Chapter 3

"I don't like any of this. I don't like this house, I don't like her, I don't like anything,"I say firmly, as fury flares up again inside me.

"That's a great idea,"Celeste replies, gesturing for us to follow her.

My mouth falls open as soon as I stop in the cream-colored lobby. The walls are high and covered with various paintings in warm colors; in front of us is a dark round table, on which sits a vase with a green plant inside.

I spend a good five minutes staring at a particular corner of the house. Beyond the living room, up two steps, stands a gleaming black piano surrounded by enormous panoramic windows from which you can admire the beach in the distance.

"Wow..."I whisper, and continue following them upstairs. Even the floor is so shiny I could see myself in the mirror.

Celeste is doing everything she can to make me feel comfortable and smiles at every sound of surprise I make. She starts talking and shows me the stairs, the right wing, the left wing, the movie theater, the gym.

Yes, they've a freaking home gym.

Then, after I've memorized every gleam on the objects around me, we stop in front of a white door with the letter A on it, and I grimace. I'm not six anymore; I don't need to point to my room with a damn letter.

Celeste turns the golden knob and opens the door, as if it were the secret entrance to Narnia.

Aside from the breathtaking views, the room is exactly as I've always dreamed. It's very spacious, and the colors are reminiscent of the ocean. There's even a rocking chair hanging next to the desk. I can't help but imagine myself sitting there, a book in my hands, peace enveloping me as I occasionally glance up to focus on the ocean. That awful pink wallpaper with the little yellow flowers is gone. That old, cracked, dark wood desk is gone too. So are the creaky floorboards and the messy bookshelf I built with Dad.

"Your father told me you love the classics,"Celeste says, nodding at the row of books placed side by side on one of the shelves.

"Oh..."I say."This month I decided to read only, um, historical novels. You know, I choose a different genre each month,"I say, almost stuttering. Dad rolls his eyes, but Celeste seems genuinely impressed.

"It's a strange passion, but it also seems like a great challenge,"he replies, smiling.

My head turns toward her like a clothespin."Well, I guess so,"I shrug.

"I can't wait for you to meet Ethan,"she exclaims, and I see a spark of enthusiasm in her eyes."I'm sure you'll get along great. He's a golden boy."

She's anxious. And she's embarrassed too. He really, really wants this family to get along.

"But is this what my father wants too?"The question echoes in my mind, as uncertainty mingles with hope. Could it be that, despite everything, this new life has something to offer me?

I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He strokes her side and looks at her with eyes full of love; another punch to the gut. Yes, he loves her too.

"Okay, let's let her calm down. As soon as you're done, you'll find us downstairs."My father leads her out of my room and closes the door behind her.

I look at the parquet floor gleaming in the light and the white rug with black spots lying at the foot of the bed. I feel like I've a dead, rather expensive cow in my room. It definitely has to go, even though it's the softest thing my feet have ever touched.

I kick my old Vans under the desk and look at the apple symbol on the laptop in front of me and on the i Pad.

"Damn,"I say, touching the objects with my fingertips. I can't help but feel a pang of envy seeing these new technologies, so different from the old computer I've at home.

I sit on the white chest by the window and move the different cushions around, sinking my knees into one as I lean forward to look out at the garden. Below my window is the terrace I first saw outside. The only downside is that my room doesn't have a balcony.

"What's wrong, Elara?"Dad's voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

"Nothing."I reply with a sigh.

"Don't you like your room?"she asks with a smile.

"It's not that,"I say, without looking at him."It's just that..."I stop, searching for the right words.

"Only what?"he insists, approaching me.

"Only..."I whisper, not daring to say it out loud.

"So you just don't like the carpet?"he asks with a wry smile.

"That's not it,"I reply in a firmer tone."It's just that..."I stop again, a lump forming in my throat.

"Only what?"he insists, taking my hand.

"It's just that..."I whisper, my voice choked with emotion."It's just that I can't help feeling like an intruder here."

"An intruder?"she asks with a look of surprise.

"Yes,"I reply, tears welling in my eyes."I don't belong in this world."

I wander around a bit, barely touching anything. It's so beautiful and tidy that it really can't be mine. An empty, dark shell like me can't be filled with precious, shiny objects.

I sit on the edge of the bed and look at my Shrek-patterned socks."But where did I end up?"I ask as I let myself slump down onto the mattress.

I often thought about packing my bags and leaving, especially after my mother died. I thought it would be a piece of cake. Grab some clothes from the closet and throw them randomly in my suitcase along with my documents, get on a plane, and leave my old life behind.

But now that I've done it, now that I'm far from the place where I saw my dreams turn to ashes and my mother's smile wither away, I realize that it's not enough to pack my suitcase and move to another country to feel better.

I wonder if Dad knows. He wasn't just dragging a suitcase full of clothes, but also a broken heart, a tormented mind, and an anger that was hard to contain.

For the past six months I've done nothing but bow down to every sentence, every request, and cry in front of my mother's picture.

Because she still doesn't know that every night, when my head sinks into the pillow, I still imagine my nose sinking into her chestnut curls, or that I leave the window open, hoping that the breath of the wind will emulate her caress.

Dad doesn't understand that when I wake up with a swollen face it's not because I slept too much and badly, but because I cried with his picture near my chest.

There are things he may never understand, like the fact that I'd love for him to care about my feelings and not just when his own are involved.

And now I find myself with a ceiling above my head that's bigger than my ambitions. I'm longing to pack my bags again and start wandering the world, searching for a place of my own.

Instead, the only place I find myself wandering almost blindly is Celeste's mansion. I feel like I'm trapped in a labyrinth, each room a reflection of the life I never got to have.

The walls of this house are as high as my pain. How can I find my way in this labyrinth of luxury and emotion?

When I was little, I dreamed of living in a house like this. But now I realize I'm fulfilling the wish of a six-year-old girl, and that wish doesn't belong to the girl I'm today.

I try to free myself from my fears and doubts and respect my mother's final decision.