Page 13 of The Consequence of You (Heathley Academy #2)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CALLIE

C arlo insists on driving me home. I feel fine to drive but I think he’s worried about losing sight of me again.

And who can blame him? If I’d been in my right mind when I came out of the nursing home, I’d have realised the implication of arriving home late.

I certainly wouldn’t have sat in this carpark for almost an hour while he frantically searched for me.

I’d have remembered I don’t live the kind of life where I can disappear without anyone noticing.

The thought of him getting into trouble over it makes me feel awful.

We pull into the garage under the house and head upstairs. Rossi is waiting in the hallway, a look of worry etched on his face. He looks me over.

I stand there feeling like a small child and wait for him to say something. When he’s satisfied, I’m physically unharmed, I expect to be reprimanded, but it doesn’t come. Instead, he strides over and hugs me tightly before whispering into my hair.

“I was worried.” He’s a man of few words, but his gruff voice, combined with the embrace, brings tears to my eyes. If I didn’t feel bad enough already, I do now.

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” He lets me go and lightly touches my cheek.

“Your father would like to us to video call him after you’ve had something to eat.” I’d rather speak to him now and get it over with, but I'm in no position to make demands, so I nod and follow Carlo and Rossi into the kitchen.

There’s an array of takeout containers on the table, as well as plates and cutlery. Just by the scent alone I can tell it’s from my favourite Thai restaurant. I sit down and fill my plate. After a few minutes, I see Rossi studying me instead of eating anything himself.

“Aren’t you eating?” I push the container of noodles I know he likes over to him. Carlo is already scoffing down his green curry. Rossi picks up a fork, but before he eats anything, he fixes me with a look.

“Are you okay? I mean, really, okay? This isn’t like you.

” I chew the food in my mouth slowly and deliberately while I decide how to answer.

I certainly won't tell him what happened with Asher, but I don’t want to lie to him.

Before I reply, Rossi continues. “Your father pays me for your physical protection, but it doesn’t mean I can’t look out for you in other ways, too. You can talk to me, you know?”

Silence stretches between us. Carlo stands up.

“I’ll eat this in the dining room.”

Rossi offers him a grateful smile as the younger man picks up his plate and glass of water and exits the room, leaving us alone. I put down my fork.

“I needed some space, and I just lost track of time.” It’s the truth, but it isn’t a proper explanation, and I hope it’s enough to appease my bodyguard. He stays silent, waiting for me to expand on what I said. I try again.

“It was thoughtless of me to not let you know what I was doing. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to keep apologising, Miss Callie. I’m just concerned about your wellbeing.”

“I just needed to clear my head.”

Rossi looks at me with concern.

“And did you?”

“Not really,” I laugh, humourlessly and pick up a prawn cracker.

“If it’s the volunteering, you know you don’t have to do it anymore if it’s too much with university studies?”

“It’s not too much. I just realised I lost sight of what I was trying to achieve.” Shame heats my cheeks at both the thought of the worry I’d put Papa and Rossi through, but also what had triggered me to run off in the first place. Rossi pats my hand.

“For what it’s worth, Matron Susan’s told me more than once how much the residents love having you.”

The mouthful of cracker I’d just taken tastes like sawdust as I try to swallow. If Susan had any idea what Asher and I were up to this afternoon, I’m sure she’d never let either of us back within a two-mile radius of the place.

After dinner I switch on my laptop to video call my father.

“Hi, Papa.” Concern is etched on his face.

“I was out of my mind with worry. ”

“I’m so sorry. I’ll do better.”

“No, it’s me that should be sorry. I should be over in England more. It’s not fair of me to expect to know your every move when I’m not even there.”

His response stops me in my tracks. We talk regularly, but this is the first time I can remember him acknowledging the amount of time he spends out of the country. He continues,

“I have some news. I have been making lots of changes in the structure of our businesses with a view to retiring next year. I have given a lot more responsibilities to your uncles and cousins.”

“Wow. That’s great Papa. And Luca? Will he be running some of the business out there?”

“No. That’s the other part of my news. Luca is moving back home.” I’m taken aback. I knew Luca originally planned to return home once he finished his degree, but when he didn’t come home in the summer, I presumed he’d decided to stay in Sicily.

“Luca’s coming home?” I stutter.

“Yes, isn’t it wonderful? He’ll be back very soon. In the next few weeks, in fact.” Papa beams at me, and I wish I shared his enthusiasm, but all I can think about is the reason Luca moved to Sicily in the first place.

“Shall I get his room set up for him?” It’s the least I can do under the circumstances.

“Actually, I thought he could have the guest house. Give him a little more privacy. I’ll arrange some decorators to come and give it all a fresh coat of paint and make sure it’s fully equipped.”

Luca and I had been close growing up, but I could count on one hand the number of conversations we’d had in the last couple of years.

Was it really my father’s idea to put him in there, or did my older brother request it so he could avoid me?

Does he feel uncomfortable in his own home because of me?

I nod numbly at my father as he gives me a list of instructions and fills me in on Luca’s plans.

After a few minutes, we say goodbye and I leave the room while he catches up with Rossi. Slinking off to my room, thoughts of facing Luca cloud my mind. It’s been nearly four years, and I haven’t forgiven myself so I can’t imagine he has either.

Talking of forgiveness… I probably owe Asher an apology for the way I left today. What happened between us was a mistake, one I should never have let happen, but I shouldn’t have rushed out like that.

What am I saying?

Asher won’t give a crap. He probably regrets it as much as I did once the haze of lust lifted, and he was thinking straight. Maybe the paint fumes got to both of us. I don’t know what else explains us taking momentary leave of our senses.

That night, I fall into a fitful sleep.

CALLIE - AGE 15

My teeth chattered so loudly; I missed most of the priest’s words.

A hundred or more guests, mostly famiglia, gathered to pay their respects.

Papa and Luca stood either side of me, my grandparents behind.

As was the tradition, the ceremony included a full communion mass and rites of passage delivered in Latin.

The smoky aroma of incense and the hymns sung by the congregation barely registered as I battled with the searing burn of my family’s stares .

Training my gaze on the pile of freshly dug earth at my feet gave me a point of focus but did nothing to distract me from the continued attention that came my way.

January in England was always cold, but today was the sort of cold that penetrates the very marrow of your bones. The type of cold that takes hours to thaw out and leaves you with chapped lips afterwards.

As we laid my mother to rest, I was hit with a memory. We were standing in our large kitchen back in Italy. I was around five or six years old. We’d been baking all afternoon, making Sfincione and Cannoli. Papa was at work but was due home early to celebrate Luca winning a spelling bee at school.

Mama’s long dark hair was twisted into a messy bun, with a smudge of white flour across her cheek. She laughed loudly and despite being unable to recall what was so funny, I can picture her as clearly as if it were yesterday.

I will never have her teach me another family recipe.

I will never hear her laughter ring out.

I will never see her beautiful smile again.

I squeezed my eyes tightly shut and tried to regain some composure.

Breathe in for the count of four.

Hold for the count of four.

Breathe out for the count of four.

Hold for the count of four.

The box breathing technique did enough to stop the tears that were only seconds away from falling.

Holding them in made my eyes burn and my heart race to the point of pain, but I wasn’t doing it for myself.

It was for my stoic Papa, his cheeks dry since the day we had the news.

On the surface, he was calm, but his pain was still acutely tangible.

My parents had an arranged marriage, but their love was genuine. Mama was the love of his life, the light in his eyes. Light, which was extinguished seventeen days ago by an elderly driver who, according to the police, should have given his license up years before.

Except she was only on that road because of me.

She was only there because of the lie I told and the choices I made.

I wasn’t driving the car that hit her.

But she was dead because of me.