Choose Me Read online

  Copyright © Valentina Ferraro

  mail to: [email protected]

  Cover image: Shutterstock

  Cover design: Okay Creations.

  Layout: SP Graphic Design

  Translation: Amanda Blee

  Proof reading: Deaton Author Services

  First Published in Italian: July 2016

  First Published in English: February 2020

  Any reproduction, total or partial, and any diffusion in digital format not expressly authorized by the author is to be considered as a violation of copyright, and therefore punishable by law.

  This book is a work of fantasy. Names, characters, places and events are the result of the author's imagination. Every reference to places or real people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  CHOOSE ME

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  PLAYLIST

  L’amore è una cosa semplice – Tiziano Ferro

  Take my Hand – Simple Plan

  I Will not Bow – Breaking Benjamin

  The Boys of Summer – The Ataris

  I Knew You Were Trouble – Taylor Swift

  Wings – Birdy

  Tell Me Why – Three Days Grace

  Angels Fall – Breaking Benjamin

  I Follow Rivers – Lykke Li

  Peanut Butter Jelly – Galantis

  Hunger – Ross Copperman

  Losing My Mind –Daughtry

  Better Than Me – Hinder

  River Flows in You – Yiruma

  For Elise – Beethoven

  Breath – Breaking Benjamin

  Don’t Stop Me Now – Queen

  The End – Simple Plan

  Monster You Made – Pop Evil

  Let it Die –Starset

  Stay Away – The Honorary Title

  Torn to Pieces –Pop Evil

  Had Enough – Breaking Benjamin

  Dance with the Devil – Breaking Benjamin

  I Don’t Care – Apocalyptica

  Chandelier – Sia

  Please Don’t Leave Me – Pink

  Halo – Beyoncé

  Incomplete – Backstreet Boys

  Forgive – Within Temptation

  Ad Ogni Costo – Vasco Rossi

  Come Back When You Can – Barcelona

  Here Without You – 3 Doors Down

  Never Should of Let You Go – Simple Plan

  Listen to the Playlist on Spotyfy.

  1

  The airport doors slide open and the humidity hits us like a slap in the face. I feel my hair sticking to the back of my neck as a glaze of sweat forms above my top lip and my breath catches in my throat. All in less than five seconds. It's like standing under a giant hairdryer.

  The AC on the plane was set so low I had a stomach ache all the way, which of course scared my father to death, and being the good doctor that he is, he spent the entire nine-hour flight from Rome to Florida pouring hot drinks down my throat to ward off congestion. Now, one hour later, we’re melting on the sidewalk and it feels like we're in the First Circle of Hell.

  Pneumonia. I'm going to die of pneumonia!

  "Sweetheart, take that scarf off, it's too hot." My father stops dead in front of me and begins to unwind the silk scarf from around my neck.

  He treats me like a child, which is pretty ironic considering we've just landed in Orlando, where I'm going to spend a year at the University of Central Florida. I don't know how he'll cope next week when he has to say goodbye and fly back to Rome.

  Florida. What was I thinking? Something like, 'This is what my mother would have wanted. It was her dream and now it's mine'?

  My dad pushes a trolley weighed down with our bags over to a cab, turning around every two seconds to check I'm still there. Where else would I be?

  The temperature inside the cab is on 'Siberia Mode', yet another slap in the face after the ninety-nine degree heat outside.

  I was wrong. My young life will be cut short by an acute, fulminating bronchopneumonia.

  "Put your scarf back on, please, sweetheart." My dad bursts out laughing when he sees me roll my eyes. "Come on, this time next week, I'll be out of your hair, humor me a little!"

  My stomach suddenly feels hollow. How will I manage without him for a whole year? For the past ten years, it's been just us; me and him, him and me. He's my friend, my anchor, my rock. And how will he manage without me? Who'll make dinner for him? Make sure he eats enough? Who'll take care of the bills and take his shirts to the cleaners?

  "Thanks, papà." My words catch in my throat and my eyes feel heavy. I want to add, Thanks for encouraging me to do this and for always being there.

  I look out the window and squeeze my eyes shut, holding back the tears, as the cab heads out of the airport toward my new apartment, which I'll be sharing with two other girls.

  Apartment is an understatement. My father never does things by halves. The waiting list for a room on campus was so long he didn't want to risk me ending up without accommodations so, after seeing something like fifteen other places, we settled on the house with the blue roof, a pretty single-family house near the university.

  We were over for a short trip last Christmas and were exhausted from house-hunting and feeling pretty desperate so, when Jessica and Erika welcomed us into their perfect, American-dream home, we breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

  By that time we'd literally seen everything: two scary girls covered in tattoos and piercings, a strange woman trying to pass a squalid studio apartment off as a delightful city-center loft, a crazy cat lady in her sixties with at least a dozen cats, who all ate off the same table as her. The icing on the cake was also my favorite: two twins in their third year of college who'd opened the door in nothing but their boxers, one of the guys wearing an enormous green snake wrapped around his neck. I'd never seen my dad move so fast.

  The road is exactly as I remember it. It’s all so green. Palm trees everywhere, kids racing their bikes on the sidewalk. I can't help smiling when we turn the corner and I recognize the house. You can't miss that electric blue roof.

  We pull up on the private driveway of 14139 Econ Woods Lane, and my feet have hardly touched the ground when the front door opens wide. I'm not paying much attention, though, I'm too distracted by the banging sounds to my left. I turn and freeze when I see a guy, roughly the same age as me, raging against a tool box. He's holding his foot in one hand, pounding his fist on the body of a ramshackle old car with the other. He's bare-chested and his worn-out jeans are slung so low, I can see his boxers.

  I can't see his face because his ball cap is pulled low over his eyes, but his body is amazing, I can see that. Tan, with a flat stomach and broad shoulders.

  "That's exactly the kind of guy you need to stay away from," my father admonishes, passing me on the driveway and bringing me brusquely back down to earth.

  "What do you mean? I have a boyfriend and wouldn't dream of looking at another boy!" I stiffen as I walk behind him. My God, you can't even look anymore?

  Erika stands in the doorway and greets us with a huge smile. Her teeth are bright white, in perfect contrast to her chocolate-colored skin. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and her hands are deep in the pockets of her baggy, white jeans. All I know about her is that she's black and a dancer. Jessica pops up behind her, grinning happily. She's very tall, at least eight inches taller than Erika and four inches taller than me. She runs a hand through her blonde hair then tucks a strand behind her ear.

  "Welcome!" she shrieks, making Erika, who had no idea she was standing behind her, jump in surprise.

  "Hi,"
I say timidly, as I reach the door.

  'Timid' is hardly the adjective I'd use to describe myself but I'm embarrassed about my English. Despite the intensive lessons I've taken over the last eight months, I still can't shake the nerves that grip me whenever I have to speak.

  "Come on in," says Erika and she moves out of the way, signaling for us to follow. The house is just as I remembered. White walls and beige carpet, which smells of laundry detergent. The kitchen, or what I can see of it from the living room, is neat and tidy, daylight streaming in through the open curtains. The garden in back is well cared for, the grass trimmed short, sun-loungers neatly arranged on the patio.

  I can't help it. I’m grinning like an idiot.

  "Come on, I'll show you your room." Jessica turns to look at my father and her tone becomes more formal. "Are you staying here, too? We made a bed up for you, anyway."

  "Thanks a lot, girls, but I'm booked in at a hotel nearby," my father explains as he drags my two suitcases, each weighing more than sixty pounds, along behind him. I've just got my trolley and the bag with my laptop.

  "Oh," replies Jessica, a little disappointed. "We thought you'd be staying with us..." She stops mid-sentence and opens the door to my room.

  I instantly spot the elegantly wrapped packages lying on the twin bed, then the bed they've made up for my father.

  "It's very kind of you, but I don't think you want an old man under your feet for the whole week," my father jokes, a little embarrassed. "But, if you like, I'd like to take you all out to dinner, tomorrow evening," he adds.

  Jessica looks at him, hearts flashing in her eyes, which makes me laugh. My dad may be good-looking but he's hitting fifty. There's no way I'd look at a man his age like that.

  "That would be awesome, thank you!” exclaims Erika, elbowing Jessica. "We'll leave you two alone now. If you need anything, we'll be in the kitchen. She drags Jessica out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  My dad and I look at each other, trying to stifle our laughter.

  "You old charmer, you! You've already made one of my roomies fall in love with you."

  "You must be joking." With two long strides, my father comes toward me and hugs me tight. "You're supposed to be my little girl! When did you get so big?" And he ruffles my hair and kisses me on the forehead.

  "You know, now that I'm going to be away for a whole year, you should start looking for someone to take care of you. You won't always be so handsome, and no one will want you when you're ugly."

  My father pulls back a little and stares into my eyes, amused. "No, you're the only woman in my life." He turns and opens my cases.

  I shake my head. I'm not so stupid as to think he hasn't had the odd adventure over the years. After all, he's handsome, esteemed and extremely desirable to other women, but it seems he's never met anyone worth taking things further.

  For years he's been trying to convince me that he's okay like this, that he doesn't need a woman to make his life complete. The truth is, he misses my mother terribly. I don't remember her very well, which is so scary it makes my heart race, but that's how it is. I try to conjure up images of her face in my head but they're all confused. All I have to remember her by now are photos and videos.

  It wasn't easy, but my dad and I, we made it through. With the help, of course, of family and friends, but people don't understand that when we closed the door of that luxurious, beautifully decorated house, it was just us. We were the only ones we could really rely on, one day at a time, until the pain began to fade, and the sense of loss became less oppressive.

  For me, at least.

  We start to unpack, but my gaze falls on the gift lying on my bed and I lunge for it, throwing myself down on the bed, holding it on my knee.

  "I wonder what it is?" I say, eagerly tearing the paper off. The rectangular box contains a Victoria's Secret bath set: body wash, body lotion, and mist. "Wow!"

  I squirt a little of the perfume into the air and onto my father, who immediately wafts it away.

  "Cate! I smell like strawberries now!" He pulls out three pairs of shoes and lines them up in the walk-in closet. "Come on, give me a hand here. This is all your stuff, you know?" he scolds and I reluctantly get to my feet.

  "It's okay, Dad. I'll take care of it. Go to your hotel. You must be exhausted, and your phone hasn't stopped buzzing since we landed. I'll see you tomorrow morning." I hug him tight, holding back a giggle as I’m pressed against his chest; he smells of aftershave and strawberries.

  "Are you sure?" he asks, worried. The most anxious dad in the world and he's all mine!

  "No, really. I'm going to thank Jessica and Erika for the gift and try to make friends with them, then I'll put everything away here. Tomorrow we have to go to the university and look for a car for your beloved daughter."

  "We already discussed this, Cate, so don't get any ideas. We're looking at cheap little run-arounds and nothing else. I already spent too much on your other car, which is now languishing in a garage in Rome," he cautions me.

  "Yeah, yeah. I get it. I have to make do with some old, pre-war peddle car."

  "Spoilt brat!" He raises his hands in exasperation then pulls his phone from his breast pocket and calls for a cab.

  2

  Twenty minutes later, I kiss him goodbye on the doorstep and watch as his cab turns the corner of what is now my new neighborhood and he disappears. Without knowing it, I find myself casually glancing around in search of my new neighbor but there's no sign of him. The sun is still high, the heat and humidity making my black shirt stick to my chest, so I dart back into the house, enjoying the AC, which is set at a reasonable temperature.

  Jessica and Erika are chatting in the kitchen when I join them, sitting on high stools at the counter, sipping from huge Disney cups.

  I don't know much about them. We chatted a little on Facebook over the last few months, but all I really know is that Erika is the same age as me and Jessica is a year older.

  "You want some coffee?" Erika asks, as she walks over to a large coffee pot on the kitchen countertop, next to a tray of freshly baked cookies.

  American coffee and chocolate cookies...

  "Yes, thanks." I sit down on one of the stools and watch as Jessica demolishes a cookie as big as my hand in just one bite.

  Erika hands me a cup brimming with what looks like muddy water, but I don't say anything. I take a sip. Funny enough, it's not bad.

  "It's gorgeous. Thanks for getting everything ready for me and making the bed up for my dad. Oh, and thanks for the gift, it's awesome." I hold my wrist out, so they can both smell the perfume on my skin. "How long have you known each other?" The question’s out before I even know it, and I also know that it's only the first in a long line of questions I have for them. My grandmother always laughs at me. She says I'm like Curious George, that when I start asking questions it's like a third-degree.

  "Since last year, when Erika moved in. The house belongs to a girl called Maddy, but she finished college a couple of months ago and moved to Chicago, and decided to rent it out to us." Jessica pauses for a breath, then continues. "She's a nice girl, cool. We'd throw the odd party, but only for a few close friends. By the way, we only have two rules around here: keep the house and garden tidy and no wild parties which make the neighbors call the cops. No need to worry about that though, they're the ones who have the wild parties, anyway." She laughs and grabs another cookie from the tray.

  "What are you studying?" Erika asks, while Jessica's mouth is too full to speak.

  "Economics," I answer proudly. I want to add “first of my class thank you very much!”, but stop myself. "What about you?"

  "Sophomore, engineering," replies Erika.

  "I'm a junior in English lit with a major in creative writing," sputters Jessica.

  I glance around, taking in my surroundings. The kitchen is set in a small open space they call the family room, which is different to the living room, or the sitting room. This is where most socializing is done bec
ause the living room is only used on special occasions. I wondered why such a big room had no TV, now I know. The TV, the comfy couch, the large second-hand dining table are all in the family room. From here you have access to a small bathroom, the patio, and the door through to the garage. The living room is more formal, with expensive furniture and a pristine couch. It doesn't make much sense to me. When we want to watch TV we'll all have to pile onto the small couch in the family room and I guess there's always a fight for the padded swivel chair next to it.

  "How long will your dad be in Orlando?" Jessica asks.

  "Just a week, then he's going back to Rome," I sigh, biting my bottom lip. I'm trying to act grown up but I know I'm going to miss him terribly.

  "What does he do?" Erika asks. And I thought I was the curious one. Fortunately, their questions are pretty easy and they're speaking slowly, probably because they can tell my English still sucks.

  "He's a plastic surgeon," I reply distractedly.

  "No way! Good to know. I could do with a new pair of tits." Jessica looks inside her t-shirt and grimaces despondently. She's got to be kidding. She's beautiful, with all the right curves in all the right places. She won't ever need plastic surgery, not even in thirty years’ time. I laugh and sip my coffee.

  Suddenly the patio door slides open, making me jump.

  "I thought I saw signs of life over here." A guy who could only be described as beautiful, with dark blond hair and two enormous, emerald-green eyes makes his way into the kitchen, carrying with him a scent that fills the room in record time. He's wearing skinny jeans and a tight white t-shirt which shows off his sculpted torso. But he's not the one who stops my heart for a good three seconds. It's the guy with the ball cap standing behind him, the one from the driveway. I can just make out his full lips and small, straight nose and he's still not put a t-shirt on. Damn! He closes the door behind him and I manage to tear my gaze away before he realizes I'm staring.

  The hand held out in front of me makes me jump again. The blond guy with the white tee leans toward me with a cute grin. He knows he's gorgeous and is brazenly charming. "Hi, Mark."