amaotonovel Chapter 255: Chiara.
Chapter 255: Chiara.
Chapter 255
KATYA POV
The car door opened, and the morning sun rushed in all at once. Cool air brushed my skin, scented with flowers and stone and something sweet I couldn’t name.
One of the men moved quickly, already unfolding Nonna’s wheelchair with quiet efficiency.
She allowed the help without comment, settling into it with the same composed grace she carried everywhere. The moment her hands rested on the armrests, the world seemed to shift.
"NONNA!" The voice was loud. Bright. Bubbling with life. It came from the front of the house, echoing across the courtyard like a burst of sunlight.
I startled slightly, my head snapping up. A girl was running toward us. She couldn’t have been much older than me—maybe two years at most—but she carried herself with an easy confidence that made her seem taller, larger somehow.
Her brown hair was pulled back loosely, strands escaping to frame her face as she moved.
She wore a simple dress, nothing flashy, bare feet slapping lightly against the stone as she crossed the distance between us.
She didn’t slow down until she reached Nonna.
"Nonna, finalmente!" she exclaimed, dropping straight to her knees in front of the wheelchair and wrapping her arms around her like she’d been waiting forever.
"Do you know how long they made me wait? They wouldn’t tell me anything." Nonna laughed.
Actually laughed at the girl. It startled me more than the shouting had.
"Chiara," Nonna said fondly, one hand lifting to cup the girl’s cheek. "You exaggerate as always."
Chiara pulled back just enough to grin, her eyes bright and sharp and impossibly alive. "I do not," she declared, then paused, her gaze finally flicking to me.
And locking there. For a split second, she studied me openly. Not cold. Not suspicious. Just curious in a way that felt unfiltered.
"Oh," she said, standing fully now. "You must be her." My stomach tightened. "Her" always came with weight.
Nonna rested a reassuring hand over mine. "Katya," she said calmly. "This is Chiara. She is the daughter of my head maid," Nonna said, squeezing my hand. "But to me, she is family. I raised her as my own."
Chiara blushed at nonna’s words as nonna turned to me. "And Chiara, this Katya, my toreso." Chiara’s grin widened when Nonna said my name.
"Katya," she repeated, like she was tasting it. "Finally. I’ve heard about you." My shoulders stiffened before I could stop them. Heard what? From who? In what tone?
I barely had time to wonder before she stepped closer and then her arms were around me.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was warm and fast and completely unapologetic, like she’d decided in a split second that I belonged there and that was that.
I froze. My body locked the way it always did when someone crossed into my space without warning.
My mind scrambled, instinctively searching for the catch. The motive. The reason. But there was nothing sharp in her hold. No hesitation. No assessment. She smelled like soap and sunshine and the faint salt of the sea.
"Oh—" I managed, awkwardly lifting my hands before settling them lightly against her back.
She pulled away just as quickly, hands landing on her hips as she studied me again. "You’re quieter than I imagined."
"Imagined?" I blinked. She shrugged. "You have thoughtful eyes. I thought you’d be taller, though."
That startled a breath of laughter out of me before I could swallow it back. Chiara was everything I wasn’t.
She stood easily in her own skin, like it fit her perfectly. Like she’d never learned to shrink herself or measure her movements.
She laughed too loudly. Touched too freely. Took up space without apology. I’d spent years doing the opposite.
Watching. Weighing. Learning when to disappear. Standing beside her, I felt painfully aware of how careful I was with my hands, how my shoulders curled inward without permission.
How my smile came slow, earned, as if joy was something that had to be negotiated. Chiara noticed anyway.
Not in the way people used to—sharp, dissecting—but with an open curiosity that made my chest tighten.
"You don’t like being hugged," she said matter-of-factly. Heat rushed to my face. "I—no, it’s not that, I just—"
She waved it off. "It’s fine. We’ll work on it."
We’ll work on it.
The words landed oddly. Not heavy. Not demanding. Just... assumed. Like she’d already decided I was staying.
Nonna chuckled softly beside us. "Chiara," she warned, though there was affection threaded through the sound.
"What?" Chiara shot back, flashing her a grin. "She’s family now. I’m just making sure she knows."
Family.
The word echoed in my chest, Chiara turned back to me, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Come on. I’ll show you the good parts of the house. Not the boring ones they give guests."
I hesitated, instinct tugging me to stay close to Nonna. To the known. To safety. But Chiara had already reached for my hand.
Not pulling. Just holding. Waiting.
I looked down at our joined fingers—hers warm and sure, mine still learning how to relax—and something inside me shifted.
Maybe I didn’t have to become like her. Maybe standing beside her was enough. I looked over at nonna’s smiling face, she nodded at me as if tell me to go ahead without her.
I squeezed her hand lightly and nodded, facing Chiara whose smile turned triumphant. "Good," she said.
"This place gets much more interesting once you stop behaving." She didn’t give me time to second-guess it.
Chiara tugged my hand and started toward the house, already talking as if the decision had been made hours ago.
"Chiara," Nonna’s voice followed us, "She has just come off a long flight. Let her rest after."
"Of course, Nonna!" Chiara called back without even turning around. "I swear. Five minutes. Ten, max." The way she said it—too fast, too bright—made it painfully obvious she was lying.
I glanced over my shoulder. Nonna was watching us with knowing eyes, lips curved in a small, indulgent smile. She lifted one finger in warning.
Chiara saluted vaguely with her free hand and kept walking. The moment we crossed the threshold, my steps faltered.
The inside of the house stole the breath right out of my lungs. I knew from outside it was beautiful but holy mother of God, this was breathtaking.
Light poured in from tall arched windows, spilling across polished stone floors that reflected it like water.
Flower pots were everywhere—lined along the walls, perched on carved tables, hanging from wooden beams above.
The air was alive with scent, rich and warm and impossibly fresh, like the entire place was breathing.
I turned slowly, overwhelmed. This wasn’t the cold grandeur I’d expected. It wasn’t intimidating marble and echoing halls.
It was... full. "Wow," slipped out before I could stop it. Chiara beamed, clearly pleased with my reaction.
"Right? Nonna says houses should feel like people. If they don’t have life in them, what’s the point?"
She tugged me further inside, bare feet silent against the stone as mine hesitated behind her. Every step revealed something new—paintings crowded together on the walls, old photographs in mismatched frames, shelves overflowing with books and small strange objects I couldn’t begin to name.
Nothing felt staged. Nothing felt untouched until my eyes fell on a large portrait.
††
Chiara huh.
Would she be a friend or a foe.