CHAPTER 21
ROXANNE
It was a video call from my daughter. I answered, walking towards the parapet overlooking the sea.
Her voice was bright, bubbling with excitement. And mine tried to match it. But beneath the smile, something inside me was already bracing for loss—grief sitting under my ribs like a stone. I wasn’t ready to leave. Not when my chest already felt like it was cracking open.
“Mumma, you’re coming home the day after! I’ll be there to receive you at the airport.”
I smiled, my heart tugging.
“I can’t wait to see you too, baby,” I said, even though part of me wasn’t ready to leave.
We spoke for a while, my hands moving in animated gestures, mirroring her energy. I caught Marcello watching me between exchanges with Antonio. Not just watching—studying. Like he was trying to understand the part of me I hadn’t shown him.
The mother. The woman who belonged to someone else. I saw something flicker in his eyes—fear, maybe. Or recognition that I wasn’t entirely his to want. And maybe, the woman he was already losing.
As I hung up, our eyes met, an exchange of quiet smiles. Of knowing. And the kind of quiet understanding that felt dangerous.
My phone buzzed again. My husband. I frowned as I answered, turning away so Marcello wouldn’t see the irritation on my face. His voice didn’t soothe me anymore—it scraped.
“It’s not a good time...” I began.
He interrupted me,
“Please, Roxy. I miss you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I want to fix things. I can be the man you need. We’ll get through this. We always do.”
I didn’t know what to say. I stared out at the sea, the waves crashing below in a rhythm I couldn’t follow. My mind went blank, my throat burning like the words were clawing their way out. I wanted to cry, wanted to scream, wanted to curse the universe for playing this nasty trick on me.
I was angry at myself for putting up with this sham of a marriage for so long—and now, being stuck in this mess.
Marcello came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist.
“Is everything okay?” he asked as he kissed my shoulder.
I took in his scent; it somehow calmed the storm in my mind. I turned, trying to find the courage to tell him the truth—the whole truth.
“Marcello… I have to tell you something.”
Before I could continue, he held out a blue velvet box and opened it. Inside was the emerald necklace—the one from the auction. I froze.
“How?” I asked, the world tilting a little under my feet.
“You wanted it, I got it for you,” he said simply.
“But Isabella—she won it.”
“Everything has a price,” he said, kissing my temple.
I looked down at the necklace, its green glint catching the light. It had the same impossible intensity as his eyes—sharp, rare, like sea glass caught in sunlight. The kind of green that lingered in memory.
He watched me with that unblinking intensity he rarely revealed. As if my reaction mattered more than it should. As if the necklace was less a gift and more a claim.
“I couldn’t,” I whispered, biting my lip, tears welling up in me.
“It’s too…” My words wouldn’t come.
He just watched me.
“Not more precious than you.”
“I have a daughter—I can’t,” I blurted without thinking.
“I learnt that yesterday,” he said. “It changes nothing.”
He said it like a fact. His voice softened—unexpected, almost tender. A rare ease settled over his features, like something in him had finally unclenched. Like he was letting me in without realising it. Like gravity. Like I already belonged to him.
My heartbeat stuttered violently. The words clawed their way out of me before I could stop them.
“I…” I swallowed, trembling.
“I have a husband.”
The words hung in the air like smoke. The quiet between us suddenly felt sharp enough to cut. Marcello went completely still. Not stiff—still. Like every thought in him had frozen at once.
His eyes didn’t widen; they darkened, slow and deliberate, as if a switch had been flipped inside him. It wasn’t the darkness of rage—it was the darkness of a man blindsided, whose control fractured at the seams. Like someone had switched something off inside him.
His eyes fixed on mine like he was waiting for me to take the words back or offer a logical explanation.
When he finally spoke, his voice was dangerously low.
“A husband,” he repeated, the word quiet—too quiet.
He said it like something filthy.
Tears had already started to roll down my cheeks.
His hands were now at my arms, increasing his grip on me with each word.
He stepped closer, not even realising he had.
His breath came sharp through his nose, the kind that sounded like he was holding something dangerous back.
His expression changed before I could speak—a slow, hardening disbelief.
A betrayal cutting across his features like a shadow.
“So this entire time…” he murmured. “You let me—”
He blew out an angry breath. “You lied.”
He looked away for a single fractured second—as if he didn’t, he might break something. Or someone. When his gaze returned, it was colder.
“I didn’t lie,” I said, voice trembling, between sobs.
My knees threatened to give way. I felt small—shrunken—like a child caught stealing.
“I never told you the truth. I didn’t know how.”
“That’s as good as lying,” he snapped. “You kept me in the dark. You lied.”
“I told you about me and you… You cheated. Made me look like a fool. You made me…”
He stopped mid-sentence, grunting.
“I’ve been wanting to tell you. About me. All of me. Please let me explain.”
His words stung—like a hundred needles pressed into my skin, all at once. Rage rose in his eyes, his jaw tight, lips pressed into a hard line as he let out a distasteful hiss.
I instinctively reached out to touch his cheek.
“Don’t,” he said, swatting it away. “Don’t touch me.”
His voice cracked—just a hairline fracture—but it was enough to show the pain beneath the fury. The rejection burned hotter than any slap could’ve. For a moment, I thought he might let his anger slip into something brutal. Then he turned and started to walk away.
“Marcello, wait,” I called out. “Please. Hear me out.”
He hesitated, walking—shoulders rigid, breath uneven.
“Keep it, or throw the damn necklace into the sea for all I care,” he said, voice breaking as he stormed off.
I stood there, clutching the box to my chest, crying.
Something inside me split open—clean, silent, catastrophic.
Panic rose like a tide and I couldn’t breathe.
The world thinned around the edges. My vision blurred, knees buckling as a strange ringing filled my ears, drowning out the world.
My body gave out before my heart could. And just before everything went black, I heard Antonio’s voice—faint, urgent—calling my name.
I woke to muffled voices outside the room.
It was already dark. I’d slept through the day. My head was pounding, and my chest ached as I sat up on the bed.
This was my last day in Sicily. My room still smelled like him. Stronger than it should have. Like he had stood there long after I’d passed out—watching, breathing me in, unable to walk away even when he already had.
The velvet box sat untouched on the nightstand, its presence heavy.
I rose slowly, steadying my steps, and began emptying the closet—folding clothes, packing methodically, even though my flight wasn’t until the next evening. I needed something to do. Anything to keep my hands from shaking. Something that didn’t feel like drowning.
I undressed and stepped into the cold shower, hoping it would numb the pain. But it only made it sharper. I scrubbed until it stung.
Until my skin turned red. Until it hurt more than my heart. But the guilt clung to me like steam. I had ruined something pure and rare. With my own hands.
I cried into the water, hoping it would drown the sound.
I slipped back into my pyjamas and crawled back into bed, eyes fixed on the box in the dark.
Food lay untouched on the nightstand. I didn’t have it in me to stomach anything.
My body felt heavy, like it didn’t belong to me anymore.
Sleep came, not as rest, but as surrender.
Bright light pierced my eyes. I blinked against it, disoriented.
My last day in Italy. Marcello hadn’t come—not once. Hadn’t spoken to me since the truth unravelled.
My chest felt carved out. And I was furious with myself for being so stupid, so naive. To believe someone could want me—this fat, messy, complicated woman with too many scars and not enough grace.
I found a notepad and began writing. I couldn’t leave without letting Marcello know, even if it meant he wouldn’t read it. Even if it meant he would burn the damn letter.
I wrote like I was confessing to God. Like I was begging for forgiveness from someone who might never forgive me. Explaining myself, how I felt. How I feel—for him. A memory of his laugh surfaced, slicing through me.
I stepped out and headed to the study. I knew he’d be there. Martin stood outside the door, blocking my way.
“I need to see Marcello,” I said.
“He’s in a meeting,” Martin replied. “He’s not here.”
I knew he was lying. His scent still lingered in the hallway like a bruise. I pushed Martin aside and knocked on the door. Antonio opened the door. Sighing.
“Now is not the right time, Roxanne,” he said, his voice heavy with concern.
I could see he hadn’t slept, and was certain neither did Marcello. Marcello stood inside, facing the window—back turned, shoulders tense. At the sound of my voice, his shoulders twitched enough to betray he’d heard me. He didn’t turn. His fist tightened against the glass, the knuckles whitening.
I spoke loud enough for him to hear.
“I’m leaving. I just came to say goodbye.”
“Your flight isn’t until evening. You can stay…”
I didn’t let him finish. I could feel tears rolling down my face.
“I can’t. It hurts too much.”
Marcello’s shoulders jerked—barely—but enough to reveal pain slicing through the cracks of his composure. Antonio stepped forward, pulling me into a hug.
“Give him time,” he whispered.
“It’s too late for that.”
I pulled away, smiling through tears.
“It was lovely knowing you and your family. Say goodbye to Alessia, and kiss the kids for me.”
I turned to look at Marcello.
“These were the best days of my life. I’ve never felt so alive.”
His hand pressed harder into the glass, the tendons in his wrist standing out like he was holding himself together by force.
He was right there, and somehow already gone. My eyes stayed on him as I walked towards the coffee table—waiting. Hoping he’d turn.
I spoke directly to him.
“Thank you for the necklace. But I can’t accept something that reminds me I cheated. That I’m a liar—the villain in your story.”
I couldn’t carry a piece of him home like a thief. I placed the velvet box on the table, then the letter beneath it.
I waited just a second longer in case he turned. Just in case he said my name. But he didn’t. And that silence was louder than any goodbye.
“I hope we meet again in this lifetime,” I said quietly, looking at Antonio as his eyes softened. Antonio nodded, then signalled Martin.
“Drop her off at the airport.”
As the door shut, I could see Marcello just standing there, staring into nothingness. He didn’t move. But the air around him tightened, like something in him had crumbled in silence.
I walked away quietly, head low and heart heavy. I saw Santino leaning near the car, opening the door for me.
“You take care,” he said with a sad smile.
There was something in his eyes—like he knew I wouldn’t recover from this easily.
“Thank you,” I replied as I squeezed his hand, my palm trembling against his.
I looked up at the window where Marcello stood. I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was watching from behind the curtain, tucked between stone and silence. I knew he saw me. I raised my fingers to my lips and blew out a kiss—my silent goodbye.
As the car pulled away, the image of the resort faded from view. I broke down completely as Martin watched me quietly from the rearview mirror. It felt as though I was leaving my own heartbeat behind on that cliff.