Chapter 4 - A Kiss Wasn't a Promise
For the next two days, I worked in a conference room above Miriam's office while Giulia filled out forms for emergency student housing.
There was nothing glamorous about either task.
We ate noodles out of containers. We argued about who had taken the phone charger. My sister cried once because she couldn't find the shampoo she liked, then apologized as though losing ordinary things was an embarrassing reaction to losing a home.
I bought the shampoo.
Sometimes that was the help you could offer.
The wedding documents answered one question.
Marriage itself wouldn't have given Dominic control of my property. The papers included with it would have transferred important voting rights and broad authority over my financial interests to him.
He would remain dependent on my father for his position.
I would remain dependent on a husband for access to property that already belonged to me.
Miriam explained it without making me feel stupid for not knowing.
“People conceal terms in things you're told you shouldn't question,” she said. “Especially when questioning is treated as disloyalty.”
I stared at the pages.
My father hadn't chosen a modest husband because I wasn't worth a powerful one.
He had chosen a manageable husband because a powerful one might read the documents.
That afternoon, I asked Sofia to meet me.
She arrived at a café wearing sunglasses she didn't remove until she sat down.
“Alessio thinks this is a mistake.”
“Then I'm relieved he isn't here.”
I placed a copy of the forged authorization on the table.
Her face changed before she looked at the date.
“Did you sign this?”
“No.”
“Did you sign anything with my name?”
She twisted her engagement ring.
“Father said you had approved it. He said you were away and the deadline couldn't wait.”
I waited.
“It was an authorization to release records. I thought—”
“You thought asking me would take too long?”
Her eyes filled.
I had imagined those tears satisfying me.
They didn't.
“I didn't know what they would use it for.”
“What did they use it for?”
She looked through the café window.
“I don't know.”
I believed she didn't know everything.
I didn't believe everything was the same as nothing.
“You need your own attorney, Sofia.”
She gave a short, unhappy laugh.
“You're starting to sound like someone in one of those documentaries.”
“We're starting to look like people who end up in one.”
She put her sunglasses back on.
“Alessio loves me.”
I didn't argue with the sentence.
I remembered how badly I had once wanted any sentence about myself to end that way.
“Then he won't mind you understanding what you've signed.”
She left without finishing her coffee.
That evening, Cosimo asked whether I would have dinner with him.
“A working dinner?” I asked.
“I'd prefer a dinner.”
“You may be disappointed by my conversation. I've been told it's mostly balance sheets.”
“I survived a meeting about imported stone this morning. I doubt you can frighten me.”
We ate in the smaller dining room of his apartment. Ada served roast chicken and then disappeared with the satisfied expression of someone who had arranged for two difficult people to consume vegetables.
Cosimo asked about Giulia.
I asked about Enzo.
He put down his fork.
“What do you want to know?”
“Something that isn't in the file.”
He thought for a moment.
“He couldn't sing. He believed enthusiasm compensated.”
I smiled.
“Did it?”
“Not for the people in the car.”
He described an older brother who had once driven across two states because Cosimo said he was fine in a voice that sounded wrong.
I told him my mother used to leave books open on the kitchen counter, as if she expected to return before the water boiled.
We spoke for an hour without mentioning money.
It unsettled me more than the missing millions.
After dinner, we stood near the terrace doors while rain moved across the glass.
“You came back,” he said.
“You invited me.”
“I wasn't sure that would be enough.”
I studied him.
“You're accustomed to invitations being difficult to refuse.”
“Yes.”
“You should practice being uncertain.”
He smiled then. A real smile, unprepared.
I wanted to kiss him.
The realization was both simple and inconvenient.
“May I?” he asked softly.
I nodded.
This kiss lasted longer than the one at the hotel.
Nobody watched. My father couldn't be punished by it. There was no room to silence.
It was simply something I wanted.
When we stepped apart, Matteo appeared in the doorway.
He saw my face and looked uncomfortable.
“The investigator sent the earlier chronology,” he told Cosimo. “The one from before the engagement.”
Cosimo's expression changed.
Mine did, too.
“Before?”
Matteo looked at him.
I stepped away from the window.
“What did you know before you walked into that ballroom?”
Cosimo didn't answer quickly enough.
“Tell me.”
“I had the authorization with your name. I had reason to believe it was false.”
“And reason to believe it wasn't?”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
I felt the dinner rearranging itself in my memory.
“You came looking for a suspect.”
“I came looking for the person who could explain the records.”
“You kissed me before telling me my name was connected to your brother's death.”
“I should have told you that night.”
“You should have told me before you let me think you were the only person in that room who wasn't deciding what to do with me.”
He took the words without defending himself.
I hated how much I wanted him to have an answer that made them unnecessary.
“When I saw what was happening,” he said, “I wanted you out of there. That part was real.”
“It can be real and still be unfair.”
He lowered his eyes.
“Yes.”
I picked up my coat.
He didn't stop me.
At the door, he said my name.
I turned.
“You won't have to come back to get the truth,” he said. “I'll send everything through your attorney.”
“Do that.”
In the elevator, I pressed my palms against the wall until they stopped trembling.
May you like
I had left my father's house because being useful had become a cage.
I would not move into a prettier one because the man holding the door knew how to ask before kissing me.
