Page 4 of A Touch of Fate

Danilo had told me to stay upstairs, but I had been utterly sheltered since my accident, and I finally wanted to get a glimpse of the outside world, even if it was only through brief small talk with Federico’s father.

Danilo’s eyes strayed to me as I emerged from the elevator when Federico’s father entered.

The concern in Danilo’s eyes triggered my own anxiety.

How would the man react to my disability?

He barely glanced my way when he came in, his eyes passing me by without a single greeting.

“I need to talk to you and your father alone, Danilo. Without your sister.”

My grip on the wheels tightened, probably thickening the newly formed calluses on my palms. I made myself smaller under his continued disregard of me.

Danilo’s lips thinned, and the hard look in his eyes indicated how fragile his controlled mask was. “Go ahead. My father is at his desk. You know the way. I’ll join you in a moment.”

Mom strolled out of the living room. Federico’s father gave her a quick nod before he stalked down the corridor toward Dad’s office.

“What’s going on?” Mom asked, pursing her lips. She’d worn a nice dress and put her brown hair in a sleek bun at the top of her head. “I prepared afternoon tea for all of us.”

“You should wait with Emma in the living room. I have a feeling that things won’t be pleasant, and there won’t be an afternoon tea.”

I frowned at Danilo, but he only smiled tightly at me. Mom, however, had paled considerably at his statement.

Mom and I moved into the living room and sat at the coffee table, which our maid had filled with cakes and cookies for our guest and us.

I bit my lower lip, then glanced down at my calloused palm, tracing it with my fingers.

I’d never had calluses on my hands, only on my toes from going on pointe.

The latter had faded, and new ones had formed.

Since my accident, it often felt like my heart would need calluses too to protect itself from what was to come.

“What do you think he wants?”

Mom’s eyes rested on my palms. “We need to make sure your hands don’t look like this. It’s not pretty. Maybe you need to use your electric wheelchair.”

I turned my hands over and cupped my thighs. “It’s too big, and I don’t like the sound it makes.”

Raised voices silenced me. I tried to understand what was being said, but Dad, Danilo, and Federico’s father seemed to all be screaming at the same time.

One of our bodyguards entered with a curt nod and positioned himself beside the door.

He had taken over after my old bodyguard had been removed.

He’d caused the accident because he was drunk on the job.

I didn’t like thinking about him. Sometimes I hated him for what he’d done to me, and sometimes I felt almost guilty because he was dead now and not from the accident.

My brother had killed him as punishment.

The shouting increased. Federico’s father appeared in the foyer, but he never came into the living room. Instead, he hurried toward the front door with a bright red face, looking like he couldn’t wait to get away.

“Don’t ever contact me for help again!” Dad roared, then started coughing horribly.

The front door fell shut, and for a few heartbeats, nobody said anything.

Only Dad’s desperate coughing and wheezing could be heard.

Danilo appeared in the doorway, his face red, his hair tousled, and he had a thunderous look in his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Mom asked fearfully.

“They canceled the engagement!” Dad sputtered as he appeared next to Danilo in the doorway, his face turning increasingly red as well.

Mom rose from the sofa, her hand covering her heart as if the words had broken it. “They can’t!”

“They can,” Danilo said quietly, his eyes on me, not our mother. “These are extraordinary circumstances, so no one will blame them, even if it’s absolutely dishonorable.”

Mom covered her face and began to cry bitterly. Dad came in and wrapped an arm around her to console her while I made myself smaller in my wheelchair, wishing I could disappear like some people seemed to prefer.

The engagement was canceled.

Another part of my old life was gone. What would happen now? Girls in our world needed to marry if they wanted to be accepted. I wanted to be part of our world and have a future in it like every other girl did, but would they allow me that?

Danilo came in and touched my shoulder. “This isn’t your fault,” he murmured. I tilted my head, wondering why that was the first thing out of his mouth.

He grimaced, looking exhausted. “You know what I mean.”

I swallowed and nodded even though I wasn’t sure. I was confused and scared and sad. I was too many things at once. “I do.”

I understood the meaning behind Danilo’s words, but maybe not in the way he wanted me to. I understood that people in our backward world thought something was wrong with me now. They valued certain beauty standards that I would never be able to fulfill.

“We’ll figure something out,” Danilo promised, squeezing my hand. Mom sobbed in the background as Dad tried consoling her.

My brother held power. I saw it in the way people looked at him. He’d certainly be able to make people act a certain way around me, but he wouldn’t be able to change their thoughts.

Mom hadn’t calmed down for a week, and Dad’s rage lingered even longer. Danilo was too controlled to show me what he felt. And me?

I had almost let the cancellation shove me back into the dark hole I’d been stuck in for the first few weeks after the accident.

Even my therapist couldn’t pull me out. I’d felt worthless, out of place, and lost. I’d thought the wheelchair really meant the end of all my hopes.

I’d thought I would be shackled to it and saw it as a burden when, in reality, it gave me freedom.

I had focused all my energy on physical training again, up to the point of utter exhaustion. I had to increase my painkillers to be able to work as hard as I needed to. I wanted to force my body to comply with my demands.

After several months of intensive training, my legs could hold me up for a few seconds if I held on to something.

Countless hours of rehabilitation had given me a tiny piece of my old freedom back, but over time, I also realized that no matter what I did or how hard I trained, I wouldn’t walk without support like I used to.

I would never comply with the beauty standards of our world again.

The effects of the accident would always be visible in my gait, and I’d likely have to always use a wheelchair.

I’d reached the end of what rehabilitation could do.

My spinal cord wouldn’t miraculously heal itself.

Some damage would always remain. It was the harsh truth Mom had wanted to hide from me, the harsh reality that was no longer a dark prediction, yet my daily life was harder to stomach for everyone around me than for myself.

Acceptance didn’t come easily. It was more painful than the physical therapy, but its effects were far more rewarding.