Chapter 20: Di Rinaldi Conservatory

As if nothing had happened, Damien appears. I must say, he deserves an award for how well he acts when he sees me. In front of my mother, he simply greets us and says goodbye as if he were nothing more than my stepson.

Mrs. Leonora seems to like him quite a bit, judging by the way they greet each other. She’s all smiles, not at all like someone living in a horrible situation with her terrible husband, aka, my terrible father.

He finishes greeting her and looks straight at me, giving me a crooked smile. A smile that says everything without a single word. It lasts just a few seconds before he returns to his dangerous mafia face, though, to be fair, he never really lost it.

When Damien comes to say goodbye to me, he gets close enough for me to feel his heat.

“Dear godmother, could you get me a glass of water, please?” he says.

My mother promptly goes to find someone who can bring him water. As soon as she’s out of sight, Damien grabs my chin and leans in to kiss me goodbye.

Not satisfied, and with zero sense of danger, he pulls me by the waist and pins me against the wall. I wrap my legs around him. Apparently, my own sense of danger is also long gone.

He steps away from me the moment he hears my mother’s heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I’m left dazed.

If I hadn't been leaning against the wall, my legs would have probably buckled.

Damn man. Damn weak legs. Damn passion.

He takes the water and drinks it, offers me some, I decline. What I want is more of him. Damien licks his lips to tease me, doing it so casually and effortlessly that it leaves me speechless.

He deserves a prize.

When he leaves, he touches my chin softly. For anyone who missed our little scene earlier, it might look like this is the only moment he acknowledged me.

That quick, casual gesture makes me feel like a kid who just got a polite pat on the head after all the adults had their turn. That could’ve irritated me if I didn’t have fresh in my mind everything he did to me last night… and this morning.

I stay frozen and silent until he’s gone. My mother sizes me up with a suspicious glare. She can wait sitting down, I'm not explaining a thing.

“What is it?” I ask.

“I should be the one asking. What’s gotten into you to make you stand against the wall like that?” she fires back.

I roll my eyes and leave the room, trying to get my bearings.

My mother keeps talking about the conservatory and how classes have already started. Apparently, I’m late.

I have a talent, I’m good with string instruments. I can handle any of them, but the cello is mine. That’s the one I’ve poured all my training into.

It’s been a few days since I last played, thanks to all the chaos in my life. And of course, my cello is here in this house, in my assigned room, along with the rest of my things.

I hate this place. I hate feeling lost in it. I hate my father. I hate the reason I’m here. The only thing I don’t hate is the room itself, thanks to the memories I made in it yesterday.

Like a lovesick fool, I daydream the entire way to the conservatory. I try to play it cool. Again, I get the feeling my mother has been replaced, the woman I’ve known my whole life would’ve ripped the truth out of me by now.

This version of Leonora has a distant look. Not lost, focused. I know that expression; her mind must be racing a thousand miles per hour. She’s probably planning our escape… or something else she doesn’t want to burden me with.

I take her hand to offer some comfort. She turns from the window to look at me. It’s a hard, painful look. The kind of look that carries guilt and sorrow.

“You know you can talk to me, right?” I say.

She nods and pulls me into a hug. She runs her fingers through my blue strands and gazes at me like she used to when I was little.

“Everything’s going to be okay, my love. I’ll take care of everything.” That’s all she says. It’s her tone of “this conversation is over,” so I don’t insist.

I turn my eyes to the window, torn between concern and thoughts of Damien.

The car stops and we get out, escorted by five men, that I can see. But I know more are watching. I can feel their eyes on every step I take.

We’re led straight to a waiting room without even needing to check in. A secretary announces us and we’re brought into the director’s office.

Right on her desk is a plaque that reads: “Aurora Leclerc.”

Unlike everyone we passed, who lowered their heads out of respect, she meets us with her chin held high.

After a dry, just-barely-polite greeting, she orders someone to escort my mother to another room. The only explanation I get is that she has matters to attend to.

I’m left alone with the director. Just me and my cello.

“Do you know how to play?” she asks, curt.

“Of course I do,” I reply, matching her tone with my best icy glare. I’m not going to let myself be intimidated. I’ve never bowed to authority, and I’m not starting now.

“Let’s get a few things straight, girl. Your father’s affairs are not my business. I’m here for the official side of things. If they left you in my hands, it means you’re under my supervision. I expect nothing less than excellence. I have this institution’s name to protect.”

My mind spins with the implications.

My mom, off taking care of “business.” The director mentioning my father’s affairs. And finally, the name of this place: Conservatorium Leonor Di Rinaldi.

Suddenly, everything clicks into place.

How they found me so quickly. My mother’s insistence that I stay far away from this conservatory. How I got a spot here despite the fierce competition…

It would be too much of a coincidence for an institution to share my name.

How could I have been so naive?

This conservatory was known as Conservatorium Delle Arti for over a century. It was renamed about 14 years ago, to my name.

I grab the paperwork I just signed.

I'm shaking, I don't know if it's from anger at my stupidity in enrolling and ruining my life, or for asking to study in this place where I'll be more watched than ever.

I scan the documents for my signature. I find my name: Leonor Moretti Di Rinaldi.

I rise from the chair without saying a word, ready to leave this place as fast as possible.