Chapter 6

At home, her dad never bothered to cook elaborate meals, and she wasn't a star chef, but her mom carefully considered leaving her a legacy of some of her recipes, including some of her favorite dishes. She hadn't yet had a chance to congratulate the cook or Celeste.

The guilt pierced her chest like a splinter. It wasn't Celeste's fault she felt this way, and sometimes she hated herself for the way she looked at her. In truth, she felt it for her father. It bothered her how easily he had taken control of her life without ever letting go of that charismatic smile of his. It was unnerving to see the happiness in his eyes every day, the love he felt for this woman, and the excitement with which he looked at her when she arrived.

He felt like vomiting.

Last night, she watched them on the terrace. They were lying on a sun lounger. She had one leg draped over his and her head on his chest. He held his drink between his fingers and gently stroked her hair with his other hand. They were clearly drunk, but their laughter and the kisses he stole between sips and jokes made her double over with anger.

His stomach felt as heavy as a brick, and at that moment he hated it with all his heart. And he hated her too.

She saw her mother's pained gaze again, her honey-colored eyes looking at her unfiltered, her chapped lips trying to force a smile. She knew. She knew her father would go on with his life after her death. She only wondered if he was at peace now, because she wasn't, and she believed she never would be.

She could never bear the thought of her father forgetting her mother so quickly. She wouldn't accept another woman taking her place.

Despite his turbulent life, her dad was still her dad. She loved him, despite everything. But right now, her heart was filled with a pain she couldn't explain.

Last night I watched them on the terrace. They were lying on a sun lounger. She had one leg draped over his and her head on his chest. Dad was holding his drink between his fingers and gently stroking her hair with his other hand. They were clearly drunk, but their laughter and the kisses he stole between sips and jokes made her double over with anger.

His stomach felt as heavy as a brick, and at that moment he hated it with all his heart. And he hated her too.

She saw her mother's pained gaze again, her honey-colored eyes looking at her unfiltered, her chapped lips trying to force a smile. She knew. She knew her father would go on with his life after her death. She only wondered if he was at peace now, because she wasn't, and she believed she never would be.

She could never bear the thought of her father forgetting her mother so quickly. She wouldn't accept another woman taking her place.

Despite his turbulent life, his father seems to have no remorse and it seems that the best way to compensate for his mistakes is to marry a rich woman from San Diego and offer her a different, more comfortable life with fewer problems.

But she has no intention of wallowing in wealth that isn't hers. That's why she'll look for a job as soon as possible. If there's one thing she learned from her mother, it's that if you want to get anywhere, you've to work hard.

She's used to traveling on paths full of obstacles, so she can't run along such an empty road. And not because she doesn't want to, but because everything seems so easy that she struggles to choose which direction to go. She needs some stimulation. She needs to release this anger. To feel useful. To keep alive the determination her mother instilled in her.

She turned her tired gaze toward the swaying white curtains and looked up at the clear sky and the sun's rays that filtered softly into the room. She got out of bed, bent down, picked up the rug, and rolled it up. She tucked it tightly under her arm and went downstairs to the kitchen, where everyone seemed to already be.

"I don't want this dead animal in my room,"he said, dropping it to the floor with a lazy gesture, and added,"It looks like someone skinned a cow alive and placed it at the foot of my bed."

Celeste put her hand to her mouth and started coughing. Dad, meanwhile, rubbed his cheek and slowly shook his head.

"Good morning to you too,"Ethan murmured, hiding his amused smile behind the rim of the glass.

She gave him a cold look and then went to sit down, leaving the rug where it was. She surveyed the delicacies on the table and felt a rumble in her stomach. There were: tortillas with bacon, pancakes with fresh fruit, jam and toast, and freshly squeezed orange juice. Hunger now manifested itself with even greater ferocity.

'Good morning,' a lazy voice pulled her from her thoughts. Her stomach nearly lurched when she saw the dark-haired boy from yesterday sit down next to her.

The cloud of disheveled hair above her head obscured her vision, and with her gaze fixed on her plate, Elara dared to glance at him out of the corner of her eye. The boy looked at her with a shy smile, revealing slightly crooked teeth.

"I'm Ethan,"he said in a soft, slightly husky voice.

Elara frowned, trying to remember if she had heard that name before.

Elara -, she replied in a dry tone.

Ethan nodded, as if he understood her reluctance to start a conversation.

At that moment, Ethan got up from the table, leaving his glass on the counter.

"I'm going to train,"he said in a curt tone, without looking at anyone.

Ethan shrugged and continued eating his breakfast, while Elara watched the scene with a mixture of curiosity and distrust.

The cloud of disheveled hair covering his head obscures his vision, and with his hand, he prepares to brush a few strands away from his forehead and then pour himself a drink. I part my lips and begin to look at him again, my gaze tracing the chiseled muscles of his body. I hadn't noticed his amber skin or the tattoos on his arms.

"Is that a spider? Yuck!"

"Are you done looking at me like a fucking psychopath?"he asks sharply, and I almost fall off my chair.

"Um..."Celeste interjects, drawing their attention."I'm not sure if you two already know each other..."she says with a hesitant smile.

The boy glances at me out of the corner of his eye and then a muffled groan escapes his mouth, as if seeing me here, next to him, were a divine punishment.

"I'm Elara,"I say, extending my hand, but she looks at it with disgust. I feel like an idiot. I just wanted to be nice in front of Celeste and my father.

"I'm Damian and you don't even dare come near my room again."

"Damian,"Celeste says, her bright face suddenly turning dark and serious."The cryptic way he's looking at me makes me raise my eyebrows almost to my hairline. What happened to the woman with the radiant smile?"

"You already know my opinion about snoopers, Celeste,"he replied, suddenly clenching his teeth.

"My daughter isn't like that. My father's neurons fire at the wrong time, as always."

Ethan murmurs:

"Perhaps you don't know her well enough. Her actions prove otherwise. I warned her,"he shrugs indifferently.

Suddenly, I feel like I'm too much. All eyes are on me; I can see the criticism hidden in my father's eyes.

"I was inspecting the house,"I reply immediately, becoming defensive."You know, I need to know where to pee,"I respond in less than elegant language, and Dad rolls his eyes.

"So you found something you liked by poking around in other people's dicks?"Damian asks in a high-pitched voice.

"I definitely didn't find your brain. Maybe next time I'll help you look for it."I rest both forearms on the table and look at him defiantly.

The adrenaline, however, quickly fades and all I feel is a sense of emptiness and immense sadness.

Dad looks at me as if I'm the cause of his problems. As if his dream is crumbling because of me.

We'll never be a family, and the sooner you understand that, the better for me.