CHAPTER 95: – HIS LETTER –

Lucian paced the room with his daughter in his arms, fast asleep with her head laid on her shoulder. His face was crinkled in a frown as he kept looking at his phone over and over again.

The door to the living room suddenly pushed open. He looked up, finding Francesca who’d just slipped off her shoes, walking.

"I didn’t think you’d come back late," he said.

Francesca laughed with a little grunt. "Your mother wouldn’t let me go home. She wanted me to spend another. She said she feels lonely and wants us to visit more." She approached him and went up on her tippy toes to kiss him. "By the way, we should bring Lucia too. She misses her."

Lucian kissed the spot under her eye affectionately before caressing her cheek. But the worried look on his face made her furrow her brows in apprehension. "Lucy? What’s wrong? You look troubled."

He sighed softly. "Have you been able to reach my brother?"

"Niko?"

"Yes."

"No. I hadn’t called him at all. But is something wrong?"

Lucian’s face grew grim. "I’ve been trying to reach him for a day now, but I couldn’t. And I know something’s wrong with him."

"What do you mean?" Francecsa asked, a bit lost. "Wait, is it this twin thing you two have where you can feel when something’s wrong with the other?"

Lucian nodded his head. "He’s not okay, Francesca. I know it because I can feel it. And I’m trying to call him, but he won’t answer and I don’t know what could have gone wrong."

Francesca lifted her hand to cup his cheek.

"Calm down, honey. I’m sure Nikolas is okay. Here, give me Lucia. You can go check on him and see if everything’s okay." She reached out her arms for the little girl.

He transferred Lucia to her, kissing her forehead before heading for the door to leave.

While he drove over, he kept checking his phone, hoping that Nikolas would call him back. But even when he arrived at the apartment he’d helped him purchase, Nicholas hadn’t called back nor answered his call.

Rushing out of the car, he hurried to the door and rang the door bell over and over again. However, five minutes in, no one answered, and now, Lucian was panicking.

This feeling that something was wrong with Nikolas was only getting worse.

He pounded on the door. "Nikolas, open the fucking door!"

No response.

"I’m going to kick this door down, and I’m not kidding you! Open the damn door! I know you’re in there."

When he wouldn’t answer, Lucian kicked the door so hard, it plummeted to the floor with a heavy thud. He stormed his way inside, beelining into the living room where he paused.

"Nikolas...?"

He wasn’t in the living room, but there were bottles of drinks everywhere almost as if he was trying to drown himself. And Nikolas he knew didn’t even like drinking, and that’s setting aside the fact that they were vulnerable to alcohol.

The entire living room smelled of spilled liquor, the coffee table cluttered with half-empty bottles. The curtains were drawn, shutting out the daylight and leaving it a dim gloom.

He wanted to search the other rooms, but then something grabbed his attention. It was a book that had been flipped over by many pages.

Bending, he picked it up. It wasn’t Nikolas’s handwriting. So then, it must be his wife’s.

Nikolas,

I uh, I may never really get to say this to you, face to face. Well, I won’t. I’m not really confrontational, which I’m aware you do know. But, I think you’re a great man. At least I’ve had such thoughts from the very first moment I met you. I’m not sure what exactly makes it that way, but I think so. When you laugh at a lot of things and give me that stupid smile, I feel oddly happy, and so I find myself a bit jumpy and worried when you’re not smiling. I never assumed I’d be telling someone this someday, but...I’m a bit broken on the inside, paranoid with my emotions everywhere, and so even if I say this isn’t real, this thing between us, I get scared when I think you may not be any different from everyone else who’s hurt me. I’m afraid to end up like my mother and so I keep myself safe by letting you know this thing isn’t real. But I think it is. I love being around you, I love that you talk nonstop to me, and that you smile at me a lot. That you see more than just the outside part of me. I love how you make me yours and yours only. And I really hope it stays that way.

Oh, one more thing. I’ve been pondering over changing my name from Di-grassi. I think it should make it more real than ever, wouldn’t it? I also bought you a gift and I’m only writing it here because I don’t really know how to give it to you. I guess I’m too nervous. No, I’m too much of a coward to give you a gift I saw and thought it’d suit you, perhaps because I feel I may harbour feelings for you. Not in a casual way of course. I’m afraid that I may be making a mistake and might hurt myself. I do not like not being in control of a situation or being unsure. I feel paranoid, my head drives me mad and I don’t really want to get hurt. The idea frightens me because it might be the final straw that might break me completely. Regardless, if we’re to leave that aside, I think you’re annoying, ridiculous, sweet, very funny, and annoying again. I mean, those stupid nicknames you make up. Not that I hate it. It’s quite...pleasing, I suppose.

Gosh, this is so embarrassing, I don’t even know if I’ll let you see this. I mean, who writes a letter? Childish, isn’t it? But I’m too much of a coward to look you in the face and say any of this. I’m not built that way. I did some research and they said putting out my feelings like this do offer some emotional help. Hilarious, isn’t it? However, if I don’t end up giving this to you, well... It’d be a shame.

Now, one more thing, the gift, assuming you do see this letter before I hand it over myself, it’s on the third drawer of the table by our bedside. I do hope I can muster up the courage to tell you to your face though.

Your Lovely Wife,

Viviana.