Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 23833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
No one sees me even when I'm about to fall aboard.
I'm invisible still, and I think...
I think it's almost funny how the one thing that saved me from being murdered is about to become the reason I'll die this time.
Oh...well.
It was good while it lasted.
And so I close my eyes as I fall into the water.
My lungs start to burn.
I wait to join my parents in Heaven.
But I don't.
Three
TWO, YES, TWO.
Two things hit me as soon as it became clear someone had jumped and dived right after me, and my unknown savior had now wrapped his fingers around my wrist in a grip so secure I could practically hear him commanding me to live.
And that's the first thing I realized.
All these years, I hadn't even known I had lost my will to live. Or that I was only going through the motions because I didn't care about anything.
I had even convinced myself that I had no dreams, no gloriously burning ambitions for the future because I was a girl with simple needs and that I was content.
Oh, Cat, you liar.
It was only when the water had swallowed me whole that I realized to my shock I had absolutely no desire to save myself.
How could you not know?
I was lying to myself all this time.
And if I weren't so sure that suicide was a sin, and Hell was real, I would have probably killed myself way, way back.
Why, God, why?
I hadn't realized that I was being passive-aggressive with God, and I had been blaming Him all these years.
Why didn't You just let me die with my parents so we can be together in Heaven?
Why force me to live in a world where I'm invisible?
Why make me live when I have nothing and no one to live for?
And the answer to all of these questions is suddenly clear, just so painstakingly clear as a strong pair of arms wrap around me, and I'm carried all the way to the surface.
I'm sorry, God.
I still don't understand why You've let me live, but I get it now.
To live is a gift that You alone can give, and so thank You.
Thank You, God.
If I weren't the way You made me—-
If I weren't invisible, and I wasn't the type people couldn't see or hear even when I was right in front of them—-
I'd be dead by now.
I'd be dead, and I would never know why my parents wanted me to live.
I would never know why You wanted me to live.
And I would never know him.
A STRANGER'S MOUTH covers mine in a kiss that pours life back into my body.
My lips melt under his, and his air becomes my air.
Every breath he helps me draw pulls me away from death's door, and he seems to sense the exact moment when my lungs finally make up their mind not to give up on me.
The stranger's mouth leaves mine, and he leans back just as I scramble up and start coughing out water.
My eyes flutter open, but I close them again when everything starts spinning.
I'm s-so c-cold.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
That's my heart, I think.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
My mind seems only capable of processing one thing at a time.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Is it my heart that's frantically pounding?
Or my head that's hurting?
"Cattleya?"
A man's voice, deep and honey-smooth in its elusiveness, and whose accent is the only thing I find familiar. Definitely Italian. I've heard it spoken my whole life. I can't be mistaken about this.
"Can you hear me?"
Yes, I do, but I don't have the energy to answer him, and all I can do is pray.
Please don't spin, please don't spin, please don't spin.
I slowly open my eyes.
Everything is vividly clear and absolutely still.
Thank You, God.
My brain starts functioning like it's supposed to but at a much slower rate.
Familiar wood paneling.
Familiar paintings.
Even the luxuriously thick and so obviously wet carpet under my body feels familiar.
But it still takes another moment before I reach the inevitable conclusion.
I'm in one of the yacht's private suites.
The kind that only the Marchettis and their VIPs have access to.
And that's why I know I'm not supposed to be here, causing trouble!
The realization has me sitting up in shock, and a punishing jolt of pain instantly strikes my temples.
"Don't make any sudden moves."
It's that voice again. But the tone this time is firm and commanding.
A Marchetti, I think right away.
But which one?
It doesn't sound like Giancarlo, Cesare, or Massimo.
That only leaves the one member of the famiglia I've yet to meet.
"I'm so sorry...signore." My voice turns small as I open my eyes and find my gaze immediately captured by Ezio Marchetti's.
He's the youngest of La Strega's grandsons.
And I get it now.
Why everyone says he's the hottest—-
Because he is, I think dazedly.
He's let his hair grow longer compared to the other Marchettis; it reminds me of Timothée Chalamet in Little Women, and the loose, unruly waves make me realize that I've been quite unfair towards romance authors.