Page 66 of I Think Olive You
I slip my phone back into my pocket and gaze down at her, helpless.
“Who are you?”
I don’t even know anymore.
“Both. I’m both. Matteo is my birth name. Matt is the name that worked best for my father’s rise in society.”
“Did you know about the photos, the article?” It’s a broken whisper. Anger fading for a moment, her hurt peeks through.
“No. I had no idea they were even taking pictures. But the bride knew who I was. I should have expected this, anticipated it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” For more than just this.
“You should have told the truth about who you are! You should have said something before now. How can I trust whatever this is between us? Has it been a lie the entire time?” Her voice rises and there’s nothing I can do but take it. I deserve it.
Poking a finger into my chest, her voice shakes with emotion. “I am not some mindless, one-night fuck on a laundry list of your indiscretions. I thought we were friends. I thought I could trust you. This would never have happened if I’d known you?—”
“He told you?” Isabella asks from the doorway, drawn by the sound of Giuliana’s raised voice.
She whirls around to face her grandmother and I breathe for what feels like the first time since Giuliana pinned me with that gaze.
“You… knew?”
“Of course, he looks just like his father. It wasn’t hard to guess. But I’m glad it's out in the open now. You know the truth about the arrangement between Lorenzo and Tommaso, and Matteo making it right. I’m just glad he told you before he left.” Isabella nods at me in what I assume is some kind of pride, giving me kudos for doing the right thing, when I absolutely have not.
“What arrangement? Making what right?”
I watch like a ghost outside of my body as my life implodes right before my eyes.
Isabella clicks her tongue and says, “He gave up Abundantia for you. Your fathers had a contract, if the grove wasn’t successful Tommaso was going to take it all. Matteo might have started out trying to do that but he signed it over to you. It’s all in your name, every inch of it. We never have to worry about someone coming to take it ever again.”
Giuliana turns to me again, achingly slow. Chest rising and falling with angry breaths, her whole body trembles. Unshed tears gather in her eyes.
“Lia…” I finally find my voice.
“Get out.” Grave. Final.
“Lia, please.” Give me a chance to tell you everything. Give me the chance I lost and desperately want back.
“Get. Out.” So quiet, seething rage contained by the barest veil of control. “Leave just like you planned to do. I never want to lay eyes on you ever again. Get your shit and get the hell away from me.”
My feet obey her command, my body bowing under the pressure of the hate in her voice. There’s talking behind me, Giuliana and Isabella discussing the depth of my deception.
It’s strange, I think as I shove things into my bag. I’d have expected to be a total mess right now—panicking, shaking. My breath should be clawing up my throat. But there’s no cold sweat, no racing heart. I tuck away the last of the things on the bed and sling my backpack on my shoulder. The wheels of the bag click over the stone floors on the way to the front and Chiara finds me in the hallway, feet from the door.
Stopping, she takes in the bag in my hand, and asks, “Where are you going?”
“Back. I’m going back to New York.”
“But…” She looks so much like her sister, her eyes staring up at me conflicted and confused. There are a few different arguments and I don’t want to delve into the cause of that “but.”
“Giuliana and Nonna are fighting,” is what she settles on.
“I know.”
She tugs at my shirt as I turn to leave.
“I hate when they fight.” She’s stalling and I hate how much it pierces me to see. It may not have seemed like much but all the hours she spent telling me about everything her curious mind could grasp and talk through made the time fixing up the farmhouse less lonely.
I’m going to miss her and I’m sorry to be another person leaving her.