CHAPTER 20 JARED
Present day
Something undefined pulls me out of my nap. A sound or a rustle. I sit up in my nest and look around. I feel this urge to get out of it, as if my legs are itching to move. My heat is coming to an end, I guess.
I hesitate for a moment, unsure what to do, but I have to leave the room. That's certain.
The hallway is quiet, and I can hear muffled voices coming from downstairs. Maybe someone is in the living room, but a strip of light catches my attention.
Gianni's door is slightly ajar, as though he forgot to pull it shut. I move closer and hear a sound that almost resembles a cry.
I peek inside and see him sitting at his desk, his elbows resting on the surface, his hands pressed against his face.
Maybe I should back off. This is an intimate moment, after all, and I barely know him. But on a sudden, crazy impulse, I step inside.
Gianni jerks his head up, embarrassment flashing across his face for a moment, and his eyes are slightly wet.
"What do you want?" he says, almost rudely, his voice hoarse, but there's pain written all over his face.
"I'm sorry. I was just walking by your room. Is there anything I can do to help?" I whisper because I don't know what else to say, still standing awkwardly in the doorway.
"You can't help me unless you're willing to give me some of your beauty, health, and youth."
There's so much bitterness in his words, as though they're made of it, every letter woven from pain.
"You think being beautiful solves everything? I've been hurt because of it many times," I reply with almost the same bitterness.
Gianni's tearful eyes study me for a moment.
"And yet… I'd like to be someone like you, even for a little while. Someone as impossibly beautiful as only elves can be."
I wince because, somehow, his words hurt. I can't find the strange elf's compliment flattering; all I can sense is his energy, painfully twisted.
"But when the wrong people set their sights on you, then you become an object to acquire. And the greater your beauty, the higher the price on your head…"
Skepticism flickers in Gianni's eyes.
"Being unattractive doesn't mean bad things won't happen to you. My life is proof of that!" he fires back almost fiercely, clenching his hands into fists.
Behind the lenses of his glasses, his eyes glisten with moisture and anguish. He leans slightly toward me and begins speaking in a lowered voice.
"You know… I was basically forced to marry Tomasso, a good-for-nothing scoundrel. After my first heat, he forced me to have sex during recovery."
Still slightly shocked by this deeply personal revelation, I remain standing in the doorway, but it feels somehow awkward to just stand there while he's talking about such heavy things. Gianni must notice my discomfort because he gestures for me to come inside.
His large eyes, magnified by his thick glasses, stare at me as I perch on the edge of the bed, where I notice a tiny nest, one he could probably fit into only if he curled himself up tightly.
"I went into shock," he says somberly, "I was having seizures, and they took me to the hospital.
My reproductive system was inflamed, and it took a long time to treat it.
The consequences were devastating. When my next heat finally came, it turned out to be infertile.
Then another, then another, and I still didn't get pregnant. "
I blink as I suddenly realize why Gianni reacted so strongly when he saw Mauro and me kissing in the hallway while I was still in recovery.
I've heard about the dangerous side effects of heat recovery sex, but I've never known anyone who had them this severe. I feel silly for being so upset with the situation.
"Tomasso was furious, the beatings started, and then even—" Gianni abruptly cuts himself off.
He nervously tangles his fingers in his hair and tugs at it compulsively.
"Sorry. I won't bore you with my story. The point is, maybe you've had a hard time, but at least you have your looks, a kid, and someone who wants you…
so badly. I have nothing. No looks and… no one. No prospects whatsoever."
These confessions are hard to hear, and I swallow, struggling against the paralysis that takes hold of me whenever difficult conversations come up. But I'm making an effort to act like a human being. Gianni is part of this family. I feel terrible for him, so I reach out and squeeze his small hand.
"I’m sorry. I really wish your life could change for the better. Listen… I know a man named Storm, who helps people find their fated mates—"
Gianni's eyes suddenly grow wary, and he quickly looks away.
"I… I'm not ready!" he blurts out, but I know he reads articles about people who found their True Mates, so what's that about?
But Gianni nervously picks at his sleeve. "I wouldn't have anything to offer someone like that."
I huff. "I think you're very wrong. To your True Mate, you'd be the whole world," I say firmly.
Gianni stares down at his hands, frowning.
"I’m far from pretty, and I’m thirty-four. He’d be better off without me."
I bite my lip slightly, hesitating over the next offer, but finally say, "The thing is…
I know quite a bit about makeup. I used to post a lot of tutorial videos on my Instagram showing different kinds of makeup.
A lot of it was, you know, dramatic, glam makeup looks, but I also know how to do softer makeup that's better suited for more low-key types of beauty. "
"That's a pretty way of saying I'm average," Gianni says bitterly.
"Oh, no. That's not what I meant. It's just that not everyone looks good in heavy makeup. Would you want to try it? I could give you a little glow-up if you want."
Gianni presses his lips together again, this time even more tightly, and I can see him struggling with himself.
"If you're willing to spend your time on someone like me," he adds almost coldly.
I snort indignantly. "You're perfect for an easy glow-up. Personally, I think you're an attractive omega. I just think you've lost faith that anyone could actually see it."
He sighs. "All right. If you want, you can try."
I rub my hands together excitedly. "Let me go get my makeup bag. We'll see what I've got."
A little while later, I return with my head already full of ideas for making Gianni feel a little better, a little more confident.
I start by brushing out his messy hair and gently shaping his natural curls with a little spray, coaxing them into soft curls around his face.
Gianni sits there with his cheeks slightly flushed, as though he's embarrassed that someone is taking care of him.
Maybe no one has ever done anything like this for him before.
I apply a very light foundation, a touch of dark brown eyeliner and mascara to emphasize his naturally long lashes, then lightly shape his overgrown brows.
Finally, I add a soft peachy-pink gloss to his lips.
They're naturally full and nicely shaped; Gianni just has a habit of pressing them into a thin line.
Suddenly, I feel someone's gaze on me.
I turn and see Mauro standing in the doorway, staring at me.
My heart immediately starts to go boom-boom as our eyes meet.
Gianni immediately turns bright red, seemingly embarrassed.
He makes several signs toward Mauro, and there is something almost apologetic in the energy coming off him.
Mauro signs a few things back, but I don't sense any anger from him. If anything, Gianni seems to be the one having an unnecessarily panicked reaction.
I decide to speak up. Why not? They could keep signing to each other forever, and I want my part in the conversation.
"I gave Gianni a little glow-up. What do you think?"
I turn Gianni’s chair slightly toward Mauro, but he isn't looking at Gianni.
He keeps looking at me.
Gianni, meanwhile, glances at himself in the mirror and blinks in surprise.
For a moment, he just stares at his reflection with his mouth hanging open.
I think he looks good. His features are only enhanced; the makeup doesn't replace any of his natural qualities.
And then… without thinking, I add, "I'm also trying to convince Gianni to contact Storm, the matchmaker I know. Maybe he could help him find his—"
"No!" Gianni suddenly blurts out. He abruptly stands up, moving away from my hands.
"I… really appreciate everything you're doing for me, Jared," he says, casting another glance at himself in the mirror.
"I look really different because of you, but…
that's not me." His lips curl into something that looks dangerously close to tears, and he gestures toward his face.
"This. This is your world, Jared. Beauty and glowing up, men, flashes, excitement, millions of likes…
That's simply not me," Gianni whispers, taking one step back, then another. "I'm sorry."
He suddenly turns and runs out of the room, raking his hands through the curls I'd just carefully arranged.
I sigh deeply and look at Mauro.
"Ugh… maybe I was being a little pushy… I only wanted to show him how he could maybe—"
Mauro shakes his head, then pulls out his phone and types a few sentences.
"That was so kind of you, I really appreciate it. Sadly, my granddad has been trying for the past four years, ever since Tomasso died, to get him to date, but nothing ever came of it. Gianni is too closed off."
"He told me what happened to him in the past." I swallow hard. "I still believe Gianni has a chance. There are good alphas out there."
Mauro slowly approaches me until he's standing so close I can pick up every nuance of his scent: his aftershave, shower gel, shampoo, even the smell of laundry detergent clinging to his clothes. Still, the only thing I can't detect is his… Allure. Why?
Mauro types another message on his phone.
"You have a good heart, Jared. You have no idea how much it means to me that you tried to befriend him.
He needs the presence of another younger omega in this house.
My granddad and Uncle Emilio haven't been very successful at getting him out of his shell.
Maybe you could do it if you decide to stay here? "
Silence falls. Mauro and I stand facing each other.
If you decide to stay…
That part is crucial. It practically resonates between us in the air.
Mauro takes the last small half-step toward me. His eyes are glowing with intensity. I can almost physically read his wishes in them.
He wants me. He needs me to stay…
His breath brushes against my face, and the air immediately seems to grow more charged, sweeter, filled with magic.
Mauro moves first. He slowly raises his hand and, in a gentle gesture, brushes a strand of hair away from my face. His fingers slide along my cheekbone, and I close my eyes, letting him indulge in that featherlight touch.
His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth and the tip of my chin, then drifts lightly down to my Adam's apple, while his index finger, with the same impossibly gentle touch, strokes the edge of my nape gland, visible above the collar of my shirt.
My breathing quickens immediately. Almost instinctively, I tilt my head to the side, wanting this, wanting him to do more, wanting to feel that shiver. My blood pressure and pulse both climb.
Mauro takes the final half-step toward me, closing the distance until our stomachs and lower abdomens lightly bump against each other.
I tilt my head farther to the side, giving him a clear signal of what I want, because I desperately need more of that tingling, magical touch on my gland, a place that has rarely been touched because it's deeply intimate and part of the sexual language between people who are very close.
For some reason, I want Mauro to follow that impulse, to walk that delicate line between intimacy, tenderness, and a sweet caress.
It was… what the fae gave me.
He seems to understand it, leans toward me unhurriedly; his scent and warm energy surround me. I feel the soft touch of his lips as he presses a kiss to my gland, and I gasp because the sensation shoots through me with such a powerful shiver that my fingers instinctively tighten around his elbows.
His skin burns beneath my touch, my hand slides down to his… tattoo, tracing the letters, and I feel the faintest, barely perceptible tension in his forearm.
Mauro lifts his head, and our eyes meet.
His pupils are dilated.
"Is this about me?" I whisper.
"Are you two coming? Dinner's about to start!" Veyron says casually from the doorway.
I sigh. Fate seems determined to interrupt me at the most interesting moments.
As we leave, my eyes drift toward Mauro’s tattoo one more time.
Secrets, secrets. They have to come to an end, because I simply can't take this much longer. Period.