Page 72 of Tainted Blood
“My only love sprung from my only hate,” I recite, staring down at the inscription. I’ve analyzed those words to death these past few days. Twisting and turning them in my mind, only to come up with the same conclusion. “Do you ever get the feeling all of this was predestined?” I ask her, placing the bracelet in her waiting hand.
“How so?”
“They say love and hate are just different sides of the same coin. Reflections of each other, separated by a fraction of a degree. All this hate between our two families for all these years… Do you ever consider that it was only a matter of time before the coin flipped?” Bending my index finger, I run it across the ring still anchored to my thumb. “That our only love was always meant to spring from our only hate?”
Tilting her head, Lola slips Sanders’s silver promise back on her arm as she contemplates more of my philosophical bullshit.” I don’t think war fates love, Santi,” she says finally. “I think love is what ends it.” Giving me a knowing smile, she turns toward the door.
“Chaparrita.”
Pausing, she glances over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
I grind my teeth, the unfamiliar taste of humility a bitter pill. I’ve always considered it to be a flaw, a pointless trait I’ve never bothered to learn. But for her—for Thalia—I’m willing to try.
“Felicidades.”
At my concession of congratulations, my sister’s face lights up. Opening the door, she leaves me with more thought. “Let her pick up her own pieces, Santi. Wait for her.”
As the door quietly closes behind her, I slide my ring off the tip of my thumb, returning it to its rightful place on the third finger on my left hand.
“Siempre.”
Chapter Twenty
Thalia
“Dinner’s on me tonight. Gluten free special. Any takers?”
I drag my eyes away from a moody New York City skyline to find Ella standing in the living room doorway, brandishing a couple of takeout menus at me.
“Gio’s has a crap selection of toppings, but Little Italy does a pretty average margarita,” she adds, frowning at them. “Come to think of it, they’re both crap. Next summer, you and I are taking a two-week trip to Rome. We’re going to find a cafe near somewhere cool like the Pantheon and eat the real deal all day long…” She trails off in horror when she realizes what she’s said. “Oh Gosh, Thalia, I didn’t think... Italy is the last place you’d ever want to see again.”
“Stop, please.” Throwing off my silver quilt, I rise from the window seat, where I’ve spent most of the last forty-eight hours, and gently fold my arms around her. “Can’t blame a whole country for one man’s evil.”
“Except for Mussolini… Hey, are we back to that whole dictatorship thing again?”
Her joke falls flat. Just like my mouth that never seems to curve in either direction anymore. It’s taking me back to the night I first met Santi, when I’d rushed out to meet Bardi, leaving her wrestling with deadlines while I wrestled with my conscience.
“Talk to me, Thalia,” she mutters into my hair. “You’re slowly dying on the inside. I can see the shades of blue in your eyes. You said you were lost in New Jersey, but I think you’re more lost here…”
Without him.
I catch sight of the wedding rings on my finger, and my heart lurches. “It’s not about Santi, Ella. This is about me.”
She nods, pretending to understand. Hell, I don’t even understand it myself. I don’t know how to rise from the ashes.
To compensate, she hugs me tighter, and I commit it all to memory—her softness, her strength… I’ve always taken my lessons on courage from her. My sister has lived a living hell for eleven years, ever since her diagnosis with Lupus. I’ve been living mine for exactly fifteen days, and counting.
It feels like forever, though.
“I wish they’d taken me instead,” she mumbles.
“I’d have died a thousand times if they had,” I say fiercely.
She pulls back and smooths a strand of hair away from my eyes. “I’ll always blame myself, Thalia. I knew Bardi was a piece of work, but I accepted his stupid drink and attention anyway. If I hadn’t been so low about Edier and that—”
“If it wasn’t that night, it would have been on some other occasion,” I interrupt swiftly. “Our cards were marked from before we were born.” Somehow, I force a smile, and a change of subject. “When do you go back to college again?”
“Next week for the summer session. Have you considered, maybe, starting back with me?” she says hopefully.