“There was a time—not so long ago—when I was feeling especially worn down,” Bianca said. “I couldn’t get out of bed. Chest pain would come and go without warning. So I closed the bar for a few days and just…lay there. Letting it pass. Or hoping it would.
“Then, one night, I heard a knock at my door. It was him. Every night at the bar, I wear a mask. Powder, lipstick, the whole thing. Without it, I’m just another old woman. I told him through the door that I wasn’t opening it. And he said to me: ‘Eat something warm, will you? I’ll leave it here. I’d love it if you ate it—but of course, that’s up to you.’
“When I could no longer hear his footsteps, I opened the door. There, on my doorstep, was a basket. Still warm. Bread and soup. I went back to bed and ate. And it was so good, so warm, so kind…I cried. I cried because I couldn’t understand why someone would do something like that for a woman who wasn’t young anymore. Who wasn’t beautiful anymore.
“The next day, he came again. That time, I opened the door. I wore a dress that showed the tattoo on my back. I didn’t put on makeup. Didn’t fix my hair. Because I didn’t want to lie to him anymore. I wanted him to see the real me. To be disappointed. To go away. Do you know what he said to me?”
Sophie didn’t trust herself to speak. She felt a lump rising in her throat.
“‘Evening, Ms. Bianca. Still kicking, thank the heavens—and all the better for laying eyes on you.’”
The tears hit before Sophie could stop them.
She clutched a handkerchief to her face, trying to stifle the sobs, but it wasn’t enough. Even she was surprised by how hard it hit her.
As she cried, overwhelmed by the moment, Bianca just looked kindly at her.
“Sorry, Ms. Bianca,” Sophie said between sobs. “I’m the host here. I should be the one holding it together for your sake, but I… But I…”
“It’s all right,” Bianca said, her voice calm and steady. “When love comes for us, it strips us bare. Suddenly, everything hurts a little more. We get scared, needy, selfish; we cry over nothing. But that’s not weakness. It just means your heart’s awake. And if the person you love is worth it, they won’t turn away from that. They’ll look straight at you and accept you, just as you are.”
Sophie shook her head again and again.
I don’t have a special someone, she thought. I don’t.
Not here, anyway.
“You’ve got a very beautiful face, Ms. Sophie,” Bianca said. “To be burdened with an affliction that makes you hide it…feels like a god’s idea of a cruel joke. Or, more likely, a goddess’s. Heaven knows the jealousy of women runs deep.”
She looked at Sophie, still gently blotting her eyes, with the kind of patience only a grandmother might have.
“That day, when I was drenched head to toe in William’s blood, I made a vow. I promised myself I’d never fall in love again. Never hurt again. Never lose again, but…”
Bianca pressed a hand to her chest.
“You know, I used to think love was something that struck in the moment. That it came like lightning, lit a fire of passion that burned for the rest of your days… But I was wrong. Sometimes, love builds slowly. Quietly. Bit by bit, moment by moment, until one day you look at someone, and it feels like…they’ve always been there. Like they’ve always been yours. I was also wrong in thinking love was a privilege of the young and beautiful.”
There was something radiant about her as she said it. Something stunning in its honesty.
“He proposed the other day,” she added, a little breathless. “Said he’d worry if I lived the rest of my life alone. I think I’ll say yes. But before that, I wanted this tattoo gone. He says he doesn’t mind. But I do. If I’m going to be with him, all of me is going to be with him. I won’t be William’s woman. I won’t be a pirate. I’ll just be…me. Tell me, is that a silly thing to get hung up on?”
“Not at all,” Sophie said, her voice bright and sure. “A woman’s heart is nothing if not capable of starting over.”
Bianca lit up, clapping her hands together. “You can say that again!”
She laughed—full and free, the sound rich with life.
“Pain, pain, go away.”
Whether it was the love that struck like lightning—burning, fierce, and carved into her back…
“To the mountains you go, to the mountains you stay.”
Or the love that built like snowfall, soft and quiet, until one day it was simply everything—may Bianca find joy, purpose, and fulfillment in either. For both of her loves were true. Both of her loves were valid.
“Goodness…”
Just like with Silver, the moment Sophie held up the mirror to show Bianca her back, it was like her breath was stolen away.
“There’s not even a trace…”
“You have a very pretty back,” Sophie said gently. “Smooth as velvet.”
And now, she finally understood why her father had done what he had to Silver’s back. (Not that she would ever do the same—or was even considering it.)
Bianca slipped her dress straps back over her shoulders and gathered up her hair. Every motion was graceful, effortless, and still capable of stealing a gaze.
“Ahh, that feels much better,” she sighed. “Teenage passion is a burden far too heavy for an old woman like me. That said…I never thought I’d end up marrying a man ten years my junior.”
“Wait.” Sophie blinked.
“Oops.” Bianca pressed a hand to her mouth in mock surprise, stuck out her tongue, and gave a playful wink. “And what was that you just heard?”
“Nothing,” Sophie replied immediately.
It seemed her mom senses needed a little calibrating.
To the woman who defied every expectation of what she knew about being sixty, Sophie reverently bowed her head.
✦ ✦ ✦
✶✶✶
“THINKING back,” Bianca said softly, “I was always singing in those days.”
She plucked a flower petal between her fingers and raised it to her lips, gaze drifting far off to her teenage years aboard that rough and rowdy pirate ship.
“Every day felt more vivid than the last. More thrilling. Everything was new. That was all there was. But now I see…that was just the first chapter of my story.”
She closed her eyes. Around them, the fine lines of age became clear at last. But they weren’t harsh. If anything, they softened her like the patina of something cherished. A beauty shaped by time, steeped in memory.
“There aren’t many pages left in the book of my life,” she continued. “But I intend to live them slowly with my love. Every last one. One page at a time.”
Her voice was soft, indulgent. She opened an imaginary book and mimed turning a page.
“The starry-eyed girl who flew off that island with more pride than sense ends up running a tiny bar in a port town. Settles down with an underfed rat of a man. And lives happily ever after. The end.”
“It’s a lovely tale,” Sophie said.
“It’s far too ordinary,” Bianca replied.
Sophie shook her head. “But what is ordinary, if not the loveliest thing of all?”
Bianca laughed. “An old soul, aren’t you?” She then fixed Sophie with an attentive gaze and said more quietly, “It’s no use resisting love, you know?”
And once more, Sophie felt those beautiful eyes see right through her.
“If a man out there sees past the goddess’s mischief and accepts you—just as you are—then he’s already given you the deepest part of his heart. No…you’ve already stolen it. So what’s next? Taking responsibility.”
“…There’s no such person,” Sophie murmured.
But it was useless. Bianca only smiled.
“Oh, don’t cry, poor girl,” she said, gently stroking Sophie’s head. She smelled of something sweet.
“Don’t think. Just let yourself be swept up in the moment. No matter what happens, you won’t regret it—not if you’re following your heart. It’s the things you don’t do that haunt you the longest.”
“Ms. Bianca.”
“Yes?”
“If you were to return to that cove on the island…would you throw yourself into Mr. William’s arms all over again?”
“Of course,” Bianca said without hesitation. “There’s no use fighting that kind of passion. Even if I knew how it would end. Even if everyone called me a fool.”
She gave Sophie that same bewitching smile.
“It’s my story, after all.”
When she left the salon, the distinct scent of something sweet lingered, along with a warm afterglow, like the last flickers of a dying bonfire.