Chapter 7 #2
Her words slam into me like a punch to the gut. For a second, I can't breathe.
I sit there, frozen, my mind racing—too many questions, too many gaps, too much I never knew.
Before I can speak, she stands—graceful, calm, but every move precise, controlled. Her storm hidden beneath a flawless facade.
She walks past me without a glance, heading straight for the door where her colleagues are gathering to leave.
I manage to push myself up, my voice low, almost a growl.
“This isn’t over, Della.”
She pauses, glancing over her shoulder, her face unreadable—but her eyes?
Her eyes are ice.
“I think it is, Dorian.” she says, her voice like steel.
And just like that, she’s gone.
* * *
Della
I step outside, the sharp spring air hitting my skin like a slap. The city feels louder now—too bright, too close. My pulse is still racing, my hands clenched tight around the strap of my bag as I walk away from Rossi Trattoria—away from him.
Greg and Adriana are laughing softly beside me, still caught up in the waiter’s jokes, unaware—or pretending not to notice—the storm I’m carrying inside.
I keep my face calm, my steps even, matching their pace as we head back toward the office.
But inside, I’m burning.
Every step feels heavier, my chest tight with everything I can’t say.
“Quite the unexpected guest,” Greg remarks lightly after a few minutes of walking. His tone is casual, but curiosity threads beneath it.
I glance at him, arching a brow, my voice even.
“Just someone I met during my academic year,” I reply smoothly, keeping my gaze ahead.
He hums, a note of skepticism in it.
“Well… not just someone. Dorian Marshall—Chicago’s bachelor of the year.”
His smile is thin, but he lets it drop there, not pressing further.
Adriana, however, studies me more closely—her steps slowing just a little to fall in line with mine.
“You sure you’re, okay?” she asks softly, her voice quieter, more personal. “Was that… the dark angel from the club?”
Her words hit harder than I expect.
I force a small smile, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I’m fine,” I lie, keeping my voice light. “Just… old history.”
But Adriana doesn’t look convinced. Her eyes linger on me for a second longer, as if she can see straight through the walls I’ve built.
I don’t give her the chance to ask more.
By the time we reach the office, I’ve locked everything back into place. I bury myself in work—campaign briefs, proposals, reports. Numbers are easier than feelings. Deadlines easier than ghosts.
By late afternoon, my tasks are done ahead of schedule. I close my laptop, gather my things. Adriana stretches, glancing up.
“Ready to call it a day?”
“Yeah,” I murmur.
We head out together. Greg barely waves from another call. The evening air is cooler, softer as we step into the street. At the corner, Adriana pauses, phone in hand.
“I’ll grab an Uber to the hotel. You coming?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. I need some fresh air.”
She nods, understanding, and I turn toward the lakefront.
I need this walk.
More than I’d admit.
* * *
The streets hum softly in the early evening, the city buzzing but distant—like background noise I can almost ignore.
I walk aimlessly until Buckingham Fountain comes into view, its arcs of water glowing under the setting sun. A faint rainbow shimmers in the mist—brief, delicate, almost unreal.
I’ve always loved this place.
Maybe because it reminded me of a picture from an old album I had as a child—its cover worn, the fountain framed by The Red skyscraper and the distant John Hancock building. I didn’t know where that picture was back then. But when I first saw it in person, it felt like a sign.
Like I was meant to end up here.
Now, sitting on a bench, letting the breeze cool my skin, all I feel is the weight of him.
I can’t escape Dorian.
His words echo in my chest.
“It reminded me of you… dancing, laughing… loving me.”
I grit my teeth, shaking my head.
Why now? Why does he care?
He let Leah crawl back into his life. He broke the promises we made. He never came back for me.
And yet here he is—acting like he has any right to ask questions, to pry into wounds he helped carve open.
I’ve worked so hard to lock everything away—every memory, every scar, every foolish hope that once burned too bright. To not wait for him anymore – every holiday, every birthday, every night when the nightmare was too much to bear.
I can’t let him in again.
If I let myself hope… I won’t survive a second time.
A laugh pulls me back. I look up and see a bride twirling, her white dress swirling, her veil catching the wind.
The photographer calls out soft directions as she lifts her skirts, laughing when the fountain’s spray brushes her.
And just like that, it hits me.
The memory crashes in—sharp, sudden, uninvited.
* * *
We were driving down the highway, the wind tearing through the open windows, the air thick with summer heat. One of my favorite Latin songs blasted from the speakers, and I was half-singing, half-translating the lyrics for him, laughing as I did.
“Goddess of Goddesses…” I translated with dramatic flair, grinning.
“Tell me how I can dazzle you.
I don't have pearls or rubies.
I would give you the Universe…
I only have dreams…”
I shot him a teasing glance as I sang the next part, laughter bubbling up in my chest.
“I want to show myself to you.
Naked…
Discovering my soul to you.
Naked.”
I gestured playfully, laughing through the words.
He glanced at me, eyes dark with mischief, heat sparking there.
“Naked, huh?” His voice was low, rough around the edges, full of that familiar hunger. “That’s what it takes to dazzle you?”
I burst out laughing, unable to help myself.
“Naked is definitely your best look.” I teased back, breathless from laughter, but my skin tingling under his look. “I’ll take it anytime.”
“Is that so, goddess of goddesses?” His gaze lingered on me, voice dripping with heat. “Anytime?”
We laughed together, loud and carefree, but there was something else in the air too—something crackling and electric, coiled beneath our smiles.
His hand was resting on my thigh, warm, steady, grounding me even as everything inside me felt like it was floating. His other hand gripped the wheel, knuckles flexing every now and then.
I remember the way he watched me then—like I was the only thing that existed in the entire world.
Later, we stopped by the lake.
He’d packed a picnic—strawberries, wine, crackers and that ridiculous blue cheese I could never pronounce but secretly adored.
The sun was low, casting everything in that soft, golden haze that makes everything feel like a dream.
We found a quiet spot, away from everyone, just the two of us, with only the sound of the waves and our laughter drifting through the air.
We sat on the blanket, and he pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me from behind—strong, protective, familiar.
I remember the way his breath brushed against my neck as he tucked my hair aside, the softness of his lips pressing against my skin in a kiss that sent shivers down my spine.
Then his voice, low and a little shaky, but determined.
“Close your eyes.”
I obeyed, heart pounding.
“Now open.”
His voice was rough, almost strained.
When I opened my eyes, there it was—a small velvet box resting in his palm.
Inside, a ring—a simple gold band with a small stone, modest but beautiful. Barely more than a whisper of a promise.
My breath caught. My hands trembled as I touched it, as I looked at him.
But what truly stole my breath wasn’t the ring itself.
It was the engraving inside.
I love you.
Nothing else. Just those words—simple, honest.
He turned me to face him, cupping my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had already begun to fall.
His eyes locked into mine—steady, burning, as if he could see every part of me.
“Will you be mine forever, Della?” he asked, his voice low, thick with emotion.
My heart exploded in a thousand pieces. I could barely speak, tears clouding my vision as I whispered back.
“Always and forever.”
He smiled then—soft, relieved, almost boyish—and pressed his forehead against mine.
“I’ll come for you,” he whispered, his breath warm against my lips. “Finish your studies and I’ll come to get you. We’ll get married. Build our life together… I’ll give you the Universe, Goddess.”
And, I believed him.
* * *
I blink hard, swallowing the lump in my throat.
The bride’s laughter echoes—bright, innocent, untouched by time.
I wonder what she’ll remember in five years. If she’ll still believe in forever.
A tear slips down my cheek before I even realize I’m crying.
Not for him.
For everything we never lived.
For everything we could have been.
I stand, wiping my face, chest tight, steps heavy.
Some things are better left buried.