy is gone. Again. Just like Dante. Cristiano is a man. A stranger to me.
“Mara.” He glances over my shoulder to Dante and when I follow his gaze, I see Dante give a small shake of his head. Cristiano steps back giving me more space, room to breathe. “Welcome home.”
He’s as tall as Dante. Built the same. He doesn’t have the damage to his face that Dante has though. When the brothers hug and I see them together, I remember something. Laughter. Warmth. A happy family.
They both turn to look at me again, Cristiano cautiously smiling, Dante watching. Always watching. He doesn’t even try to hide the intensity of his gaze or the darkness of his thoughts.
“Your grandmother, Scarlett, and even Noah are anxious to see you, Mara,” Cristiano says. I think he’s trying to make me feel relaxed. I know he is. But all it does is increase my anxiety.
I look up to Dante, my throat tight. Why did he bring me here? Here of all places.
Someone closes the trunk, making me jump. Dante is beside me again, standing close enough for our arms to touch. Cristiano looks like he has something to say but doesn’t. Instead, he climbs into the passenger seat of one of the three SUVs with their darkly tinted windows.
Dante does that thing again, his hand on the back of my neck, and I turn to him.
“Are you okay?”
Why did you bring me here?
I want to ask it, but I don’t. Instead, I nod and climb into the back seat of the SUV. I scoot to the other side as Dante gets in beside me. A few moments later, we’re moving.
The coast is beautiful. Even in winter, even though it’s cold, there’s something almost magical about this turquoise sea. All I can do is stare out the window at it as we drive. When our procession comes to a stop at a port, the men step out. Dante and Cristiano talk briefly in Italian before Dante turns to me, holds out his hand.
“We’ll take the boat from here. You and me together. Okay?”
I nod but I’m starting to feel sick. It will be good to have a break before we get to the house. Good to get myself ready. This should feel good, right? I think about this as I squint against the sun, making my way across the lot to the boats bobbing in the water. But the truth is, I can’t remember the last time I dreamt of being rescued. Of coming home.
Home.
No.
The island isn’t home. Not really. I lived with my grandmother although I guess we spent much of our time on the island. I don’t remember my mother and never knew my father. Is he out there somewhere? Does he even know I exist? Does he care? No because if he did, he’d have come for me. I don’t have any siblings that I’m aware of. My mother died before I could even form memories of her. I am alone.