Page 70 of The Cute Psycho

My brother and Lina had decided to hire a governess for Claudia, Venezia and me, saying that we would all benefit from having a more formal education. We've already started lessons, but I don't think Ineed it that much. After all, I have all the information I need at the tips of my fingers.

Vlad had been extremely helpful in showing me how to operate a computer and navigate the internet. Since then, my time is mostly split between him and my laptop. There's just so much to read on, so many things that are part of normal life but had not been accessible during my time at Sacre Coeur.

And he's been more than willing to slowly walk me through everything.

"I know it's hard to get used to life outside Sacre Coeur..." Lina starts, her hand reaching for mine. "I'm having a hard time too, but I wasn't there since birth. For you it's all you've ever known." She takes a deep breath. "Please let me know if there's anything I can do to help. I don't like seeing you so closed off."

"I'm fine, Lina. Seriously. It's just a lot to take in, but I'm getting there." I give her a reassuring smile.

Marcello is watching the interaction between the two of us, his eyes fixed on me.

"Assisi, please see me in my office after breakfast," he says, pinning me with his gaze for a moment before turning back to his food.

I frown, since Marcello hadn't tried to talk to me until now. Even Lina seems a bit worried, but she squeezes my hand in comfort.

Claudia and Venezia are engaged in playful banter, and suddenly the house seems a bit more like... home.

But for as much as I'd like to believe that, I can't. The more I look around, the more I feel like an outsider.

My place hadn't been at Sacre Coeur, and it clearly isn't here either. Not when I see everyone around me talk with such ease, such familiarity. They make the perfect picture, with me on the sidelines taking it in.

When breakfast is finished, Marcello gives me a nod and I follow behind him as he heads to his office.

My palms itch, the anxiety killing me. Until now I haven't really had the time to have an in-depth conversation with Marcello, and I still have the feeling that I'm an extra in this house.

Closing the door behind me, I watch him go around his desk to take a seat, motioning me to do the same.

I sit down, back straight as I'd been conditioned, the scars too painful to make me bend even a little. My hands in my lap, I'm the model of decorum.

Don't send me back!

The only thing I can think of is that I never want to set foot in Sacre Coeur again. And while inside I'm boiling with curiosity as to what Marcello will say to me, on the outside I look as serene as ever. It sure comes in handy to have perfected a poker face over the years.

"Assisi," Marcello starts, looking intently at me, "how are you getting used to the house? I trust everything is to your liking?"

"Of course," I readily agree, "it's more than I could have asked for. Thank you for this," I add.

He nods almost absentmindedly, and I get the vaguest impression that he wants this meeting to be over as soon as possible. My palms are sweating, but I keep my smile in place.

He seems to be hesitating as he asks, "Was Sacre Coeur okay? Did you have any problems?"

For a second—just a brief second—I consider telling him everything I endured. How my body is riddled with scars from those righteous nuns. For that tiny moment, I want to lay everything on the table and ask himwhy. Why did they have to abandon me there? What did I ever do besides being born?

Over the years, the nuns had enjoyed telling me how I'd been abandoned because of my birthmark and that my family did not want to be saddled with a cursed child. They'd been so delighted inalwayspointing out how no one wanted me.

But as soon as those thoughts resurface, I push them down. Why bring back the past? And most importantly, why ask something I might not like the answer to? What if he tells me exactly what I don't want to hear?

"It was fine," I start, stretching my lips even more. "The nuns were so good to me," I lie, that one untruth burning through me as it leaves my lips. "But they've also helped me understand I'm not suited for the monastic life," I add just to be sure. If he thinks the nuns don't want me, then he can't ship me back there.

"Why?" He raises an eyebrow, and I'm put on the spot. "Why were you not suited for monastic life?"

"I..."

"I'm just trying to understand you better, Assisi," Marcello interjects, his eyes boring into me.

Why do I suddenly feel like I'm being interrogated?

"I was too curious," I admit truthfully, "and I was not predisposed to following the dogma. You could say my teachers and I butted heads often over disparate opinions." I choose my words carefully. If only he knew the stunts I pulled at Sacre Coeur...

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