Pretty Poison

Twenty - Six

The sun set behind the mountains just after six o'clock, but the warm air never faltered. The lights in the mansion illuminated brighter as the sunlight vanished, the crystal shining almost too bright.

A servant had knocked on the door to tell me to meet Luca in the backyard at six thirty for dinner. And so I did, wandering aimlessly around the place for twenty minutes in wonder, never seeing so much diamond in my entire life. It led me to wonder how much money the Bianchi family had, and how they obtained their fortune, or rather with what.

After some time, I finally came to a wide circular tower, its base made up of doors with curtains tied in perfect knots. The doors are already open, so I step outside into the fresh July air, warmth immediately washing over my skin.

The backyard was just like everything else, nothing short of lavish and opulent. I step down the few steps to the rectangular pavers, only now realizing that I had forgotten to put the heels back on. The elegant blue dress drags on the floor and I pick it up with fears of dirtying the fabric.

The gardens were lit by candlelight, statues lining the shaped space. Tall flowers sprout from the ground with brilliant and fluorescent colors. Ferns cut into spirals litter the gardens, the path guided by sheared bushes with yellow flower sprouts on them. I walk further down the path, a table and two chairs coming to view.

Instantly, my eyes are inundated by yellow sunflowers growing all around the elevated patio. Candles lead all the way up the steps and end at the top stair, lighting the way like the stars in the clear night sky. Luca stands with his hands behind his back, facing away from me and out into the sunflower field.

He senses my presence, and instantly turns around, whatever he was previously pondering washing away smoothly.

"Hey," he says lightly, striding over to a chair to pull it out for me, "Take a seat."

"Thank you, Signore," I say playfully with a smirk, mocking how he is greeted by everyone else.

"Stop it," he says, then takes his own seat. His happiness radiates from his body like cologne, in which he sprayed the perfect amount on. When he stood close the sweet aroma of pine needles and clean ocean spray deluged my nostrils.

As he settled in his chair, two servers and the chef stepped up to the patio.

"Bonjour," the chef greets with a thick French accent just as the servers place two covered dishes in front of us. "I present a perfectly seared wagyu with minimal seasoning, garnished with a pinch of cilantro, on the side you have evenly steamed vegetables and handmade mashed potatoes, topped with onion greens, bon appétit," at that he smiles then leaves as the servers lift up the covers, steam rising from the dishes.

My stomach audibly grumbles, and I'm quick to reach a hand to my clenching stomach.

"Grazie," Luca says, obviously accustomed to such a luxurious meal.

"Mio Dio," I breathe out as I stare down at the flawless marbling of the large piece of meat in front of me, the smell so enticing and delightful.

My mouth salivates as I unwrap the fork and knife sitting on the right of my plate, placing a napkin on my lap. Luca doesn't wait to dig in, his fork and knife already scraping the plate to cut the meat.

I force the fork into the meat, but find that it is so tender that it comes apart on its own. Once I place a piece in my mouth, my tastebuds immediately go into overdrive. All those years of eating nothing but sliced sandwich meat and bland bread lead me to believe that nothing tasted good. Oh how I was wrong, so so wrong.

"Do you like it?"

My eyes involuntarily close as the meat just seemingly melts in my mouth. "I love it," I puff, unable to savor the natural flavor enough.

Luca laughs lightly from across the table, placing another piece in his mouth and chewing lightly.

"I never knew something could taste this good," I state, honestly.

"There's so much you are yet to taste, just wait," he says sweetly, "But this probably will top it all."

I place piece after piece into my mouth. I scrutinize the field around me, the bright yellow sunflowers glinting under the natural moonlight.

"This was my mother's favorite spot," Luca divulges, placing his elbows on the table and intertwining his fingers in front of his face. "She loved coming out here to have dinner, she loved looking at those sunflowers for hours on end," he nods his head to the field, his voice containing the slightest hint of sadness.

He falls silent again, one single question lingering in my brain.

"What happened to her?" I ask meekly, my voice almost too quiet to register.

"She disappeared one afternoon when her and my father went on vacation, at least that's what he says. The truth is that he grew tired of her, she knew too much about his empire to just let her go...so he took her life. Ever since then he's been with countless women. He has tried to get rid of the family portrait that hangs in the hallway before his office for years, but I won't let him. I want him to be haunted by her image, for taking her away from us," he averts his gaze to meet my eyes, his becoming glassy under the candlelight.

"I-I-"

"That's why I said those harsh things, about how unfortunate it was that the poison wasn't enough to kill him, wherever it came from. When I got the call about what had happened it took everything in me not to scream in joy. Over the years I've just grown disgusted by him and everything he's done. He destroyed Vincenzo, but I refuse to let him destroy me," Luca picks up his wine glass, downing the entire glass in one gulp.

I sit at a loss of words, regretting ever even asking for I knew I changed his mood. Guilt hit me like a brick to the stomach, my eyes trained down to my lap where I fiddled with my napkin.

"I'm sorry," he says, placing the glass back down on the table covered in a chiffon cloth, "I didn't mean to ruin the mood," he weakly smiles.

Everything in me just wants to stand and take him into my arms. It's so clear that he's been taught to be tough, to just swallow his sorrows and never tell anyone about them. As he spoke his voice was so strained, so pained, as if he had never spoken those words to anyone, and judging by his pain, he probably hasn't.

"You didn't ruin anything, Luca, he caused you pain beyond what anyone should experience. You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Yeah," he looks down to his lap, "I would give anything to see her again," he says, then stares out into the field again. "But I know that one day I will." He averts his eyes to the sky, "Up there."

At that moment, his phone rings in his pocket and he takes it out, staring at the screen blankly, his eyes completely void of any emotion.

"I'm so sorry, please excuse me," he stands, throwing his napkin down on his half eaten dinner. He rushes down the steps and disappears back into the house a second later.

I sit back in my chair, defeated, guilt completely commandeering my brain like a hurricane over a city. Every receding wave takes my happiness with it, replacing it with regret. Regret for ever asking that question.

He seemed to be in so much pain, constantly at war with himself, completely lost. I stare down at my dinner, my appetite leaving me, but I still push on, sitting alone in the garden underneath the shimmering moonlight.