Nineteen
NINETEEN
LEORA
M y heart is racing as I step into the elevator with Lucas. I don’t know if the stress is adding to my usual fear, but I can’t breathe. Lucas's eyes are on me, yet I can't bring myself to look at him.
I can tolerate him disliking me. But pitying me? I can’t handle that.
My palms start to sweat, and I feel like I'm going to faint. It feels like someone’s hand is wrapped around my throat, squeezing it tighter for every second that passes. I'm suffocating, like the walls of the elevator are closing in on me. My chest tightens, and I struggle to take a deep breath.
Lucas turns to me with a concerned look on his face. "Are you okay?"
I don’t answer. I can’t, because if I open my mouth, I’ll break down. Instead, I try to calm myself down, repeating to myself that I'm okay, that this is just a small space, that I'll be out soon. But the panic is overwhelming, and I can't seem to shake it off.
Finally, the elevator doors open, and I rush out, gasping for air. I try to compose myself as best as I can, but my hands are still shaking.
A large hand softly lands on my back. "Leora?" he says my name with a tone of concern, as if he's worried.
I manage to take one large, calming breath before I nod at Lucas. With a weak smile, I say, "I’m fine, don’t worry." But the truth is, it hasn’t been this bad in a long time. I usually don’t freak out this much when other people are with me.
I take a few more deep breaths, trying to regain control of my racing thoughts and calm my body. I don’t know why, but I don’t want him to know this about me. It’s so silly. Even though I have a feeling he wouldn’t judge me for it, I just don’t want him to know.
Who’s afraid of elevators at the age of twenty-eight? It’s embarrassing.
"Leora?" he presses with more concern in his voice and it fills me with a warm feeling.
"I’m good. I just got a little dizzy."
Lucas wears a confused frown, his hand, a source of comforting warmth, remains on my back, tracing soothing circles.
"You sure you're okay?" he asks gently, "Maybe we should take a moment."
I appreciate his support, I hadn’t expected it to feel so tender.
"I'm alright," I assure him, though his lingering concern doesn't escape me.
Lucas seems to be lost in thought, his grip on the steering wheel tight. We seem to be back to silence.
I hate it.
John used it against me as a form of punishment. It didn’t matter if I was the reason for the argument. In the end it was always my fault.
Silence makes me feel small. It makes me feel alone and I don’t like it.
I glance at him through the corner of my eye, hoping to see a change in his expression. He’s still grasping the wheel, his jaw set and tensed. I notice a little curl that has fallen over his forehead, softening his features. It’s cute, and more than anything, I want to brush it away.
However, now does not seem like the right time for that. I shift my gaze to the dangling object hanging around the rearview mirror that Lucas had touched when we sat down in the car. It's a delicate rosary, with pristine white beads that reflect the soft interior lights of the car. On the bottom, a small golden cross dangles gracefully, glinting in the sunlight. It sways gently with each movement of the vehicle. It makes me want to touch it—maybe it will give me some strength to endure this marriage.
My hand reaches out, fingers almost brushing against the beads, but just before I make contact, his head turns to me, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of curiosity and a hint of something unreadable. I snatch my hand back, my heart pounding as I wait for him to say something—anything at all—but he doesn’t.
I try to distract myself by looking out the window, but my mind keeps going back to our argument. A part of me wishes I could take back my words and start fresh, but I know that's not possible. Maybe I should apologize—try to make things right—because I won’t be able to stand this for long. However, once again there’s another voice telling me that he’s the one who should apologize first, not me.
Before I know it, we're pulling up to a building and Lucas puts the car in park and turns to me. "We're here."
He grabs my hand as we walk toward a large house, and I can't help but feel a sense of wonder at its beauty. The house is elegant, overlooking the shimmering Mediterranean Sea. The exterior is painted a pristine white, with terracotta tiles covering the roof and cascading bougainvillea climbing up the external walls.
As we approach the grand, double doors, adorned with intricate wrought-iron accents, I can feel the warm breeze carrying the scent of sea salt and lavender. We knock on the door, and it’s not long before a stylishly dressed man greets us with a welcoming smile. He ushers us inside the villa, revealing a spacious foyer with high ceilings and elegant furnishings.
The interior of the villa is just as breathtaking as the exterior, with marble floors, grand chandeliers, and ornate furniture. The walls are adorned with priceless works of art, and the floor-to-ceiling windows provide breathtaking views of the sea and the rolling hills.
He leads us through the hallway and out to the backside of the villa, where Antoine seems to be resting. The outdoor area is a tranquil oasis with lush greenery and a serene fountain at its center. Antoine is sitting on a chaise lounge, looking tired and frail in a way I've never seen before. I can see the exhaustion etched on his face.
He looks so small, not like the Antoine from a few days ago or even yesterday, when he was happily introducing me to everyone he knew. He coughs and a wave of sadness washes over me as I realize how sick he actually is.
As soon as Lucas spots Antoine, he goes rigid, clearly shocked by the severity of his condition. When I look up at him, the beautiful olive tone of his skin has morphed into a pale white, a stark contrast to its usual warmth. I squeeze his hand gently to offer him comfort; the tension from the argument set aside for this. But he withdraws as if he's suddenly realized we were holding hands.
Why is he pushing me away? I know he’s upset, and I try to focus on the fact that this is about his uncle and not me, but I can’t help but feel a little hurt at the rejection.
It's clear that Lucas is struggling with the reality of the situation, and I feel powerless to help him. Despite his tough exterior, I can see the pain and sadness in his eyes. The state of Antoine has shocked him, he didn’t expect him to be this bad. As we approach Antoine, I try to stay strong, but my heart breaks seeing him so frail and weak. When he notices us, he stands up, or at least he tries to.
"No, Ammo, sit down," Lucas says as he runs to help him but he’s already up, raising a trembling hand to Lucas’s shoulder.
" Ya ibni , I’m happy you came to visit."
When he spots me, a smile spreads over his face. "Leora, come come sit."
After giving him a hug, I take a seat. "How are you, Antoine?"
"I’m doing well. I’m just a little tired today after being on my feet for the past few days. Don’t worry, a quick nap and I’ll be back to normal." I can sense the strength and determination in his voice, and I hope that he’s right.
He looks between Lucas and I. "So, how has married life been so far?" A chuckle escapes his lips as he winks at me.
Lucas's expression remains blank, as if he doesn't know what to say or how to react. I take the initiative and joke back. "Well, it’s been twenty-four hours and we haven’t killed each other yet, so that’s a positive." Antoine laughs in response to my comment. Lucas finally cracks a small smile, but it quickly disappears.
"That bad?" Antoine turns his head toward Lucas with a fake, scolding look on his face. "Lucas, you must take care of your wife. You know what they say: happy wife, happy life."
Antoine's voice trails off into a coughing fit, and I can see the concern and worry in Lucas's eyes as he reaches out to steady him. There’s a glass pitcher of water on the table, so I pour Antoine a glass and hand it to Lucas. He helps him take a few sips, gently patting his back to ease the coughing. Antoine eventually recovers and offers us a strained smile. "Did you also get invited to Michel’s brunch?"
Lucas returns to my side. "Unfortunately."
"Remember that Michel is the main reason there’s going to be a vote, meaning that this invitation is to prove something."
We both nod, understanding the gravity of the situation.
"I know," Lucas replies.
"You two will have to play the part there. You can’t act like you are right now. I can see right through you."
I feel a pang of discomfort at his words, wondering if it's really that obvious. Lucas shifts beside me, avoiding any eye contact with Antoine.
Lucas and I exchange a look, silently acknowledging the truth in Antoine's words. We both know what’s at stake, and we can’t afford to let personal issues get in the way.
Antoine continues, "I know it's not easy, but for the sake of the business, we need to present a united front. Michel is a shrewd businessman, and he'll take advantage of any weakness he sees."
Lucas nods in agreement, and I chime in, "We’ll do our best."
Antoine smiles, the warmth returning to his eyes. "I know you will. I have faith in you."
His gaze shifts to Lucas. "And you, my boy, have to prove to everyone that you are worthy of leading this company—that you have what it takes to continue my legacy. Remember, He who is patient, achieves."
Lucas nods determinedly. "I know, Ammo. I won't let you down."
Antoine smiles at us. "Good. Now, let's not dwell on this any longer. We have much to celebrate today. Let's enjoy ourselves."
And with that, the conversation shifts to lighter topics.
We watch as the sun begins to set over the sea, signaling the end of our visit. Antoine hugs me tightly, whispering, "Be patient with Lucas"—he pauses and looks at Lucas, his eyes filled with concern—"he may come across as stubborn, but deep down, he’s a good man."
I nod. We say our goodbyes to Antoine and make our way back to the car.
"Are you okay?" I ask, concerned for him.
Lucas looks at me with a blank expression, "I’m good."
It’s obvious that he’s still upset with me, but I think seeing Antoine this tired made him realize the severity of the situation he’s in.
We’re in .
It makes you realize that small arguments really don’t matter—who says "sorry" first doesn’t matter. I summon the courage to initiate a conversation, attempting to offer an apology.
"So, about yesterday . . ." I start.
"Leora, I’m not in the mood to argue right now." His words cut through me, and a knot forms in my stomach. He looks at me, his eyes stern and black. On any other day, I would shy away from a gaze that harsh. I would feel small and scolded, but not today.
"That’s not what I was trying to do," I reassure him, still trying to reach a hand out.
The darkness in his eyes morphs into weariness, and there’s a small comforting smile on his lips. "Can we talk about it tomorrow?"
"Sure," the whispered word leaves my lips and I turn to look out the window, watching the passing scenery, feeling a pang of regret in my chest. I should have just kept my mouth shut.
The silence is broken only by the soft humming of the car engine and the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears.
He stays like that until we reach his apartment building. The silence is like a blank canvas and I’m waiting for him to fill it with color and purpose.
When we reach the penthouse, not even the fear of the elevator could fill the space. Every unspoken word feels like a weight pressing down on my chest, suffocating me slowly.
"Goodnight, Leora." Lucas breaks the silence, but nothing follows as he walks toward his room and I stand still in the hallway, like the previous evening.
The sound of his door closing makes me jump. It's as if the closing of the door was the punctuation mark on the end of an awkward, and uncomfortable conversation that never happened.
As I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, my mind races with thoughts of what I could have done differently. Maybe if I had just kept quiet, or maybe if I had apologized yesterday . . . But it's all too late now, and I can't shake the fear that this tension will linger for the rest of the year.
The night passes slowly, with the weight on my chest refusing to lift. I toss and turn, unable to find a comfortable position, until finally, the first rays of dawn start to filter through the window.