Page 59 of Cara

I reach out with a shaking hand, bringing the Polaroid close to my face, staring down at her. Air gathers at the base of my throat, but it can’t push further.

I study the picture. The broad smile nearly breaking her face. The long, dark hair I can still smell when I try hard enough. Her small, delicate hands carrying the weight of our marriage upon her ring finger.

The longer I stare, the more she blurs as tears overflow.

Oh, God,Sophie.

Xavier

It’s her birthday.

The first one I have to live with knowing she isn’t here to celebrate it. Tonight, the manor is empty. The men have been cleared out of the house. Our business continues as if everything didn’t change for me overnight a year ago.

The men don’t ask why I'm different. When they speak, and my ears can’t register their words, they let it go. They come back another time, hoping then I’ll be able to manage the burden of this position.

The raging fire in the hearth warms my back as I tighten my grip on the bottle of bourbon. My eyes close as I lift it to my lips, allowing the warm liquid to do its job.

Make me forget.

God, I need to forget.

For a year, I’ve searched in vain. I’ve pored through the whole of Europe, unable to cope. There are no traces of her. There’s not a single match in any database. She never returned to that apartment. She never took a flight I could trace. Cara Alfieri’s last known location was in that goddamn apartment.

The body in Madrid wasn’t even hers.

In that, Dominic lied. Perhaps it was to drive me insane, to make me wonder and search for someone who vanished into thin air. To second-guess forever if they really killed her.

She would have come by now.

She’d have found a way to call.

Shaking my head, I refuse that ending, taking another swig, clearing half the bottle. The logs crumble, flames increasing as a sharp gust blows into the house. It’s the door opening.

Closing my eyes, I imagine it’s her.

For a few sparing moments, it is. Then, arms lift me up, past the only people who understand the significance of this day. My vision blurs them as I’m helped up the stairs. Their arms are loaded with food. Their sympathetic eyes pitying my inability to focus or even keep myself upright. In the haze, I see Courtney holding a tin covered with foil. She’s crying.

They haul me into the master bedroom. My mouth wants to refuse, to tell them I haven’t stepped foot in this room for a year. Inebriation prevents it. I grip the sides of the bathroom door, my throat tightening at the sight of her belongings.

Belongings I salvaged years ago from our ransacked apartment in the city.

They say nothing as I retch everything in me, heaving over the toilet. When the nausea begins to subside, I press my head into my forearm, panting, trying to get my shit together.

Dante grips my shoulder, squeezing to provide comfort. “Take a shower and come down to eat something, alright?”

I shrug him off, unable to speak. If I did, I’d lose it.

Whether they understand or not, I don’t care. I want to be alone. I never asked them to come, to try and make this bearable. Grimacing, I shift to my feet, walking into the shower.

As I reach the top of the stairs with damp hair framing my face, the world becomes a bit clearer.

Going through the motions dressing, I walked right past the tailored suits that felt like a uniform, opting instead for sweats and a t-shirt.

Tonight, I can't pretend to be a true Don.

Barefoot, I cross the marble, hearing the masses in the dining room.

Mimi is the first to welcome me, pulling me closer with a remorseful sigh. As Zeke rises from the table, he holds my face, examining me closely. I lower my gaze under his scrutiny. “You okay?” he asks.