Page 122 of Ruins
France? My brows knit together. “Why on earth would they go to France?”
“Who’s in France?” Luca’s voice cuts in, sharp with curiosity.
“My parents,” I reply distractedly, barely processing the question as my mind spins.
Mimi sniffles. “Who are you talking to?”
“Luca’s here,” I tell her, my eyes flicking toward him. His presence is grounding, though I barely have the energy to explain.
“LUCA?!” Mimi shrieks, her voice cracking through the phone like a whip. “Oh God, I’ll never be able to date him now that I’m gone!”
She dissolves into another round of sobs. I pull the phone away from my ear, grimacing at the volume. Across from me, Luca looks horrified. His eyes widen as he mouths,Date me?,like the very concept has just shattered his universe.
I suppress a sigh. “Mimi, I don’t think that was going to happen for you anyway.”
Luca scoffs, shaking his head in silent agreement.
“Please focus,” I urge. “Did Mama say anything to you?”
“No,” she replies quietly, her voice muffled by her tears. Then, softer, “Oh, Pietro’s here.” A sharp inhale, then another hiccupping sob. “I have to go. I’ll send you letters. You have to write to me, or I’ll go insane.” Her final words echo as the call cuts off.
I lower the phone slowly, staring at it as if it holds answers I’ll never find. The unease festering in my chest deepens.None of this makes sense.
“They never mentioned a trip.” My voice is quiet, more to myself than anyone else. “And they definitely haven’t talked about Andras Academy since I was in high school.”
Luca watches me, his usual sharpness now tinged with something more thoughtful. “That’s strange,” he admits, arms folding across his chest. “I’ll talk to Santo, see if Maksim knows anything.”
I nod, grateful. Luca won’t let this go unanswered.
I’m left alone with my thoughts. My art. The silence.
The weight in my chest lingers, my thoughts still tangled with worry for Mimi, but I remind myself—Luca will tell Santo. Santo will ask Maksim.Things will be okay.
Slowly, my gaze drifts back to my painting. La Serenata. The memory of our first date immortalized in bold colors and soft brushstrokes. The tension in my shoulders eases, just a little.
Tonight, I’ll present it to Santo.Maybe, just maybe,I can convince him to have dinner with me again. And this time, I hope we’ll actually get to finish it.
The way he kissed my hand this morning, the tender way he caressed my cheek, the lilies, the laptop—each gesture lingers in my mind, weaving together into something undeniable. I want to be his wife inevery sense of the word. I want him.
I should ask Amelia to help me make another one of Santo’s favorite dishes and make tonight special.
Leaving the library, I descend the stairs and make my way to the kitchen, passing a few staff members along the way. They smile and greet me warmly, their kindness wrapping around me like a comforting embrace. I’ve been accepted.I belong here.It feels like home. All that’s left is to get my fairy-tale ending with Santo.
Amelia beams the moment I step into the kitchen, her hands dusted with flour as she kneads a ball of dough.
“Vasilisa!” she exclaims brightly. “What brings you here?”
“I would like to cook dinner tonight,” I explain, keeping my voice steady even as thoughts of Mimi and our parents try to creep back in. Not now. Tonight is for Santo.
Amelia wipes her hands on her apron, giving me a knowing look. “Are you planning on seducing Santo with good food?”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I lower my gaze, but I nod. “What else does he like besides Carbonara?”
She laughs heartily, shaking her head. “There wasn’t much that boy didn’t eat growing up,” she says, her voice laced with affection. “But another favorite of his is lasagna.”
Relief washes over me. “I can make that.” A plan begins to take shape in my mind.
“Very well, then. Let’s get you the ingredients,” Amelia says, moving toward the cupboards.
