Chapter Twenty-Seven Ella
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Ella
The bed dips in the middle of the night, and my body locks instantly. I don’t dare move.
For a few long minutes, Gualtiero lies on his side of the bed, his breathing close enough for me to hear the strain in it.
A flicker of what happened at the club flashes through my mind. The way he looked at me. The way he didn’t listen. The way his hand grasped my throat.
My pulse picks up, drumming loudly in my veins.
I feel him shift, turning onto his side and moving closer.
I don’t breathe.
Then his arms slide around my waist, slowly, carefully drawing me against him.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid.
I want to push him away, but I have no idea what mood he’s in. So I lie there, completely still, even as every instinct screams at me to get away.
His grip is loose. Loose enough that I could move if I wanted to.
“I just want to hold you,” he murmurs, his voice threaded with something that almost sounds like regret. Almost.
There’s a pause, like he’s choosing his next words.
“I don’t want you afraid of me.”
Too bloody late for that.
He places a soft kiss on top of my head and whispers, “I love you, angel.”
I want to scoff at that. But the thing is, in my heart of hearts, I know he does.
It doesn’t excuse his behavior, though.
When nothing else happens, my body eases, only a fraction, the tight coil in my muscles loosening despite myself.
His breathing evens out almost immediately. He must be exhausted.
God, why do I even care?
I let out a slow breath and carefully pry myself free from his arms, inch by inch, until there’s space between us.
He might need to hold me, but I need distance. Even a few inches feel like a reprieve.
Maybe I should sleep in the bathtub again.
No, that was too uncomfortable.
So I settle as far away from him as I can, pressing into the edge of the mattress.
To my relief, Gualtiero is gone when I wake up the next morning.
I drag myself out of bed. The temptation to wallow is almost too strong, to curl back under the covers and hide from everything, but I can’t let myself go like that.
I put on my running gear and head out into the garden to go for my first run in years. After only a few minutes, I’m completely out of breath, huffing and puffing like the wolf in the Three Little Pigs, ready to blow down a house.
There’s a reason I don’t do this more often.
This is torture.
I bend over, bracing my hands on my thighs, dragging in lungfuls of air.
Jeez, I’m unfit.
When I’m somewhat recovered, I force myself to keep going for another minute or two before I give up and collapse into a chair on the terrace, sweat dripping down my back.
Mariella steps out when she sees me and hands me a towel and a bottle of water.
“Thank you,” I say, grateful for her thoughtfulness.
Despite my hatred of running, I have to admit I feel better. The despair and heaviness from last night have loosened their grip, at least for now.
Noise from behind me pulls my attention. I turn, and for a split second, I don’t process what I’m seeing.
A tiny black Labrador barrels straight for me, and a surprised laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it. I drop into a crouch just as he reaches me, launching himself into my lap, tail wagging so hard his whole body wiggles.
Oh my gosh.
He’s so cute, with the lightest blue eyes I’ve ever seen on a dog. I rub his tummy eagerly, earning a flood of slobbery licks, and laughter bubbles up out of me, uncontrollable and bright.
I’ve missed having dogs around me.
“Hello, little darling,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears. “Aren’t you the most gorgeous little thing? Have you got a name?” I search his collar, but there’s no tag.
“Not yet. You get to name him,” Gualtiero says, stepping up beside me.
For a brief moment, my joy falters. I don’t want to see him or be anywhere near him.
My gaze goes back to the dog. The timing is no coincidence after last night.
A gift… his way to smooth things over without ever having to acknowledge what happened.
And of course, he knows exactly what I like.
I sit down on the tiles with the puppy still in my arms and turn toward him, only to be knocked over by two more little Labradors jumping on me.
Little tongues lick at my face and hands, and I laugh so hard my stomach hurts.
Any lingering resistance to what I assume is Gualtiero’s apology dissolves under the onslaught of pure, chaotic joy.
Tiero steps in and pulls the little white pup off me, only to receive the same enthusiastic treatment of slobbery kisses.
“Oh Tiero, these puppies are so cute,” I say, clutching the third one, a dark-brown pup with the same striking blue eyes.
“I thought you might like their company. And they can certainly do with training,” he says, his tone casual, almost offhand, as if this isn’t a carefully chosen gesture.
As if this isn’t exactly what I needed. And I hate that it works.
My eyes are shining as I wrestle with the wriggling bodies. “Thank you. I’ve missed playing with dogs.”
“Well, these are yours. You can train them and give them to blind people, or you can keep them. Whatever you like.”
Right now, I feel like keeping them. It will be so much fun training them, teaching them tricks, having something that feels like mine again.
And just like that, my whole outlook lifts.
“What will you call them?” Tiero asks, watching me, his expression soft and pleased.
“Hmm, good question.”
I pull the black puppy closer and check the gender. “You’re a cute little boy, aren’t you?” I say, rubbing his tummy. “I think I’ll call you Oreo. And the others will be Milk and Brownie.” I giggle, my sweet tooth serving as inspiration.
“Milk?” Tiero questions, one brow lifting.
“Yep. Milk goes perfectly with Oreos and brownies,” I tell him.
Tiero looks amused. “Okay. Oreo, Milk, and Brownie it is.”
I bury my face in Oreo’s soft fur, letting his warmth and puppy smell ground me.
Just for a moment, I let myself enjoy this.
Even if I know exactly why it’s happening.
It’s early afternoon, and I’ve had a good day with my new puppies. They’re lying in a large basket beside me, fast asleep, their little bodies rising and falling in unison.
Mariella appears in the doorway carrying a tray with afternoon tea. The smell of freshly baked cannoli reaches my nose, and my mouth waters. At this rate, I’ll be twenty pounds heavier if I keep eating everything that’s put in front of me.
“Why don’t you have a seat, Mariella? I’d love some company,” I invite her.
Uncertain what to do, she glances around nervously. I really want her to stay, to get to know her better.
“You’re the only girl I’ve seen here… well, except for Oriana, but she’s more like the guys, so she doesn’t count.”
That makes her smile, and after one last glance behind her, she sits down.
Refreshments are laid out across the table. I get up to pour us each a cup of tea, handing one to her and nudging the sugar bowl closer.
“How long have you worked here?” I ask.
“Hmm… not long, Miss. I only start two weeks ago,” she replies shyly.
My ears prick up. That’s interesting. Right around the time Gualtiero and I met.
“Please call me Ella,” I say with a smile. “It makes me feel old otherwise.”
“Umm… I’m not sure, Miss,” she mutters in her heavily accented English.
“Well, then at least call me Ella when it’s just you and me. Would that be okay?”
Mariella nods reluctantly and takes a careful sip of her tea.
“I don’t mean to pry, but how did you get to work here? You’re so young. I’d expect someone your age to be at university.”
Her face falls, and I instantly regret asking.
Mariella sighs. “I love fashion design. My sister, Isabella, and me, we love dresses. But Father says no. He have other plans for us. He works for Signor De Marco. That’s how I get job.”
“Fashion design? You’d get along well with my best friend, Rhia. She loves fashion, especially shoes. She has the largest shoe collection of anyone I know. She’d go green with envy if she could see what’s in the closet upstairs. Did you pick out all those lovely things?”
“No,” she says wistfully. “Signor De Marco, he has someone. I do unpacking and organizing.”
“Well, you did a marvelous job. Thank you, Mariella.” She nods, pleased. “Which one is your favorite piece?”
Her eyes light up. “The Versace silk scarf with baroque flower print. The silk is so fine… and the colors, they are very bright.”
I love the way she speaks English, and her accent is so endearing. I have no idea which scarf she’s talking about. I barely paid attention to any of the accessories in my wardrobe.
Seeing Mariella’s enthusiasm, I make a mental note to appreciate things more. And to give her that scarf. She’d treasure it far more than I ever would.
God knows what will happen to any of it when I’m gone.
“Why won’t your father let you study?” I ask, taking a bite of cannoli. Yum. Whoever made these deserves a medal.
Mariella’s expression dims instantly. “My father, he is traditional man. Five daughters. He always want son for his business. Now he look for husband for me and my sisters. He find one for me. I don’t know who.”
My eyes widen. “Is he forcing you into an arranged marriage? You don’t get a say at all?”
Mariella shakes her head. “No. I must marry who Father choose.”
I don’t get the impression her father is thinking about her happiness. This is probably purely for his own agenda.
What world have I stepped into?
A world where women are currency. Where they’re expected to be obedient, compliant, useful.
Jeez, Gualtiero’s world seems stuck in the eighteenth century.
“I’m sorry, Mariella. Is there no way out for you?”
Her shoulders slump. “My father… he disown me.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
If I were her, I think I’d take that risk.
Fending for yourself can’t be worse than marrying someone you don’t love and being trapped in this life. Her future husband is probably some middle-aged, balding man with a pastry belly.
She lowers her gaze and says, “La famiglia is everything. Born in it, die in it.”
Where have I heard that before?
Gualtiero, of course.
It seems to be a rule in this world.
“Father never let me walk away. He ruin me first,” Mariella adds quietly.
I blink rapidly, trying to process what she’s just said. I grew up in a family that supported whatever I wanted to do.
This is something else entirely, where parents use their children like pieces on a chessboard.
“Mariella, I hate the idea that you have to marry someone your father chose,” I tell her. “If you decide you don’t want to do that, I’ll help you any way I can.”
It’s a bold promise, considering I’m a prisoner here myself, with no real power and no clear future.
But I mean it. I’d find a way to get her out.
A noise by the terrace door startles us both. We turn at the same time as Mateo steps outside.
Mariella immediately jumps to her feet. She blushes furiously when she sees him, lowering her gaze to the floor. With a quick, respectful nod, she hurries off.
Mateo has been at the house all day, checking in on me now and then. I hadn’t seen him since that first dinner, yet he greeted me like I’m family and his brother kidnapping me never happened.
Now, though, something is off.
His usual charm is gone, and he seems distracted.
“Ella, have you heard from Tiero?”