Fragile Longing

“How are things with Santino?” I asked when we’d settled on my bed, several pillows propped up against our back and a bowl with chips between us. Even if my Danilo problem burned a hole in my head, I didn’t want to be the annoying friend who never shut up about her own issues.

Anna rolled her eyes. “He’s being annoying. He treats me like I’m a clueless kid, commanding me around as if he’s my boss. He doesn’t act like he’s working for me, but the other way around.”

“Technically, he works for your father, not for you.” I tilted my head, regarding the faint blush on Anna’s cheeks. “You like him?”

She picked at a chip. “He’s handsome but intolerable. He’s fun to piss off, though.”

I giggled. “And he’s your bodyguard. Your dad would kill him if he touched you.”

She shrugged. “I’m air for him, unless he needs to make sure I follow his security concepts.”

“I know how that feels,” I muttered. Being air for Danilo was something I should have gotten used to by now, but it still stung, especially after seeing photos of his affairs in the newspapers. My inability to not care annoyed me the most. I wished I could be cool about it and just pretend he was air until we married.

Anna turned to me, her blue eyes as keen as usual. “You still not over those photos? I hope you stopped checking the news for more images.”

My face heated. I’d promised Anna I’d stop stalking Danilo, but curiosity always got the better of me. “I just don’t get why he keeps dating those blonde girls. It’s strange.”

“He’s being a dick, and what he’s doing with them probably doesn’t qualify as dating. He should really pay closer attention to the paparazzi when he’s strolling about drunk with his bimbos.”

As usual, I became defensive when Anna attacked Danilo. “Those weren’t official photos, and we’re not together yet, so he can do what he wants. It’s my problem that I feel insecure about his actions.” I probably wouldn’t have felt half as bad about Danilo being with other girls before our marriage if every single one of his dates hadn’t been tall and blonde. They were Serafina lookalikes. None of them even had the slightest resemblance to me.

“Still,” Anna said pointedly. “It’s weird how he picks all those blonde bimbos. It’s been years. Why can’t he get over his hurt pride?”

Was it really only pride that drew Danilo to those girls? Or was it a longing to remember my sister, to have her in some way, even when she’d been stolen from him? I’d hoped that seeing her happy in her wedding photos would be the kick he needed. It had helped me. Knowing that Fina was happy with her new life had been the closure I needed to let go of her fully. I still missed her, but I’d made my peace with the distance between us. The wedding seemed to have been the turning point for Samuel as well. He wasn’t completely over losing her yet, but most days he seemed to be doing fine.

Sometimes I wondered whether Danilo pretended those girls were Serafina when he slept with them. Did he whisper sweet compliments into their ears as he held them, imagining they were my sister? Did he even utter her name?

The mere thought made me angry and sick at once.

“He just seems to prefer blondes.” I tried to sound as if it didn’t matter, but Anna knew me too well.

She glared at me. “Don’t compare yourself to Serafina. She’s gone. You’re here.”

When I’d been little, I sometimes wanted to be my sister because she was older and everyone admired her, not to mention the close bond she had with Samuel. It had been an innocent wish, like a little girl wanting to be Ariel or Cinderella, but it had recently turned into something more obsessive. I couldn’t help but wonder if people—especially Danilo—would treat me differently if I looked more like Serafina. I still wouldn’t be her, but perhaps then people would take notice of me.

I’d scheduled a hair appointment for the next morning to test my theory. I’d told no one about my plans, not even Anna, because I knew she’d try to talk me out of it. Maybe it was a stupid idea, but there was no harm in trying.

“Isn’t that what everyone does?” I muttered.

“I don’t, and maybe you only think they do because you always do.”

I twisted a strand of my hair around my finger. Chestnut brown—a beautiful color if you regarded it strictly on its own. “How are things between you and Leonas? Still a warzone?”

Anna rolled her eyes at me at my cheap attempt to change the subject but still humored me with an answer. After that, we steered clear of the subject of Danilo.