Mia's Heart (The Paradise Diaries) (9 page)

“No,
it wasn’t your fault. But Elena seems to think that you brought that boy into
everyone’s lives.  You really should take the time to explain that you
didn’t.  That you were deceived along with everyone else.  And no,
she wasn’t seriously injured, but her cheek was scarred. And she is a beautiful
girl.  She’s taking it hard.  In fact, I believe she’s here in the
hospital right now. She’s undergoing a series of surgeries to repair the scar.”

I
am quiet.  “I would like to talk to her and to apologize for any hand that
I had in the whole mess. But the problem is, I don’t remember any of it. 
How can I apologize for something that I don’t remember?”

My
mom offers me a little smile.  A tight, tight smile. 

“I
don’t know, Mia,” she sighs. “But maybe you should try talking to her and just
see what happens.  We can get her room number from the nurse.”

I
nod and she leaves the room, presumably to talk with the nurse.  I
continue looking through my phone.  I have hundreds of pictures. 
Reece and I are in many of them.  We’re on a boat, we’re by the beach,
we’re in a bedroom.  In one, we’re dressed in green matching shirts,
presumably from work.  Gavin told me that I work for Dante’s father. 
It looks like we are great friends.

There
are pictures of Gavin.  There are pictures of Gavin and I together. 
And there are pictures of us with another boy.  A really, really handsome
blonde boy who has to be Dante.

Dante
Giliberti.

I
look at the handsome face smiling at me from my phone and I wonder how I could
possibly not remember him.  He’s movie star handsome.  I should
remember him.  But I don’t. 

I
scroll through the other faces in the pictures and I don’t remember any of
them, either. Charming Reece Ellis. Cocky Gavin Ariastasis.  Gorgeous
Dante Giliberti.  I should know them.  I should have their faces
memorized. 

But
I don’t.

And
it is oh-so-frustrating.

I
am practically growling when my mom returns. 

“Room
402,” she tells me.  “Elena’s on the fourth floor.  She’s here only
for today and then she’ll be gone. So you should go see her now while you have
the chance.”

I
am hesitant, but my mom is insistent.

“Mia,”
she says patiently.  “You have known Elena since you were children. You
shouldn’t let a misunderstanding like this ruin things.  Just go and speak
with her.  I’m sure you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

I
am still unsure, but I go anyway.  How can I not?  I have to make
sense out of my life somehow.  I should begin by piecing it back
together. 

I
creep out into the hall and take a big mouthful of the medicinal hospital
smell.  It smells like iodine and alcohol and plastic.  I hate
it.  But I timidly make my way through the bustling corridors and sterile
halls until I find myself standing in front of room 402. 

I
stand there for a few minutes, trying to get my courage up. 

You
can do this.

You
can do this.

You
can effing do this
.

My
hand shakes and I silently cuss myself out. 
Listen, you.  I don’t
know who you used to be.  But I know that you are not such a wuss. 
You are a badass.  Buck the eff up.
 

I
knock lightly and there is no answer.  I knock harder.

“Come
in,” an annoyed voice calls.   I swallow hard and stick my shoulders
back.  I don’t know who I used to be, but I don’t like feeling intimidated
by anyone now.  My chin juts out and I push the door open.

A
beautiful girl lies in the bed, covered up to her waist by blankets. 
She’s got hair the deepest shade of red that flows in soft waves over her
shoulders.  Her eyes are emerald green and narrowed as she looks at
me.  And there is a bandage on her cheekbone, marring what would otherwise
be a perfect face.  She’s breathtakingly beautiful. And she looks like she
hates me. 

I
gulp.

“Elena?” 
I ask, although I’m sure it is.  Who else could it be?

“Yes,”
she answers coolly in a voice that borders on hatred.  “Were you expecting
someone else?”

I
shake my head. “No.  I just wanted to sure.”

Elena
smiles a frigid smile that reminds me slightly of a piranha.  I don’t know
why because her smile is gorgeous and perfect.

And
cold.

Just
like the rest of her.

“Ah,
yes.  I forgot.  You can’t remember anything.” 

She
doesn’t look disturbed by that at all.  She seems ambivalent,
actually. 

Even
though she hasn’t invited me, I walk inside and sit in the chair next to her bed.
She has fashion magazines everywhere, so I move them to clear a space.

“My
mother told me that you and I have a misunderstanding and that I should clear
it up,” I tell her.  “But I don’t remember anything.  So it’s hard to
know what to say.”

Elena
studies me with interest.  “You truly don’t remember anything at all?” she
asks.  “Not a thing?”

I
shake my head.  “Not much at all.  I remember my car.  And I
don’t know why.  I remember scuba diving.  But I don’t remember my
friends.  I don’t remember my parents and I don’t remember myself.”

“So
you don’t remember me?” Elena asks, her lovely head cocked.  I shake my
head again.  “You don’t remember growing up with me?”

“No. 
I’m sorry.  I don’t.”

And
she laughs.  I am startled by this and stare.  It definitely wasn’t
the reaction that I was expecting.

She
muffles her giggles and then stares back.

“I’m
sorry,” she says.  “It’s not funny.  It’s ironic.”

“How
is it ironic?” I ask suspiciously.  I don’t know what to make of this
girl.

Elena
giggles again.  I’m not sure if she’s laughing at me or with me or
what. 

“You’ve
always worked so hard to portray an image… the image of a girl who doesn’t care
about who she is.  And here you are now… you don’t remember any of it.
 You truly don’t know who you are. Don’t you find that funny at all?”

And
suddenly, I kind of do.

I
laugh with her. 

“If
I remembered it, it would be funnier,” I finally tell her.  “But I
don’t.  I saw pictures—of my hair and my clothes.  I guess I was
trying hard to prove a point.”

Elena
nods.  “You definitely were trying to make a point.”

I
look at her and try not to look at her bandage.  But it’s hard. It might
as well have a sign on it that says
Look at me.
  My eyes keep
gravitating toward it.  I force them back to hers. 

“I’m
sorry,” I tell her. “For whatever part I played in the accident.  I’m told
that I didn’t know what was going on, that I was tricked along with everyone
else.  But if there were signs that I should have seen and didn’t, I’m
really sorry about that.”

Elena’s
nose tilts up and I wonder if this is the moment that she’s going to let me
have it.  She’s got a certain bitchy air about her…she’s definitely a girl
who knows what she wants and how to get it.  She doesn’t mess
around.  I may have amnesia, but even I can see that. 

And
she is silent for a long, long moment.  I think she’s trying to make up
her mind. 

“I
was pissed at you,” she finally admits to me.  And she sounds surprisingly
candid.  “But I was pissed at everyone, to be honest.  I know that it
wasn’t you who did this to me.  It was Nate Geraris and Vincent
Dranias.  It’s just difficult to be mad at people who aren’t here.  I
seem to need something- or someone- that I can focus my aggression on.”

“You
might want to take up target shooting instead,” I tell her wryly. She laughs.

“I
don’t think anyone wants to see a gun in my hand,” she admits.  She seems
more honest than I was expecting.  Although I don’t know why I had any
expectations at all.  I don’t remember her. 

OhmyGod.
I’m so tired of that phrase
.  I don’t remember.
I get it already.
 I’m clueless about everything.  

“Were
we friends?” I ask curiously.  “My mother said that we didn’t hang out
much, but that she didn’t know why.  But I’m guessing that my mother
didn’t know everything there was to know about me, either.”

Elena
stares at me silently.  She’s examining me, picking me apart.  But
why?

“No,
we weren’t very good friends,” she tells me finally.  “I don’t know
why.  I guess I’m not always a nice person.  And you never tolerated
any crap.  That intimidated me.”

I’m
an intimidating bad ass? 

I’m
not sure that I like me very much.

“So
you were the mean girl and I was the bad ass?” I guess.  She smiles
slowly. 

“I
suppose so.”

“My
mother thinks that I should try to be friends with you,” I tell her
bluntly.  “Because you understand what it’s like to be me—a child of a
political family.  Do you want to be friends?”

Elena
stares at me in surprise.  I can tell that she doesn’t know what to
say.  She wasn’t expecting this from me. But I wasn’t expecting any of
this from her, either, so I guess we’re even.

“Well,
you’re certainly not any less blunt,” she observes. “You’ve always said exactly
what was on your mind.  Okay, Mia.  We can try to be friends. 
It should be interesting.”

“Yes,”
I answer quietly. “It should be interesting.”

We
chat for a little while longer and it seems uncomfortable, but it gets easier
toward the end.  I finally make my way toward the door and close it behind
me.  I exhale a long breath and lean against it. 

Why
do I feel like I just made a deal with the devil?

That’s
ridiculous.  Right?

Elena
might have red hair, but she’s not the devil.

I
spend the rest of the walk to my own room trying to convince myself of that.

Chapter Nine

I
press my face against the glass of my mother’s car. I leave a nose print, but I
don’t care.  The hills of Caberra speed past us as my mom winds through
the curvy roads toward Giliberti House. 

Apparently,
our house is uninhabitable and will have to be re-built in order for us to
return home.  Until then, my mother and I will be staying at Dimitri
Giliberti’s family home, Giliberti House.  It is located in a huge estate
surrounded by olive groves outside of Valese. 

Also
apparently, I’ve been there a million times before because that is where I
work…in their gift shop.  I sell gourmet olive oils and whatnot.  And
I say ‘whatnot’ because I have no idea what else I sell there.  Sigh.

“We’re
almost there,” my mom says. I know she’s assuming that my sigh was a result of
being in the car.  “You’ll see the olive groves soon.”

And
I do.  We round one more curve and I see hundreds of olive trees, their
lush green tops touching the sky.  The olives look like pebbles on the branches. 

“Your
father will come out on the weekends,” my mother tells me.  “He’s going to
stay in the city during the week for work reasons.  He’s worried about
you, though.  He’s hoping that the peace and quiet out here will help you
relax and recover more quickly.”

Him
and me both. 

I’m
sick of this whole can’t-remember-who-I-am-thing.

I
nod wordlessly, taking in the scenery as my mother turns into a long, long
drive.  Flowering trees line each side and white blossoms drift through
the air, padding the stone lane beneath us with a thick blanket of
petals.  It looks like a painting.  I take a whiff of the
sweet-smelling air. 

“It’s
gorgeous here, right?” my mother asks, lifting an eyebrow. 

“Yes,”
I agree.  “It is.”

She
pulls into a circular drive and we get out of the car.  The house is
amazingly beautiful, like something out of a fancy fairytale.  Warm light
floods from the windows onto the manicured lawn around it.  It draws me to
it and makes me want to run into the house. 

A
tiny little woman comes out, stooped and elderly.  But she moves
quickly.  She is down the stairs before I can even speak.  Her hair
is pulled into a neat chignon at the nape of her neck. 

“Mia!”
she cries out and barrels into me, grasping me up into a surprisingly strong
bear hug.  She smells like cookies.  And maybe sunshine.

I
look at her blankly, wish-wish-wishing that I could place her.  Because
she clearly knows me.  She looks at me sympathetically. 

“I’m
sorry, sweet girl,” she tells me, taking a step backward.  “I forgot that
you don’t remember me.  My name is Marionette Papou. I run this household
for the Gilibertis.  You know me very well, little one.  I’ve known
you since you were in pigtails.  But you will remember.  I have faith
in that.”