The thought hit her hard. She’d loved Astorre since they’d met. She let him go and said, “No, I just want to see the place my natural parents lived. I never knew anything about them other than they died and I had no immediate family.”
“Then we’ll go.” He put his black leather shoes on.
She walked beside him and memorized the path to their bedroom. Up the corner stairs, last door in the hall, across from the dining area and library.
Whenever she found time to be alone, she’d check out the library by herself.
She wouldn't pain Astorre with questions but her mind was slightly morbid in wanting to see the place where his life had changed due to something so horrible.
As they walked to the front door, he said, “During the uprising, many lost loved ones.”
“You didn’t?” He led her outside through the gates.
The streets were lined with more people who stared at them. He waved. “Montelino Bay takes their military history seriously. My ancestors have always reinforced the barricade of our walls. We withstood bombardments of World War Two and the short-lived uprising because of that dedication to security.”
From her reading of world history, that was quite an accomplishment for a spot of land. They'd stayed as the rest of their world was destroyed and their walls had withstood the unthinkable. She followed him to the limo that waited for them beyond the outer gate. “You already sound like a good leader of your people.”
He went inside the limo after her and said, “I’m not-”
“You’re here and it’s yours.” She pressed her finger on his lip as he took the seat beside her. She took her finger back and said, “My family obviously didn’t take precautions.”
They drove less than ten minutes to a large estate home that was more like where her friend Rossie lived. The limo stopped at a house in the middle of nowhere, with no gates. It had a lovely view of the sea. Astorre stepped out next to her. “With the house being so close to yours…”
“Your mother probably didn’t want to come to my family for help.” He spoke like it was a fact.
Fair. He clearly knew more about her past than she did--but she still needed to see this for herself. There was a black-tarred parking lot next to the landscaped house, and when they headed toward the double doors, staff in olive green uniforms opened them.
His family had probably taken care of this for her, which was nice. Cleaning had been her least favorite gig and he’d had a team clean up after her like she was some fancy lady who never vacuumed instead of…well her.
Clara stepped inside, expecting dust but the air smelled clean. She stilled. Inside the front door was a small museum and a donation box.
Whoever was operating her estate was very smart.
She stared at the photos of people and had zero idea who anyone was.
Was one of the more recent photos her parents? There were no labels to know. And no one to ask since the servants didn't speak English and she didn’t want Astorre to translate until it was absolutely necessary.
Outside the window, she could see tall Cyprus trees surrounding the home, and there was a small piazza-style fountain like she’d seen in Florence. Once they were alone to tour again, she wrapped her arm through her husband’s and asked, “Why wouldn't they have sought shelter at Montelino Bay?”
The next room had a record player and a cassette player like she'd seen in old movies. Had these belonged to her parents? What kind of music had they played here in this office?
Or was this a room decorated after they'd been killed? She had no idea. Astorre answered, “My father was in love with your mother but she chose to marry your father.”
[how does she feel about that?] Maybe Astorre would know. “Until I met you I knew nothing, but as I look around, I realize I still don’t know anything deep about them. How did they get me out? Was this my father’s office?”
“I have no idea about how you were saved and they weren’t. I’ll ask the staff.” He opened the red rope to let her inside the museum that was technically hers. “But yes, this was his office. Let’s find a picture of them. My father always said your mother was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.”
She laughed but searched the desk top as Astorre went to the door to call a servant. No pictures. “Well, I didn’t inherit that, but I’d like to find an image of my parents. It would be good to know what they looked like. I think of parents, and think of the Fortunas, who were kind people…but, I'd like to know more.”
She opened a drawer as he talked to someone in his language.
A baby photo of an infant with her eyes stared at her. Astorre returned to her side and pressed his hand on her shoulder like this wasn’t a big deal, but she collapsed into the leather chair.
Until now, she’d never had a baby photo like this.
As a girl she’d been loved.
It wasn’t a fantasy.
