FROM THE MOMENT I was born to the moment my mother died, my father knew my first breath would surely be my last.

She died, so why shouldn’t I? My father watched my birth, her death. He watched me take my first breath, and then my second, and my third. She could hardly breathe when she died, and yet there I was, pale and alive.

My father brought me into his home as if the mere thought of what I had done to my mother was a threat. I was a foreigner to him.

I swear his first words to me were, ‘You killed my wife, and now I am forced to take care of you.’

But he looked past it after a while. I grew up beside my father, and he never remarried. It was just me and him, him and me. It was fine that way for a while, not worrying about feeding three or more mouths, not worrying about what my mother would say about anything he disagreed with.

I missed her, yes. I had never known her and I missed her. But I suppose that is what a child is supposed to do—miss the ones we knew and the ones we didn’t, and still grieve. We are gentle creatures, softened, until we begin to rot.

———

MY FATHER OWNED A watch shop, and I worked beside him until he tried to send me off to school. I said no, but he insisted. But all I wanted to do was sit in his shop and watch customers come in and out.

I was a people watcher; my father knew that. He never did send me to school after I had refused. He simply let me help in the shop and taught me how to read by his own way. I caught on quickly—reading became my new life outside of the shop.

After a while, I began reading plays, and then I was determined to become an actress. I decided it so very quickly my father wondered if I even meant it at all. But I knew from then on, after reading about far away places across the globe, that I wanted to travel and live on the stage.

But my father did not buy it. He told me, by the time I was fourteen, that if I did not get a job of my own, that I would never be an actress.

'And where will I get a job, Papa?’ I asked him.

‘The bakery, down the road. A good friend of mine owns that bakery with his wife, and you will get a good pay there.’

‘Papa, it’s a bakery.’

'And hundreds of people go there a day. They will pay you well, with their daughter going off and his wife sick. Two people cannot run a bakery that large alone.’

‘Two? Who is the other person?’

‘His son. Emiliano.’

'And how old is he?’

‘About your age, I suppose.’

Papa was always the one to tell me about things I never knew before. And this—this seemed like something I would want to know about.

‘Alright,’ I decided. ‘I’ll go there tomorrow and tell them you sent me.’

‘Good, Carina. I’ll walk you early tomorrow.’

‘I’m fourteen now. I can walk alone.’

'If you say so.’

‘I do. One day I will own this watch shop and that bakery as one.’

My father laughed loudly. ‘Oh, really? And how will you do that?’

‘Well, by marrying the bakers’ son, of course.’

‘Psh.’

‘I will show you, Papa. I will own that bakery and I will inherit this watch shop and that’s final.’

My father sent me off, the thought of him leaving his watch shop upsetting to even consider.

But even then I knew I was lying.

———

AND SO I WALKED into that bakery the next morning and told the man at the counter—the one with the thinning black hair—that my father had sent me to work for him.

He recognized me instantly. ‘Ah, Carina. Leonardo’s daughter, my dear. Please, come here.’

He examined me as he led me behind the counter and into the kitchen. Guests were already beginning to pile in at the first sparks of daylight.

‘And so what brings you here? Your father wants you to get a job, yes?’

‘Yes, Signore.’

‘And how old are you now?’

‘Fourteen, Signore.’

I looked around the beaten kitchen. The paint was chipping and the sink was dripping. And yet the spirit was alive.

My eye caught on the corner of the room, where a boy younger than me stood washing a dish. I noticed he was looking between the man in front of me and myself. His eyes wandered, his gaze never ceasing to rest on a single object.

I focused my attention back on the man in front of me. ‘I am more than capable to work here, Signore. I know how to bake and I can read the menus very well to the customers that cannot.’

‘Even if you didn’t know how to bake,’ the man teased, ‘I would’ve still hired you. We desperately need the extra hands.’

‘Even if I could not bake?’

‘Well, Emiliano would’ve taught you.’ The man turned around towards the boy. ‘Wouldn’t you have, son?’

Emiliano nodded very slowly and tentatively.

‘Good, my boy.’ He turned back to me and shook my hand. ‘Well then, Carina, you’re hired. You start today, right this moment.’

I stood up and continued his firm handshake. My father had always taught me that a firm handshake meant a trustworthy man. ‘Oh, thank you, Signore! My father will be more than pleased.’

‘Of course, Carina.’

He left the room through the two wooden doors beside us. I turned to my left. There he was, the boy—Emiliano—still watching me, but when I met his gaze, he quickly went back to his dishes.

I walked towards him, though he looked as if he might jump out of his apron.

‘You’re Emiliano, right?’

He nodded.

‘I’m Carina. I suppose we’ll be working together from now on. It’s a pleasure.’ I held out my hand, expecting him to take it back. But he just looked at me and simply nodded again.

‘Do you… speak?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah, I see. You’re shy.’

‘No, not really.’

‘Then why didn’t you shake my hand?’

He looked down at his soapy hands. ‘Dishes.’

I nodded and walked closer towards him. ‘Do you need any help?’

‘Yes, actually. Can you finish with these?’

Emiliano handed me an apron, and I took a dish from the sink. I began to wash as he kneaded dough between his fingers.

Those next few days became a routine for us. I would arrive at the same time as the bakery opened, and we would begin. I would wash, he would knead, I would put them in the oven, he would do more dishes. Oh, there were endless dishes to behold! But, of course, I got used to them after a while.

I was open with Emiliano. I told him about my life and I asked him questions about his. I didn’t tell him much about me, as his life seemed more important to speak about than mine. My life wasn’t all that grand in my father’s shop. But his life, baking, and baking, and baking—what a way to live.

Weeks passed. Emiliano opened up. I opened up. We were almost friends, you could say, and it felt as if the world was right. I told him about my mother—not that I had killed her, no, but that she had died when I was young. And so he was silent about it for a while; until one day he asked me about her.

‘Do you ever miss your mother when you mention her?’ he said curiously one day while we were in the kitchen.

‘Of course, I miss her.’ I told him. ‘But I have gotten used to it. I don't even remember her face.’

‘That seems like a nightmare.’

‘It was. It is. But I've gotten used to it. It's just the way it must be.’

‘It doesn't have to be.’

‘But it is.’

Even he knew that I was right.

———

EMILIANO AND I BECAME twin flames. I had never had a friend such as him. One that was intelligent, and yet friendly, restless, and yet still in the mind.

We talked for hours at a time at work. Emiliano’s father would have to remind us to work, we spoke so much! Oh, but he was simply so fun. You could say he was my brother, and that I loved him as such.

Often, I would stay as late as to close the restaurant with Emiliano’s family. I would walk home beside him and would wait outside for a few minutes before my father’s shop closed, and then I would walk home to greet him. Occasionally, Emiliano would walk with me.

We had meaningful conversations in the dark. Nothing but our words to surround us. Scarcely able to see our hands in front of our faces.

One night, almost two months after I had met Emiliano, he walked me home as it began to flurry. Winter in Genoa wasn’t cold enough to be considered frigid, but it was simply that to us Italians. At the time, at least.

‘If you could go anywhere in the entire world,’ I began to say, ‘where would you go?’

He shook my head, a laugh escaping his lips. ‘You know I can't answer that question.’

‘Try to. I ask you all the time, and you never do. So try now.’ Truly, I did.

‘Where do I start?’ I stopped to consider. ‘France?’

‘What about America?’

‘America? That's a thousand miles away.’

I nudged his shoulder. ‘Come on. You have to think big.’

‘England?’

‘Big.’

‘Fine, America.’

I spun around myself, my arms outstretched. I felt so girlish; still, I giggled. ‘Oh, America. The name even sounds wonderful, don't you agree? I would give anything to step foot in New York and become an actress. To leap on the stage—that is my greatest life's desire.’

I came close to him again and pressed up against his shoulder. ‘What is your greatest life's desire, Emil?’

He turned to me. ‘My life's desire? Those are just dreams. Your life cannot have desires.’

‘Oh, but it can!’

‘How do you know?’

‘I've read a book about two lovers whose life's desire was to be together. And since it was meant to be, through all their hardship, it came into play.’

‘Fiction, I suppose.’

‘Yes, but fiction has many grand lessons—’

‘No, it does not.’

’Come on, Emil.' I nudged him again, and I secured a smile on my face. ‘Brighten up. Is the snow making you grumpy?’

I scarcely saw him roll his eyes. ‘Yes, actually, I suppose it is.’

I leaned closer to him as we neared his home. ‘Thank you, Emil. For being my friend.’

‘Of course, Carina.’

‘Fate has brought us together. I just know it has.’

As I shut my door, I heard my father across the hall, making his way into bed. I was late once again, but he didn’t care. As long as I loved the life I was living, my father would keep letting me come in past dusk.

I went to the window and watched as Emiliano walked away, his arms around himself, trying to keep the warmth.

———

BEFORE I COULD TAKE a breath, there were three people in the kitchen again. Emiliano’s mother got better, and yet they decided to keep me. I felt honored.

For a while, everything was balanced out. I turned fifteen, and Emiliano turned fourteen. He grew older beside me. I watched him mature. He watched me learn more than I already knew.

We began to teach each other things with our knowledge of the world. I taught him about the Romantic poets. The arts, the theater. Emiliano seemed like he cared, something no one ever seemed to do anymore.

I would tell him about the books I was reading. My favorites—the Age of Innocence, Cheri. He couldn’t read very well, but I taught him what he needed to know. That was enough.

He seemed to memorize everything I taught him, and during the summer months when we had more freedom, I took him out near the sea and we would talk endlessly for hours about my novels and my poems and everything I could ever want to speak of to another human.

I don’t want to boast, but I made Emiliano more open. He became an entirely different person in that year after I had met him. He opened up more; he learned to live. When something upset him, I showed him it was alright to cry. To feel everything. I held him and I comforted him and I let him know that I was there.

In January, Emiliano’s sister came back from France. I met her, and she was truly the kindest soul. We all were a family then.

I recall a day when his sister came by the bakery with her fiancé, André, and we all worked together. Emiliano’s sister helped André knead bread with her fingers guiding his over the dough, and I served while Emiliano stood at the counter and his father washed dishes.

His mother was still recovering from her illness, so she sat on a chair behind the counter and helped him speak to people and take orders. She laughed the entire day. I remember the beams of sunshine that came from her lips each time she smiled. I remember the blush on her face as she saw the secret kisses his sister and her fiancé shared. I giggled. How romantic they were! Oh, how I wished back then how I could kiss someone that deeply.

Emiliano’s father laughed and shook his head humorously as he interrupted the kiss by barreling into the kitchen, and then I was giggling again, and Emiliano was hugging his mother as she put her face in her hands. She watched my sister push my father away, flushing.

I watched the chagrined couple as they moved from each other. As Emiliano’s mother and father came close to one another, I came next to him, just for a moment before the next customer came in, and put my lips to his ear.

I mustered up some courage to say, ‘When your sister leaves, that'll be your parents to us.’

‘What do you mean?’ he asked, his face practically begging for answers.

‘They'll practically be begging for me to kiss you,’ I teased. ‘They already see a spark.’ I raised my eyebrows. ‘And will I give in to their pleas? Just wait and see, Mr. Fournier.’ I turned to greet the next customer before daring to look back at his face.

———

THAT NIGHT WALKING HOME, I leaned into Emiliano, my arm pressed to his shoulder (I was a head taller than him).

‘You know,’ I began, ‘we all feel like one family.’

‘We are,’ he confirmed. ‘We are all one, big, merry family. One in a whole.’

That was the night when I stopped walking to look over at him. I grabbed his hand for a moment and held it. I let go after a few seconds. ‘I hope things stay this way forever.’

What was I doing? Oh, God, I was falling down a rabbit hole.

My lips brushed the corner of his mouth.

The darkness of the night surrounded us. I felt his breath beside me. I nearly smiled.

‘I love you, Emil.’

After a moment: ‘I—’

‘You don’t have to respond. Just know.’

‘Well then…’

‘Shh.’

And we walked in silence for the rest of the way home.

———

A WEEK LATER, HIS sister’s wedding came about. It was in Florence, three hours away by train, so we all packed up and threw ourselves onto a train at five in the morning. We would stay there for four nights, sleeping in a hotel. My father had agreed with much surprise. We could hardly contain our excitement.

I curled up against Emiliano’s sister the entire way to Florence. I could now say she was my own sister; that’s how it felt. Emiliano sat with his father and André. But mostly the train ride was uneventful.

We departed from his sister and André when we arrived at the train station. They were off to their wedding suite, that lucky couple. And so we toured around the city before settling into our hotel, a four-room suite.

Upon arriving, Emiliano’s mother exclaimed, ‘Isn't this too expensive?’

I told her that her daughter had all the expenses covered.

Before his mother could respond, I grabbed Emiliano’s hand and dragged him into the second room, the one next to his parents’ king-sized bedroom.

I took a look around. Oh, it was the largest room I’d ever been able to sleep in.

‘Where will we sleep?’ Emiliano asked me. He suddenly became aware there was only one bed.

‘Well, Laura told me they could only get two bedrooms,’ I said. He knew what I meant from there.

‘Oh.’

‘Unless you want to sleep on the floor.’

‘No, it's alright.’

‘I'm a light sleeper, don't worry.’

‘Alright.’

We set our bags down.

‘Where will we change? There is only one bathroom in the other bedroom.’

‘I'll close my eyes, don't worry.’

‘Well…’

‘Unless there's another way.’

‘Fine. I will too.’

He couldn't seem to look at me without his face setting itself on fire! I almost giggled as he left the room.

It was going to be a long few days.

———

THE WEDDING WAS THE next morning, bright and early on a cold February day. The air had a tinge of chill to it, but mostly it was warming to a sort of spring-like feel. I slept alone that first night, as Emiliano was unsure about sleeping next to me. But that night after the wedding, his parents told him three people could not sleep in one bed.

Nevertheless, I was the maid of honor, and he was the best man. It was such a wonder to go to my first ever wedding. When the vows took place, I saw everyone begin to cry. When the kiss took place, Emiliano looked at me. I don’t know why I got all giddy, but he smiled at me. He always knew I did that when two people were in love.

During the wedding reception, I couldn't seem to stop talking about the beauty of the ceremony. Emiliano just sat there and listened to me speak. My excitement overtook me.

I spoke about his sister's dress and the flowers on the altar and the way the sun shone through the windows, reflecting on his sister's skin at just the right angle. I spoke about how in love they were, and how their vows were so lovable and sweet, and how, when they kissed, their lips came together so fiercely they could've set the church on fire.

I knew I was going mad. I knew Emiliano did not care. But what was I to do to get myself to stop talking?

He simply nodded and laughed. I laughed along with him, leaning into his shoulder and taking in the blending of our happiness. I was the only one who could tell which smiles he was faking. I knew he was not faking these.

‘How did you enjoy it?’ I asked him as we wandered from the party towards the basement of the reception. The air was cold, as it was nearly a cellar, but the noise of people's joy had faded to a faint din. ‘As in, what do you think of your sister getting married at a young age?’

‘I believe she is happy with André,’ he confessed. ‘She deserves to be happy.’

I looked up at the thoughts forming in my mind. ‘Ah, I hope they have beautiful children. Yes, they will have beautiful children. Many. Tell me, how does it feel to know you will soon be an uncle?’

‘An uncle?’

‘Yes, an uncle.’

‘It feels quite splendid.’

‘Doesn't it!’ I giggled.

He didn’t even seem to think about what poured out of his mouth next. ‘Carina, I love the way you laugh. Truly, it brings me joy to just listen to it.’

He stopped himself and hid his face in his palms. ‘Sorry, that is strange to say.’

I looked at him and smiled, a faint blush coming across my face. What a wonderful thing to say, I thought.

‘Emiliano, you know you can tell me anything. And that's very kind. Thank you.’

‘Yes, I know. You are welcome.’

‘And you know I love you, yes?’

He didn’t have to think about it this time. ‘I do.’

‘Good. Always remember.’

I looked at him with a faint look in my eyes. I inclined myself towards him again. My shoulder set itself against his chest, somehow, and I was nearly on top of him when I turned my head to face him.

Oh, Lord, what was I doing? I was insane, insane, insane.

My breath blended into his before I could even register what I was doing. I gently pecked his lips, letting both of ours meet. It was brief, shorter than anything I could’ve ever known. Before I knew he had even closed his eyes, it was over. And then I was standing up.

‘Let's go grab a drink, shall we?’ I asked him with a calm tone.

———

WE WENT UPSTAIRS to the party again, and I didn't speak to him once after that. I went to join his sister, and I didn't see him until that night when we made our way back to the hotel.

I was just beaming; what a joy the party had been. Emiliano’s parents retired to their room, leaving us alone in ours. As they closed the door, he stood beside me, watching as I moved from the door and went to fetch a nightgown in the corner of the room.

‘Well?’ I asked. ‘Why the long face?’

‘I just—’

‘Emil, I'll change first, then you. We'll both close our eyes.’ I motioned for him to turn around. ‘No peeking.’

I saw him take a deep breath. He nodded and turned around to face the other way.

I slowly gathered my clothes and undressed. He was so silent, so still, I wondered if he was even breathing. I watched myself dress as I watched him with his hands over his eyes.

When I was done, I merely said, ‘Alright.’

I watched him turn around. As he moved to his suitcase and retrieved his clothing, he quickly demanded, ‘Turn around.’

‘Sure, Signore Fournier,’ I teased.

I heard the rustling of clothing as my eyes were closed. When he was finished, he told me to turn around again.

‘You sure you didn't peek?’ he asked.

‘Yes. Promise.’

‘I believe you.’

‘You best believe me.’ I came close to him again, and he froze. It was almost as if he was scared of me now. ‘Let's get into bed.’

Hesitantly, we did. I climbed into the queen-sized bed on the left. Emiliano climbed in after me, and as we laid down, the room was bathed in silence. I was aware of my every move beside him.

After a few minutes of silence, I thought he was asleep. I decided to hum a tune. I turned towards him.

‘Are you awake, Emil?’

No answer. He must’ve been asleep, but I knew he was not.

‘Emil, turn towards me.’

He faced me. He looked at me with something I’d never seen in his eyes before.

‘I really had a fun night,’ I whispered. ‘The wedding was beautiful.’

‘I did too,’ he agreed. ‘It was.’

I nodded, quiet.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ I said after a moment.

‘Of course.’

‘Did you mind the kiss?’

‘What kiss? During the wedding?’

I rolled my eyes and smiled. ‘You know what kiss.’

‘No, I didn't mind. It is what happens, isn't it?’

I giggled at his ignorance. ‘The one I gave you, Emil.’

‘Oh.’

‘Did you mind it?’

‘No, not really.’

‘Do you want to do it again?’

‘No, not really.’

I wasn’t taken aback though. I merely wanted him to kiss me. ‘Come on, Emil, kiss me again.’

‘In bed?’

I leaned closer to him. My hand brushed his arm. ‘Why wait? While we're alone is best.’

I didn't let him agree to it; I didn't even let him try. Before I kissed him, I squeezed his hand as a promise. And then I let our lips press together.

This time the feeling was more than real. He closed my eyes, I closed my eyes. I breathed him in; I tasted his lips against my own. My arms came around his neck, and I held him there. I was going to let us feel this kiss together for as long as we wanted to feel it.

I shifted on the mattress. I felt her chest through the fabric of his shirt.

‘I love you, Emil,’ I said as I pulled away. I pulled back.

His legs moved to touch mine, and the longer I kissed him, the longer I began to know him and know him and feel who he was.

‘I love you too, Carina,’ he told me. I could almost hear his mind say, I do.