Chapter 137 The Bitter Taste of Heritage
\[Lilia\]
Surprisingly, the word just came out normally, and it didn't sound at all like I was being coerced into saying it. Despite this, I can't shake the idea that the only reason he treats me this way is because he sees so much of my mother in me.
Nevertheless, I don't want to rush to conclusions about him. He’s grieving, too, at his daughter’s loss, and seeing me like a carbon copy of her is his kind of coping mechanism. He had lost so many years not seeing her, and now I am here, in front of him. He must be reminiscing about the time when she was still his.
“Alright, mangiamo.” Pa picked up his glass of wine and lifted it into the air, clinking the bottom of it with a fork to signal the start of the meal.
The servants came rushing in, placing more dishes on the table—far too many. It made my heart ache thinking of the children who have nothing to eat at this very moment.
“I don’t know your favorite food, but I told my chef to cook every Italian cuisine. I hope you don’t mind, cara,” my grandfather said, lowering his glass and taking a sip.
“I don’t really have any favorite food in particular,” I replied. “I appreciate everything that was made with effort.”
“Ah, such a sweet soul, just like your mother, my angel Celestina.” Pa sighed, leaning closer to me and reaching for my hand. “Please tell me more about yourself, cara Lilia.”
Perhaps I was mistaken. The fact that I look like my mother is merely the icing on the cake when it comes to Pa's apparent genuine concern for me. It’s been a while since I heard my mother’s name come out of another person’s mouth, and I never realized how much I missed the sound of it until now. My eyes welled with tears as an unexpected pang of loss swept through my chest, but I forced myself to keep my emotions in check and maintained a straight face.
“There wasn’t much to tell. My life had been bleak since Mama died,” I stated, my voice surprisingly steady despite the mounting chaos of conflicting feelings churning inside of me.
Disgust curled onto his lips when I mentioned my father, but his eyes remained soft as he regarded me. “Ivan gave you a hellish life. I swear I’ve never been this glad to send that bastard straight to rot in hell.”
“He hadn’t taken Mama’s death well,” I responded, swallowing the grief.
Now that I think of it, was that the same reason my own father hated me so much? Because I looked like Mama, and I reminded him too much of the pain of her death? It finally made sense to me.
“Still, that doesn’t justify what he did to you,” Pa grunted in disapproval, pausing for a moment before continuing. “My Celestina... did she depart from this world in peace?”
His question took me back to the hospital—the time when we were still a complete family, when my father was still sober enough to recognize me as his daughter. I was on the bed next to her, my thin arms wrapped around her, while Papa held her hand on the other side.
She had been feeling fine for a few weeks prior to being sent to the hospital, and unfortunately, the diagnosis arrived a little too late for her to be treated effectively. Or, it's possible she hadn't been feeling well for a while but kept it to herself because she didn't want to be a burden. At that point, I was too young to realize the gravity of the situation—too young to even comprehend what was happening.
Mama had a faint smile on her lips. She was so thin she looked like she was made of skin and bones, and her face had shrunk significantly. Her skin was covered in large bruises. She didn't say a word; she was too weak for that. But the one thing that has stayed in my mind clearly is the moment she closed her eyes and the machine attached to her body shut off, flashing into a flat line.
“Cara?”
The flashes of my mother’s memory disappeared, and I remembered that Pa had asked me a question.
“Yes, yes, she did. Her illness devoured her at an alarming rate. It came on all of a sudden, and by the time any of us realized what had happened, it was already too late,” I replied, almost stammering. I took the glass of water next to my plate and drank half of it, wanting to calm myself and clear my head.
Pa's eyes showed signs of deep melancholy. His smile became increasingly feeble. “If only I had been able to keep her in my care for a little longer, she might still be alive. Don’t worry, cara, I’ll take care of you. I will make up for the years I lost.”
I simply nodded in response and reached for the food nearest to me, which happened to be a barbecued beef steak topped with bruscansi sprouts. Even though it would be my first time trying this, I didn't feel particularly enthusiastic.
We ate peacefully, with only the sound of utensils clinking against the plates. I was minding my own business when I suddenly felt a heavy gaze burning into my face. I couldn’t help but glance through my lashes and see Ronan staring at me unabashedly, even though I had caught him red-handed. Suddenly, the flavor of the food turned sour, and I had to force myself to swallow to keep from hurling it onto the table. I pretended it didn’t affect me.
“So, tomorrow,” Pa broke the silence, and I have never been so glad for a trance to be shattered. I abruptly turned my attention to him and pretended I was interested in whatever he was going to say, when in reality, the pit of my stomach was churning with dread.
“We’ll be going back home. To your real home. There are things that need to be taken care of. But, to start, I will host a ball for your welcome home party. You deserve to be treated like a princess, cara, while I still draw breath in this goddamn world.”
A ball? He will conduct a ball for me? But... “Is that really necessary?”
I couldn't help but blurt out what I was thinking. I haven’t been to a ball, and I don't know what to do if I have to attend one—and now I’ll be having my own. Too much pressure suddenly fell onto my shoulders. Just the prospect of interacting with a large number of strangers filled me with dread.
“Why, of course. I will proudly present you to the world as my only heir.”
I shifted my gaze toward Ronan and noticed the way his jaw twitched. I could see his patience was thinning. He must have felt me looking because he turned his attention to me. The threat he gave me earlier played in the back of my mind as he gave me a crooked, knowing grin.
“I honestly don’t know how to handle things. It will be a waste if I take credit for all your hardship. I didn’t mean to offend you, but I don’t think I’m worthy of it,” I tried to reason, hoping my grandfather would put more thought into it before declaring me his heir.
However, he instantly turned me down and exclaimed, “Nonsense!”
I couldn’t help but flinch. Pa noticed and lowered his voice, throwing me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, mio cara. But I assure you, it wouldn’t be a waste. Besides, Ronan and I will guide you in learning our ways to handle our business. Right, Ronan?”
Pa turned to the man on his left, and the bastard’s grin broadened as though everything was going according to his plan.
“Sì, I’ll take good care of Lilia as my own queen, and I’ll never leave her side for the rest of my life.”
The way he put it made my skin crawl with hatred, and I had to suppress a shudder of disdain.
“That’s my boy.” Pa clapped his hand over Ronan’s shoulder and preened.
The tip of my tongue itched, wanting to tell him that he raised a damn snake, and that the man he treated as a son wanted nothing more than his wealth. Now, he was using me to gain it. And I couldn't take any of it.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m tired, and I really want to retire to my bed,” I said, setting my knife and fork down on my unfinished food and standing up without waiting for Pa’s approval. I left before they could say anything else I didn't want to hear. I couldn't eat anymore. I had lost my appetite, and I didn't care if they thought of me as an ill-mannered woman.
To hell with it. Let them all think I’m that kind of person.