12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
Mariella
A light morning breeze and sunlight streaming through the window tickle my nose and coax me from sleep. I stretch lazily in this enormous bed, sinking deeper into the sea of pillows and blankets. It feels indulgent, almost sinful, to be this comfortable.
I slept like the dead, with visions of Mateo’s face at the height of pleasure lingering as a constant presence in my dreams. That raw, unguarded moment when bliss overtook him is seared into my mind, impossible to forget.
How am I supposed to face him after what I saw? I already blush just being around him. Now? A normal interaction is completely out of the question.
Argh!
Still, the impending awkward moments are a small price to pay.
Seeing him like that…
God, it was worth it. I’ll never forget it, not in this lifetime.
Then again, maybe I won’t have to worry. Mateo is a busy man. It’s not like I’ll be running into him often.
Shaking off the last lingering heat of last night, I push the memory to the back of my mind, slip out of bed, and take a quick shower. Afterward, I slide into a long navy-blue dress, that’s understated and perfect for blending into the background.
As I make my way along the corridor toward the grand staircase, the sound of voices drifts up from below, stopping me in my tracks.
Merda.
I’d recognize that voice anywhere, no matter how many others it was mixed with. So much for not running into him.
Annoyingly, my pulse kicks up a notch, and my stomach flutters. Well, nothing new there.
He mustn’t see me.
So I stay put, craning my neck to get a better view of the foyer. I’m well-practiced in admiring the man from a distance without him ever noticing me.
Mateo and his brother are walking toward the front door, deep in conversation. The next moment, they disappear from view, and I hear the rumble of car engines starting up. They’re gone.
Thud, thud, thud goes my treacherous heart.
I let out a sigh. Will I ever get over this crush?
Last night only added fresh fuel to the fire that’s been burning strong for over four years, ever since my sixteenth birthday.
I haven’t even looked at another man. Not that I’ve met many. Maybe that’s part of the problem.
Growing up, I loved fairy tales. That’s common for little girls, of course, but for me, it was more than that. Deep down, I think I always knew the world around me lacked the magic I read about, but I wanted it, desperately.
I dreamed of meeting the perfect man. A true gentleman, strong and powerful, yet kind and considerate with me. And, of course, he had to be handsome. Very handsome.
My fiancé… well, ex-fiancé certainly didn’t measure up to that. But Mateo De Marco?
I remember the day he became the prince charming of my fantasies as clearly as if it was yesterday.
It was on my sixteenth birthday. Surrounded by my sisters, I was about to blow out the candles on my cake. I closed my eyes and made my wish. Naturally, it was for my perfect man.
Even then, I was aware Father would arrange our marriages, and I’d have no say in who I’d marry. But I still clung to the belief that birthday wishes held magic, and maybe, just maybe, the man chosen for me would be the one to make my dreams come true.
Childish, I know. But when your future looks bleak, you hold on to the slightest sliver of hope.
With all my might, I blew out those sixteen candles. When I opened my eyes, Mateo walked into the garden, and my heart skipped a few beats for the first time.
Of course, Mateo wasn’t there for me. At twenty-six, he was hardly interested in a ‘kids’ party. He had come to fetch my father.
Still, he smiled that smile at me. The one that makes me want to melt into a puddle. From that moment on, I was a goner.
“Happy birthday, kiddo,” he said before turning to find my father.
The attraction I felt for him back then is just as strong now, if not more so. But he’s always been out of my reach, but my heart doesn’t seem to care.
And so I shall go on and suffer the pains of unrequited love. Forever, perhaps.
The excited thudding of my heart turns into a dull ache in my chest. Dejected, I descend the grand staircase and wander through the unfamiliar halls until I find the kitchen. Giulia is behind the stove again, her warm, jovial presence immediately relieving some of my heaviness.
“Ah, mia cara , how are you? How did you sleep? Did you dream something nice?” Giulia asks, her eyes twinkling. “My nona always said that whatever you dream about on your first night in a new home will come true.”
My cheeks blush deep red, I’m sure of it.
If only.
“ Buongiorno , Giulia. No, no dreams,” I’m quick to deny.
I will not admit to her or anyone that I dream of Mateo most nights.
“How can I help you today?” I ask, eager to change the subject.
“You’re a guest here, mia cara . Enjoy yourself. Read, swim, do whatever makes you happy.”
Oh, that’s news to me. I’m a guest. Hmm.
What will I do here all alone?
I’m used to the noise and chaos of my sisters filling every moment. Being by myself will only give me more time to panic about what my future holds.
Perhaps I could go back to the old oak from last night and sketch a few new designs. But even that can only keep me distracted for so long.
“Please, I’d really like to help. I think too much otherwise.”
Giulia looks up from stirring her pot, her eyes studying me knowingly.
“Then I’d be happy for you to help me cook lunch for everybody. We’ve got more men here than usual, and they’re all hungry.”
She wipes her hands on her apron and points to a covered plate on the kitchen table. “But first, have some breakfast. I made you scrambled eggs.”
Gratefully, I sit down, the warmth of the kitchen easing more of my tension.
“After you’ve finished,” she continues, “would you mind taking the tray of food to the girl again? My feet aren’t what they used to be, and I’d be glad not to make the trek all the way to the other side of the house.”
I swallow my bite of eggs, trying to keep my face neutral.
Merda .
I had hoped she wouldn’t ask me to do that again. But of course, it makes sense. If no men are allowed near the girl, it leaves me as the obvious choice.
“No problem,” I say, forcing a smile. “I’m happy to help in any way I can.”
My voice is steady, but inwardly I’m already bracing for another uncomfortable encounter.
I have so many questions about that girl.
“Who is she?” I ask quietly, hoping I’m not overstepping.
But if I serve her every day, shouldn’t I know?
Is she dangerous? Is that why she’s locked away?
I glance at Giulia, waiting for a response. She puts down the spoon she was holding, her usual warmth vanishing like the sun disappearing behind a cloud. Her face tightens, and the air between us shifts. I feel like I’ve touched on something forbidden, something I wasn’t meant to ask.
“Don’t engage with her,” she eventually replies. The warning in her tone is unmistakable, her voice firm.
It hints at a different side of the sweet housekeeper who hums while she bakes and fills the air around her with welcoming warmth. She has a steely backbone. Why that surprises me, I’m not sure.
If she, of all people, sees this girl as a threat, there has to be something real behind it. Something serious. This girl must really be trouble.
But why?
What has she done?
She seemed so normal, albeit anxious and desperate. Admittedly, I’ve only seen her once, and it was brief.
There was nothing about her that screamed danger. Just someone lost in her own worries. If they sent me to her, she can’t be that bad, right? Giulia wouldn’t knowingly put me in danger.
Her next words, though, have icy shivers running down my spine.
“That girl. She’s the devil’s spawn.”