Chapter Text
My friends used to tell me I'm way too dramatic. I say, why hide the way you feel? It's dishonest otherwise.
"Do we have to fan the chair before you sit, your majesty?" Angela sighed and crossed her arms, but a smile always played on her lips.
"It's just disgusting," I replied. "To feel the lingering warmth of someone else's butt on my chair! Doesn't it gross you out??"
"Still, did you have to scream?" Mia laughed.
"It wasn't a scream, more like," I paused. "A, um, loud grunt of discomfort."
I miss Sardinia. I miss my friends, my neighbors, and my old school. I used to be confident, able to express whatever I felt to anyone no matter who it was. Not anymore. Not as I stood before my father for the first time. Under his lingering, icy gaze, I felt as small and shy as a mouse. I clasped my hands together to keep them steady, but his eyes pierced my wringing hands.
"This is your room," my father said flatly as he cracked open a door on the mansion's third floor. Every part of this home seemed to echo with every breath I took. Though it was obvious my father was wealthy, I was curious to find the contents of his home largely empty and devoid of decoration or personality. My new bedroom was no different. There was a bed with a dull grey comforter, a basic desk, and a wardrobe, but nothing else. It was like I was moving into a dorm instead of my father's house. Everything was so empty, I wondered if he was planning to move soon.
"Thank you," I said quietly, not knowing what else to say as I stepped into the room. My father studied me as I set my bags down. When leaving my mother's home, it felt like I left too much behind. Now standing in this nearly empty room and having walked through the bare hallways of this giant house, I felt I had packed too much. "Um..." I said as I tried to find something to say, but my father cut me off.
"Dinner is at 6pm sharp. We can discuss the logistics of your stay then." He then turned and quickly disappeared down the dimly lit hallway.
Tears welled up in my eyes. My hands covered my shame. Mom, I miss you.
When I stepped into the dining room at 5:59pm, I saw my father sitting quietly alone at the head of a table long enough to host at least two dozen people. A large fireplace framed him from behind where old, dusty ashes as dead and lifeless as my father's eyes lied. No warmth had lived there for a long time.
I sat on his left a few chairs down from him where an empty glass and silverware waited for me. Even the table looked as if it hadn't been polished for a long time even though I had heard a few staff members in the kitchen on my way here. At least my chair was cold.
"So umm..." I said after sitting in silence for what felt like an eternity. My father was pouring over some papers and I began to question whether he heard me come in.
A red-haired man entered the room at that moment and my father finally looked up. The man approaching pushed a small silver cart that carried our meal. I was looking forward to having the excuse of eating after confronting my inability to think of something to say to the man who was my only living relative.
"Wow, it looks delicious!" I cooed as the red-haired man slid a plate of gnocchi in front of me, after he served my father. The food smelled warm and inviting. The server smiled but turned pale when my father spoke.
"You may go, Formaggio."
Mr. Formaggio fled and my stomach tightened.
"You'll have to follow some rules if you are to live in this house," my father said as he lay a napkin in his lap.
I forcibly sat upright, else my shoulders would swallow my neck and I'd roll into a ball onto the floor. I hoped I looked confident. I hid my shaking hands under the table. "Yes?" I managed to squeak out.
"I have very serious business to attend to that will take too long to explain to you, so you must not ask details of what I do."
"Uh... okay...?" I swallowed. At my hesitant response, his eyes narrowed. My shoulders ached from the tension and the hair on my arms rose from the cold. I must have sounded sarcastic. Oh god, I sounded sarcastic, didn't I? "I mean, yes sir." I spit out awkwardly. I don't think that helped.
"Urgent business meetings may come up at any time of the day or night," he continued, "So I will be leaving and coming home at irregular hours. Don't expect us to eat dinner together often."
I nodded, too nervous to speak. I tried tasting the food, but I couldn't pay attention enough to know whether I thought it delicious or not.
"My work is highly confidential, so I've hired a few security guards. Don't bother them and they won't bother you. Stay out of the west wing and you won't suffer running into them. Stay out of the way in general and no one will bother you."
Was my father a spy? A secret agent? Was this why my father disappeared, and I lived alone with mother? My mind whirled. Maybe this is why he's so cold, cautious, and alone in this empty mansion. I felt a stab of sympathy.
After a long pause, it appeared his list of rules ended. It was simple enough: Stay out of the way and keep my head down. But I can't stay in my room forever. "What High School will I be going to?" I asked.
"School?" Father looked surprised. The first expression I'd seen him wear other than cautious suspicion since I arrived. "Right, you're still in school." He lightly scoffed in annoyance. "I'll make arrangements for that. Later."
"Okay..."
After a long silence, my father turned back to his documents and allowed his meal to cool to room temperature barely eaten. I mustered up the courage to speak again. "Um. How did you and mom meet?"
Silence. It was as if I wasn't in the room at all. I felt smaller than ever. I missed mom more than ever, but instead of crying like I did in my room, I grit my teeth. I hated this awkward divide. I hated being in this unfamiliar, cold, and empty mansion surrounded by unfamiliar people. I was going to live fully here. I was going to do everything in my power to have a normal relationship with my father.