Written in Ink

Thirteen | Reagan

 Yesterday, the painter continued on for hours. It was past midnight by the time we were done. He didn't even let us look at it— not that Alonzo cared. He just left with his dogs without a word. Where I thanked the man before wishing him a good night.

I was woken this morning from the television still on. I was about to turn it off when I watched it for just a second. Just a second turned into the rest of the night until now where it's half past eight. Everything in me is exhausted. But I can't physically sleep. The time I've been here, my sleep schedule has gone to shit.

"Mrs. Napolitani?" I hear Marco call from outside my door.

I groan, not wanting to see anyone as I enjoy being isolated. "I'm sleeping." I call back in response.

I hear him chuckle. "Mrs. Napolitani, you have to get up and get ready now." He presses.

I sit up, confused. "For what?"

He opens the door, looking in. "Your honeymoon." He answers.

"What?" I snap, now wide awake, not caring about sleep.

"Were you not told?" He questions.

"No. No I was not!" I protest, marching off the bed, throwing my hands in the air out of frustration.

His brows furrow out of confusion. "I wouldn't be so upset. You'll be on the Napolitani yacht for the next month." He wipes invisible dust off his trousers.

A yacht? Well well well, I'll be under the sun on a fancy boat. Thank you very much. This I will willingly agree to. I need to work on my tan. But then again, it's a honeymoon, therefore Alonzo will be there. Maybe the boat is big enough to where we won't meet. I'll get a little vacation from this hell hole.

"Mrs. Napolitani, please, we must get going." He presses.

I scoff, laughing a little. "It's the Napolitani boat. Therefore it won't leave without Mrs. Napolitani."

With that, I turn on my heel and go into the bathroom. I hear the bedroom door close and thats when I strip my clothes and get into the shower. I almost get all giddy and excited for this boat trip. I've never been on a boat before. Nor have I even gone on a vacation. Except once, my parents took me to Italy— could that vacation have anything to do with my marriage agreement? As I shower, I think back to that week my family went to Italy.

My father wasn't always with mom and I in the resorts. Dad would mostly meet up with us at the restaurants for dinner. Him and mom would exchange glances. I was only seven so I didn't understand.

"Where were you dad?" I asked him while taking a sip of my Shirley Temple.

He looked at my mom before answering. "I was meeting with a long lost friend. I'll probably be hanging out with his family a lot this trip." He answers with a smile.

"Oh, cool." I smiled because I was happy he was going to hang out with his friends. It's always just been the three of us. Neither of them seemed to have any friends back home. "Can mama and I meet them?" I ask him curiously.

He seemed shocked at my question. "No, no we are going to go grown man things. You'd be so bored." He chuckles.

"Are you both working in the garage building stuff? Does he have to hold the flashlight? Because I wouldn't want to do that." I laughed, but suddenly felt bad at the insult.

"Oh yeah? When we get home you are going to help me with all the projects! And hold the light!" He taunted playfully.

I shrieked into a fit of laughter. "No thank you."