Chapter 23 Livia
Iwake to the gentle caress of Enzo's fingers mindlessly moving up and down my arm. His touch sends a pleasant happiness through me, and I can't help but smile, my eyes still closed. I nestle closer to him, relishing the warmth of his body.
"Good morning, cara mia," he says into my ear.
I open my eyes to find his piercing blue gaze fixed on me, a tender smile planted on his face. "Morning," I whisper back, rubbing the drowsiness away from my eyes.
Enzo presses a soft kiss to my forehead, and when I look up at him, he finds my lips in a gentle, affectionate kiss. I melt into him, my hand sliding up to cup his stubbled jaw. The kiss deepens, and I can taste the faint remnants of last night's wine on his tongue.
When we finally part, I'm smiling wide. Enzo's eyes tell me he's thinking the same as me—staying in bed all day—but we both know we have to get up for breakfast. It's become our routine over the past three weeks—sharing both breakfast and dinner together, without fail.
Ever since I told him to be more open, he has, and after our little rendezvous at his restaurant, we've been inseparable. These past few weeks have been amazing. I don't think I could be any happier.
"We should get ready," I say, though I make no move to leave the comfort of his arms.
Enzo chuckles. "Five more minutes won't hurt," he says, pulling me closer.
I laugh and playfully push against his chest. "You said that yesterday, and you were late to your meeting."
"Well, they are my meetings, after all. It's okay to be late to those."
I sit up. "Oh please, the Enzo I know wouldn't really want to be late to anything."
He takes a deep breath and sighs. "Fine, fine. You win. You're starting to know me too well."
I slip out of bed, the cool air of the room raising goosebumps on my skin. I stretch and turn, seeing Enzo's eyes on me.
"Like this disheveled mess?" I tease.
"Always," he replies.
I feel a blush creeping up my cheeks and quickly grab my robe, wrapping it around myself. "Shower?" I ask, heading towards the bathroom.
"You go ahead," Enzo says, finally getting out of bed. "I'll join you in a minute."
As I step into the shower, letting the hot water relax me, I can't help but marvel at how much has changed.
Three weeks ago, I was still battling with my feelings for Enzo, still trying to process him, and what my world would look like.
Now, I wake up in his arms every morning, feeling safer and more content than I ever have with the man I'm falling for.
Finally, Enzo joins me in the shower, his strong arms wrapping around my waist from behind. He presses a kiss to my shoulder, then reaches for the shampoo. It's become our little ritual—he washes my hair, his fingers massaging my scalp, while I lean back against his chest, enjoying his touch.
After we're done, we dress in comfortable silence.
I choose a simple white v-neck tee with black pants and flats, while Enzo opts for his usual tailored fancy suit.
As I'm applying a light touch of makeup, I catch Enzo's reflection in the mirror.
He's watching me with a soft expression I've come to recognize as one he reserves only for me.
"Ready?" he asks, offering his hand.
I take it, wrapping our fingers together. "Ready."
We make our way downstairs, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and bacon filling the dining room. The table is laden with an array of breakfast foods—fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, and a steaming pot of coffee.
"Good morning, Sir, Ma'am," Antonio greets us with a warm smile.
As we settle into our seats, Enzo pours coffee for both of us, adding a splash of cream to mine just the way I like it.
"Any plans for today?" Enzo asks, taking a bite of his bacon.
I nod, swallowing my mouthful of pancake. "I'm heading to the university library. There's a collection of Victorian-era letters I want to look at for my dissertation."
"Ah, yes. Alex will accompany you, of course."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Even after all our days of domestic bliss, some things haven't changed. Enzo's protectiveness is still very much present, though I've learned to accept it as part of the package.
"Of course," I agree, reaching for my coffee. "What about you? Countless meetings, I take it?"
Enzo's expression darkens slightly, but he quickly masks it with a smile. "Yes. How lucky am I?"
I know there's more he's not telling me about these meetings, but I've learned not to push.
Instead, I change the subject, telling him about the latest breakthrough in my research.
His eyes light up as he listens, asking questions and offering insights.
It's moments like these that make me fall for him even more, the way he genuinely engages with my passions, the depth of his knowledge, the intensity of his focus when I speak.
As we finish our breakfast, I relish the routine we've established—the quiet moments we share—they've all become the anchor in the chaos.
And then, the guilt churns in my stomach. There's been something I haven't told him about.
The diary.
I just haven't found the time. I mean, things have been so great, I just didn't think it would be wise to tell him. Hell, does he even need to know?
I'm so confused over it. What I'm experiencing is times like these where I retreat back into myself, wondering if I should tell him, let him know what I found, and find out if Valentina's worries were correct.
"Everything alright?" he asks, a hint of concern in his voice.
I force a smile. "Just thinking about my research," I lie smoothly. The guilt intensifies, but like always, I push it down. "There's so much to uncover in those Victorian letters."
"I was thinking," Enzo's voice breaks through my thoughts, "Maybe we can find some time between your work to fly to Sicily for a week. I can introduce you to some of my family I have out there. Show you where the Bonventi name came from."
My heart skips a beat at the question. "Really? I'd love that," I reply, my voice a little more excited than I intended.
"Good. We'll discuss it over dinner. Think of when you could do the trip, and we'll take it from there," Enzo says and stands. "I must go. Have a great day, and I will see you for dinner."
I smile. "You too," I say before he kisses me.
After I finish, I head into the library to grab my bag. I rummage through my desk for my notes, and I see the drawer the diary is in.
You know what? I'm just going to put it back in the desk, I think to myself.
As I go to reach for it, I hear the door open.
It's Alex.
"I was told you need to go to the university library," he says.
Shit.
I close the drawer and straighten up. "Yes, I'm just collecting my things."
I hurriedly toss my computer, notes, and a few other things into my bag and swing it around my shoulder.
"I'm ready."
"After you, ma'am," Alex says.
As we drive to the university library, I can't help but wonder how long I can keep pushing the guilt about disobeying his wishes out of my mind. And more importantly, not talking to him about what I found.
I'm snapped out of it when we pull into the library parking lot and Alex cuts the engine off.
We do the usual walk inside, and he follows me until I find a desk or area to work.
Then he finds a chair where he can keep an eye on me and sits.
Sometimes I look over at him, and he's on his phone.
Other times, he's picked up something nearby and is reading, but one thing is for sure—he's always watching.
I'm used to it now, so it would almost be weird if I looked over and he wasn't there.
One time, he did come to my rescue when a fellow student wouldn't take no for an answer. That was nice.
I settle in and spread out my notes, trying to focus on my dissertation.
For two whole hours, I just browse the internet, doing absolutely nothing.
When it's 12:15, I pack up and head to the special collections area, where I place my belongings in a locker and sit at the assigned seat where my Victorian letters will be brought to me.
As I make notes, I realize I accidentally write Valentina's name in place of the woman's whose letters I am reading.
I think it's time.
This isn't like me to keep a lie, and now that I look down at my journal and see Valentina's name, I know I can't continue on without coming clean.
What will he do?
I don't want to say we're in love, but it's close. It is for me, anyhow. Either way, we can agree we have something deep, something concrete. He wouldn't throw all that away, would he?
Yes, I did go against his wishes, but that was before—when he left me out in the cold and wasn't opening up to me.
I lean back in my chair and, using both hands, rub my temples.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Just tell him.
I care about him, about us, too much to just bury this. Even if I wanted to, clearly, I can't.
When I'm done, I pack up and exit the special collections department. Alex is sitting on a chair and stands when he sees me.
"I'd like to go home now," I say to him.
He nods. "Let's go."
We don't talk on the ride home. It's not a unique experience, as he's a pretty quiet guy. I normally try to get him to open up, but my mind is so preoccupied that I don't, so not a word is spoken until he announces we've arrived home.
We get inside, and I turn to him and speak. "Alex, can you do me a favor?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Can you please tell Enzo I'll be in the library and to come see me when he can?"
"I'll let him know."
"Thanks," I say with a forced smile and walk into the library.
I toss my bag onto the desk and walk around to take a seat.
I feel my chest tighten and my nerves coil into a ball. I'm scared and a bit nervous because I know what I did wasn't right. Deep down, I know that's why I haven't brought it up. While I was self-sabotaging myself, thinking, Oh, you'll tell him when the time is right.
Perfect moments don’t exist when you’re the one forced to admit fault—a mistake you wish you could take back.
It’s the realization that you've allowed something so small to become something so big that cuts deep. And to make it worse, you can’t pass the blame; instead, you're forced to sit with the guilt and take everything that comes with it.
An hour goes by, and then my heart leaps up into my throat as I hear the door open and see Enzo walk in.