Chapter One
Angie
When I walk downstairs, it's almost ten in the morning. Usually at this time, Dad and I are both at work already, but today I overslept. I couldn't get to sleep until the middle of the night. I haven’t been able to sleep properly since the day I came back from London. I'm just lying in bed, looking at the ceiling, and asking myself if I made the right choice when I walked away, leaving Ricardo.
I miss him. I miss him more than I could ever imagine. I scold myself for hurting him, for ruining everything before it even started. Our life could be so much better if everything wasn't as tricky as it is.
Ricardo made me believe in myself. He made me stronger as a person, braver as the owner of a company. He made me feel like the sexiest and most passionate woman in the entire world.
He made me believe in love.
"Why are you still here?" is the first thing I ask as I walk into the kitchen and see that Dad is still home, chatting with Valentina and drinking his morning espresso, completely relaxed and calm.
Since the day he found out we didn't have to sell our company, he indeed became happier, more confident, and calmer, the way he had been a long time ago.
"Good morning to you, too, honey," Dad says with a smile, ignoring my question.
"Good morning." I force myself to smile back. It's harder than I thought—to act happy when I feel like I'm drowning, but there's no one to rescue me.
"I wanted to wait for you. I’ve already gotten used to our joint trips to work." He pushes a plate with freshly baked croissants towards me when I take a seat.
Since the day I came back from London, Dad has given me a ride to work every day, and I'm delighted he does it. I don't feel confident enough to drive by myself anyway. I don't get enough sleep and feel crushed all day long. Also, I'm glad we spend time together because it distracts me from my thoughts of Ricardo.
"Why didn't you wake me up?" I ask, confused. I know how important it is for him to come to work earlier, to greet everyone and chat with employees before the workday starts.
"You work too much, so I'm glad you had a few extra hours of sleep today," he says, and I hear sadness blended with worry in his voice.
He looks at me with pity, and I hate that look. I don't want him to worry about me, especially now, when our company is finally safe again and he's happy.
I'm sure Dad figured out that something went wrong between Ricardo and me. Nonetheless, he doesn't ask me about him, and I'm grateful for that because I'm not ready to share yet…maybe I’ll never be ready.
"Please, take a croissant. It's your favorite, with chocolate inside," Valentina says, defusing the situation.
My stomach growls when I look at the plate full of pastry, but I don't feel hunger. I want to puke. My anxiety is overwhelming, and I don't know what to do about it.
"Thanks, I'll eat a little later," I lie. I know Valentina baked them especially for me because she and Dad both love to eat the plain ones, covering them with jam, and I don't want to offend her, but I really can't force myself to eat right now.
"Okay, I'll pack them for work, and you'll eat when you want." She stands up and takes the plate full of pastries with her. "I don't know if we have food containers, but I'll go to check in the pantry."
When she walks away, an unusual weird silence hangs in the air. I know I have to say something, at least to assure Dad that I'm fine, maybe ask him something about work, but I'm just too tired for conversation. It's early morning now, but I'm already exhausted.
"I know you're worried about Violet and Francesca's birthday party," Dad says quietly after about a minute of an uncomfortable lull, "but you haven't eaten properly for the whole week. You skipped dinner yesterday, and you didn't have lunch at work the day before, and now you don't want to have breakfast."
"Are you spying on me?" I try to make a joke to ease the situation, but it's useless. Dad looks at me with even greater pity on his face.
"I'm worried about you," he says thoughtfully, extending his hand across the table and placing his palm on my wrist. "You shouldn't go if you don't want to."
"What are you talking about?" I ask, pretending to be surprised. "I have to go! I promised the girls. And also their family helped us so much. I don't want to seem ungrateful."
I don't believe my own words, and I know that Dad doesn’t either. I want to go because I hope I’ll see Ricardo there. Despite how scared I am, I want to look into his eyes to make sure that he still loves me.
"You and Valentina are also coming," I continue, almost whispering, "and it's your first party since…Mom died."
I swallow. We rarely talk about Mom.
"You are finally happy again," I continue, taking a deep breath, "with Valentina by your side and our company being saved. I don't want to downplay this."
"Honey, if you don't feel happy, I don't care about the company," he says, looking straight at me and squeezing my palm tightly in his.
His expression proves how serious he is.
"But I thought…" I start, but then stop.
And here it is, the truth I didn't want to admit, even to myself: I was trying so desperately to save our company, not because I need this job, but because I always thought that my father wouldn't be able to live without it.
"Our company is the reason why you're still alive," I reveal, breathing out loudly with relief.
He looks at me with both misunderstanding and surprise on his face, as if he can't believe I just said it.
"Dad, I know about alcoholism and that you almost died once," I continue, trying to breathe normally even though my heart is pounding loudly in my chest.
Luckily, Valentina isn't here, because I wouldn't want her to hear this. I don't know if he told her that he had problems with alcohol after Mom died. Dad played poker a lot, getting drunk every single day until one time he got so drunk that he had a micro-stroke. He almost died. When he got sober after a couple of weeks at the hospital, he found out that he spent virtually all the money the company made in a year. He was on the verge of bankruptcy. That's when he took me from the boarding school and brought me back home. He worked really hard to save the company. Since that day, he’s never gotten drunk.
"Dad, people gossip…" I whisper, looking at him guiltily because I know I shouldn't have started this conversation in the first place. It's too painful for both of us to talk about it. "I know what this company means to you: it's the reason you quit drinking, and it's the reason you wake up every day. That's why I was trying so hard, not because I'm afraid to lose our company, but because I'm afraid to lose you."
I force myself to look into his eyes even though I want to look away because, for some reason, I feel guilty and ashamed I said it. His gaze is sad as he clears his throat, probably to stifle his emotions. He isn't going to cry, of course, despite his eyes getting wet. Men are afraid to show their feelings. I know that and I respect that. But he doesn't say a word and his breathing quickens.
I can't believe I brought him to this. I'm an awful daughter.