In a half-asleep daze, I reach out for Santiago, only to be met with empty, cold sheets.
He’s not here because you told him not to be.
Yeah, well, he’s not here because he lied again.
The voices in my head battle it out.
You’re not being fair to him. At least hear him out. Would you have done something better than him if you were in that position?
Uh, I’d probably start with maybe not taking me out on a boat and pretending all is dandy in our little world. Sounds like a solid start.
I groan as I throw a pillow over my face and block out the world. Rationalizing Santiago’s actions sucks because I have no idea what I would’ve done if I was in the same position as him. And it annoys me more than I care to admit.
An emptiness fills me as I wake up and get out of bed. The house is eerily quiet except for my feet slapping against the floor as I walk through the rooms.
Despite everything, Santiago was way too nice for letting me stay here. It’s not right for me to accept his offer and force him to sleep elsewhere.
But he did hurt you. So there’s that.
Part of me is grateful for his absence. Besides him dropping off his present a few days ago, he hasn’t shown up. He hasn’t even texted me or grabbed an extra change of clothes. His silence surprises me more than I care to admit, and I don’t know what to make of it. Just like I don’t know what to make of his present the other day.
Did he think a vase of flowers would fix everything between us? It did the exact opposite. I spent the entire morning with a tightness in my chest every time I looked at them.
The visual reminder of us filled me with a different kind of sadness. And then I got mad that I was sad, and I stuck with anger because it seemed like a safer emotion.
During a flood of feelings, I ripped up the note and threw the bouquet away, only to instantly regret it. Beautiful things like flowers shouldn’t be destroyed because of anger. I took my frustration at Santiago out on his gifts, and it’s not right.
It’s not that I don’t want to forgive him. I wish my heart wasn’t as vulnerable and forgiving as it is. And that weakness makes me frustrated because I want to forgive him despite everything, and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Do I love him? Yes.
Am I angry at him for hiding the biggest secret of my life? Absolutely.
Could I forgive him after he promised not to lie anymore? I’m not too sure.
But in the end, is a love built on lies really love at all?
“When you told me stories about you in the past, was that really about you or my dad?” I choke on the last word. The idea that my dad isn’t alive anymore takes some time to get used to. It’s like I’m stuck in a weird limbo—mourning a man I never met.
Matteo sits down in his leather chair and takes a sip of his coffee. I decided it would be better if we met at his house. Santiago’s home doesn’t feel right without him, and I can’t stand being there longer than I need to.
Is it fair that I forgave Matteo sooner than Santiago? Probably not. But some things take precedence, including learning whatever I can about my dad before I return to America. Because I am flying back soon. Right?
The tiny angel on my shoulder crosses her arms and pouts.
Yeah, yeah. Look where your good deeds got me.
Matteo offers me a hesitant smile. “Everything I shared with you the other day was about him. I’m sorry I’m not cool enough to go streaking through Milan. My brother was the wild child while I was more reserved.”
“A wild child you say?” Consider my interest piqued.
“Nothing could tame him. Whenever someone told him no, it was as if his brain rewired the word into a yes.”
“I’ve been told I can be a bit wild myself.” I smile at the connection to my dad.
“I don’t doubt it one bit. Those kinds of genes don’t skip a generation.”
I clasp my hands together in my lap. “What else can you share about him?”
“Are you sure that you feel ready to hear about him? I don’t want to upset you.”
“Yeah. I want to know about him before I head back to America.”
Matteo’s brows raise. “You plan on going back? Why?”
“I came here to find my dad, and well, he’s not exactly here anymore. There’s nothing here for me.”
“But what about Santiago?”
Shit. He’s your boyfriend to the world, Chloe. Of course you need to think about how your decisions affect him. I rush to respond. “I think we could use a break.”
He frowns. “Because of what happened between the three of us?”
I look away and nod. “Yes. It’s hard for me to forgive liars. Not talking to you isn’t an option for me because I want to learn about my father. But with Santiago…I’ve had plenty of bad experiences with people who manipulate the truth to last a lifetime.”
“I can see where you’re coming from. I really can, even though I haven’t been through it myself. But you’ve been dating him for a year. That’s a long time to just get up and leave when things get hard. Are you sure you can’t sort it out?”
It’s hard to not scoff at the idea of dating Santiago for a year. I haven’t even had a relationship with my Netflix subscription for that long.
I choose my words wisely. “A break could give us some distance to figure things out.”
“Distance doesn’t fix things. Talking them out does.”
“No offense, but the only reason I’m talking to you is because I want to know about my dad. I’m not exactly happy with you either.”
“I know. And I appreciate you wanting to spend time with me, even if it’s for your own reasons. I promise I’ll try harder to be a permanent person you can count on in your life because you are my niece. My brother would expect no less of me.”
I swallow back the lump in my throat. “Okay.”
“And as your uncle, I feel the need to apologize on Santiago’s behalf.”
Oh, God. I thought he had moved past this already.
He keeps going, ignoring the look on my face. “It’s only right to explain what happened. See, he kept his cool when I told him the shocking truth. The poor man took it like a champ, repeatedly telling me that I needed to share the truth with you. I did ask him to tell you instead of me, but now I realize that wasn’t fair to him. He was right that the news would have been better received if I told you. So, he was caught in the middle between wanting to protect you and wanting to tell you the truth. It’s not like I made his job any easier by withholding the truth from you when you came over. It was wrong of me, and I’m very sorry for doing that to you. He came over the very next morning pissed as hell and told me to tell you the truth or else he would. And his version of the truth was undoubtedly a lot worse.”
My throat tightens, limiting my ability to speak.
He takes a deep breath. “It wasn’t fair, and you were right. It was cruel. And Chloe, I hope you forgive me one day. I understand honesty is extremely important to you, and I truly want to make it up to you. Not only because you’re my niece, but because I do care for you. My brother would smack me if he were here right now for hurting you in the first place.”
Unavoidable tears fill my eyes at the mention of my dad wanting to hurt someone for making me unhappy. It’s a foreign concept to me when all I’ve done is get hurt by those who were supposed to defend me.
“You think so? That he would be angry at you?” My voice cracks.
“Absolutely. He would’ve kicked my ass outside for making you cry. He was aggressive like that. I’m telling you—wild child in all capital letters.”
“I wish I could’ve gotten to know him.”
“Me too. You remind me of him in the best ways.”
“How so?”
“You have this kind of confidence I don’t see often. He was similar. It always drew people to him no matter if they were strangers or old friends. And I get that same feeling from you. You’re rather charming. It took you less than five minutes to get a job with me, and I never hire anyone.”
My eyebrows raise. “Really?”
“Of course. I always have teens wanting to make a quick buck over the summer when it’s the busy season. I always said no, but there was something in your eyes that told me you were worth the extra pay and effort.”
What is it with this man and bringing on the waterworks? I’m like a leaky faucet around him. “Thank you.”
“No. Thank you, Chloe. For giving me another connection to my brother again.” His eyes shine, reflecting unshed tears.
“You have a way of making me cry, and I’m not much of a crier.” I sniffle.
He chuckles. “You’re very brave. Not many people would have the courage to confront someone about being their long-lost parent, but you did it. And now that I’ve had time to think about it, I can say that was incredibly courageous of you.”
“Or stupid. Depends how you look at it.”
Matteo chuckles. “You should be proud of yourself. I’m happy you shared who you were with me because it gives me a chance to reconnect with my brother in a different way now.”
“Dammit, Matteo. You need to stop with all the nice words.” I dab at the corner of my eyes before another tear escapes.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s annoying because I’m trying freaking hard to stay mad at you.”
“Then I’m not the least bit sorry about that.”
I let out a genuine laugh. “Will you tell me a story about my dad?”
He nods. “Of course. What would you like to know?”
“Do you think he liked John Hughes’s movies?”
“It’s funny you say that. He always did have a thing for The Breakfast Club. Maybe it was his rebellious nature that made him resonate with the main guy.”
I flash him a huge grin. “I love that movie too!”
“I’m telling you—you’re more alike than you realize.”
Matteo goes off, telling me stories about my father’s past. I memorize every single word.
While I didn’t get exactly what I wished for, I have the opportunity to learn about my father and who he was over the years he was alive. And to me, that’s better than never having the chance to begin with.
I leave Matteo’s house way later than expected. Silence greets me as I unlock the front door, opening it to find pure darkness.
I miss Santiago freaking me out the moment I walk through the front door.
I miss coming home to the smell of whatever he was cooking that day.
I miss him.
I miss him so damn much, I’m tempted to call him and break down.
But what if I forgive him, only to have the same thing happen again? Everything about our relationship was fake to the public. And what if the next time he lies, it’s about cheating or something way worse? How does he expect me to believe anything he says again?
But are you being fair? You went along with some of his lies in the first place. And he was trying to protect you in the end. I can count on two fingers how many other people have tried to do the same.
Maybe it’s time I acted like an adult and called him.
My stomach grumbles, forcing me to table my thoughts and head to the kitchen to attempt some kind of meal. If someone can count burnt charred remains as sustenance.
An embroidery circle takes up a spot in the middle of the counter. I rush toward it and pick it up.
My heart rate speeds up in my chest as I check out the most beautiful design I’ve ever seen. There’s no mistaking who made this. Santiago crafted a field of wildflowers, making up every color of the rainbow. It’s hands-down the best gift anyone has given me.
A wobbly looking quote takes up the top of the design.
Where most people see weeds, I only see you—my beautiful wildflower, untamed and free.
I flip over the embroidery circle to find a note taped on the back. His small yet elegant handwriting marks the page.
I called you a wildflower the moment you showed up at my house with a bouquet of them. That day, I asked myself what kind of person would go picking those crazy flowers in the first place. I thought they were just inconvenient weeds, but now I have my answer after all the time we spent together.
You might not realize it, but you’re a wildflower. You grow in the most unexpected places, no matter who tramples on you or ignores your beauty. You can grow in a field, or through a crack in the sidewalk, but the result will always be the same. No one can stop you from flourishing in a world set on ignoring you. You have a way of turning any situation, good or bad, into something magnificent.
You taught me that life is stunning in its rawest form. That anyone can find happiness in the most unlikely places if they look hard enough. That life is about searching for the light, even if it means growing through broken places to get there.
I don’t want to see the world through rose-colored glasses. I want to see it with a wildflower heart like yours, desperately chasing after what makes me happy, wild, and free. And most of all, I want to chase after it with you.
I love you, Chloe Carter. No matter the time, place, or circumstance, I’ll always love you because you’re my hidden beauty in a world of weeds.
I clutch onto the embroidery circle. Goddammit. Tears break free for the second time today, staining my cheeks.
I’ve never read something quite like that in my life. Especially not about me.
Definitely not about me.
Someone who writes something like that and creates a piece of art doesn’t just love me. Santiago is in love with me, and I finally realize the difference. It’s crazy, messy, beautifully imperfect. Everything comes at a cost and falling in love isn’t exclusive to the rule. But the negatives are worth the one positive—finding someone who isn’t just my lover, but the other half of my heart.
It doesn’t matter about Santiago’s lie at the end of the day. Of course it wasn’t right. But I’ve been looking at it wrong too. Intentions matter. I’ve been stupid to ignore that for days because of my hurt feelings.
My whole life has been filled with people whose aims were always in the bad place. The difference with Santiago is all his decisions were made with me in mind. Even if it wasn’t the right choice for me, it was the right choice to him, and I need to understand that. And most of all, growing up in a world of uncaring people shows me that it’s not okay to punish someone for caring too much.
I run out of the room to find my phone because I’m done holding back from him anymore. How can I when he writes me a poetic letter and makes me my own embroidered gift?
The sound of Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” playing outside has me halting at the front door.
“Shut the fuck up.”
No way.
There’s just no freaking way.
I pull at the handle, throwing the front door open.
I cover my mouth with my palm.
Oh yeah, there’s a fucking way.
