ARIA
We don't go back to Greece.
The facility I selected for Vivienne is in upstate New York, a private treatment center that specializes in personality disorders and suicidal ideation. It costs two hundred thousand dollars for a six-month program.
I write the check without hesitation.
"You don't have to do this," Dante says as we sit in his study, reviewing the paperwork.
"Yes, I do. For me, not for her." I signed the final document. "This way, I know I did everything possible. What happens next is up to her."
My parents came to the penthouse three days later to discuss the arrangements. It's awkward, the first time they've been in Dante's home, and the first real conversation we've had since the gala.
My mother sits stiffly on the leather couch, looking around at the obvious wealt
