Chapter 9

On my birthday, Luca didn't come.

The nurse wheeled in a very large cake, sent by an anonymous guest. On top was a white swan in a tutu, and beside it the words: For my bravest girl.

Only Luca would say that.

When we were children, he encouraged me that way before every performance.

I had the nurse share the cake among the other patients and kept only a small piece for myself.

That night, a single headlight burned in the parking lot below. Luca sat in his car and didn't come up.

I sent him a message: The cake was awful. Don't send any more.

He replied at once: Next year, a different bakery.

I looked at the words "next year" and cried for a long time.

I had no next year.

A few minutes later, another message: Happy birthday, Eve. I love you.

I deleted the conversation and didn't reply.

The next day, Victoria told me Luca had stayed in the parking lot until four in the morning.

"It's ugly, the way you torture him."

"That's between him and me."

"Not for much longer. Once you're dead, he'll forget you eventually."

I said, "Good."

But after she left, I finished that piece of cake.

For the next two weeks, Luca really didn't come.

Every day I told myself this was the result I wanted.

But when I woke in the night, I still looked toward the door.

I was used to his footsteps, and used to him saying my name first when he opened the door.

Now the room held only the sound of machines.

Dr. Grant put me on a stronger painkiller. He told me the cancer had reached my lungs.

"If there's anyone you want to see, see them soon."

"There isn't."

"What about Luca?"

"Don't notify him."

The doctor sighed.

I knew he didn't understand. Anyone normal would want to see the person they loved most before dying.

But I didn't dare.

If Luca held me even once, I might tell him the whole truth. I would beg him to stay, beg him to be with me the way he used to be.

And then everything I had done would have been for nothing.

A few days later, I called Luca myself.

He picked up at once.

"Eve?"

His voice was all nerves.

I gripped the phone and could barely speak.

"I still have some things at the house. Have someone bring them over."

"I'll bring them myself."

"Have Victoria bring them."

The line went quiet for a few seconds.

"Why?"

"I want to apologize to her. I was too jealous of her before."

"Eve, you don't need to apologize to her."

"Then tell her for me that I wish you both happiness."

Luca's breathing grew heavy.

"I won't marry her."

"But you need her."

"I need her to handle the Vale family and the port. That's all."

"Then stop explaining. I don't care."

I hung up, leaned over the side of the bed, and coughed up blood.

The next day, Victoria delivered my suitcase.

She looked to be in a fine mood.

"Luca got drunk last night," she said. "He said he doesn't understand how you became like this."

"Satisfied?"

"Not yet."

She took my old dance shoes out of the suitcase and cut the ribbons with a pair of scissors.

"What are you doing!"

I reached to grab them. She threw the shoes on the floor and put her foot on them.

"This is the thing Luca can least bear to throw away. I want to see whether he'll blame me for destroying it."

I snatched up the water glass and hurled it at her.

She dodged and shoved me out of the wheelchair.

My head hit the floor and everything went black.

She bent over me and said, "Remember. After you die, I'll stand beside him in a wedding dress. So what if you had ten years with him? The one who wins in the end is me."

Footsteps sounded outside the door.

Victoria hauled me up at once, and deliberately let my nails rake her face.

When Luca pushed the door open, what he saw was her face covered in blood and the scissors in my hand.