Book One
Aria Rossi grows up is in a family war between her family and the Violante's. This story follows her journey as a young sheltered child through the challenges that arise ahead.
Lies, loyalty, deceit, ambition, pain, trust, love, and fami...
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I wake up with the sun and roll over, opening my eyes slowly. Alfie was snoring softly and I sigh deeply, thinking back to last night. Last summer, Mama and Papà had told me that I could not return for the holiday. Beck and I had spent it touring Europe. This summer, however, especially after last term, I was spending time with Alfie and his family in the Maldives. We had been off and on for the last two years. I climb out of bed slowly, wincing slightly at the pain between my legs. We got into a big fight again last night and solved it through sex. I was wearing his shirt and I walked to the bathroom, turning the shower on.
After showering, I changed as quietly as I could before sneaking out. I walked on the beach before going into the main house for some breakfast. Alfie's father was sitting at the table, sipping coffee. "Good morning, Aria," He says, nodding to me.
I smile shyly, "Good morning, Mr. Becker."
"Did you sleep well?" He asks, putting the paper down.
I felt my face flush deeply and I broke eye contact, going to the fridge. "I did, thank you. And you, sir?"
"Very well, thank you." I heard him pick up the paper once again. "I don't know where the chef is but he should be back soon."
"It's fine," I say and take out the eggs, going to the stove. Greta had cooked in front of me enough times and we had a handful of cooking classes at the school.
After eating, I walked into the lounge area in the pool. I watched over the top of my book the new family moving into the house next to us. From the looks of it, there were three boys. Within the hour, however, Alfie had come out and convinced me to join him at the beach. Thoughts of the new family were long gone.
"Can we talk about last night?" I ask, looking over at Alfie.
"What is there to talk about?" He asks, glancing at me, before returning to his book.
"Are you mad?" I press, biting my lip.
He shuts the book, looking at me seriously. "Why would you think I'm mad?" He asks, his tone level.
I shrug a little, "I just thought when I didn't reciprocate..." I trail off. Last night, he had grabbed my wrist in anger and only let go when I had cried out in pain.
"I'm not mad," He said shortly. I flinched at his tone and bit my tongue from talking back to him; I was conditioned not to.
"I'm sorry," I said softly, watching him.
Alfie reaches over, grabbing my chin. "Just do it tonight, ok?" I swallow and nod quickly, not wanting to make him any angrier.
Then, we heard shouts and turned to see the neighbors running to the water. I watch as one of the boys practically tackles his brother into the water. "We should introduce ourselves later," Alfie says.
