Page 33 of Temptation

By the time the twins are tucked into bed, Fabrizio is still nowhere to be seen.

Stepping outside onto the porch, I am greeted by the sight of Oliver and Vance standing a few feet away, engrossed in a quiet conversation while sharing a cigarette. The moment they notice me, they pause. Oliver barely looks at me, but Vance’s lips curl into a tiny, almost imperceptible smile. It is as if one of my watchdogs is finally starting to warm up to me. Not that I actually care. I step closer to them, deciding to break the silence. “The children are in bed and fast asleep,” I inform them. “If you need me, I’ll be just a few feet away.” I point to the beach before turning away, not waiting for their approval or response. As I walk away, I can feel their eyes on my back.

I make my way down the beach, savoring the gentle caress of the sand between my toes. The blanket I had used earlier in theafternoon is still there, undisturbed. I let myself sink down onto it, feeling the weight of the day slowly lift off my shoulders.

Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath, allowing the soothing sounds of the sea to envelop me. The rhythmic crashing of the waves against the shore, mingled with the salty tang of the humid air, creates a symphony that is balm for the soul. The refreshing breeze blows gently against my face, carrying with it the scent of the ocean.

The familiar smells, the calming sounds, and the simple joy of being here put me in a relaxed mood.

For the first time since Fabrizio Moretti had walked into my classroom, I felt somewhat at ease.

Inhaling deeply, I let the pleasant sensations wash over me, penetrating every cell of my body.

Eighteen

Sienna

The night’s fresh air is infused with a fragrant blend of sandalwood and musk, creating an intoxicating ambiance as I hear the soft crunch of footsteps in the sand behind me. The sound grows closer, and a moment later, Fabrizio appears, settling down beside me.

Between us, he places an elegant, expensive-looking bottle of wine and two crystal glasses, their surfaces catching the moonlight. A smile tugs at my lips as I recognize the label: Chateau Margaux. The name alone evokes memories of opulence and refined taste. Fabrizio catches my expression and offers a rare half-smile. “I brought a case since I figured you enjoy this one especially,” he says.

“Thank you,” I reply, my words sincere. I watch him from the corner of my eye as he expertly opens the bottle, his movements practiced and precise, and pours me a glass.

He’s changed into casual attire—shorts and a shirt that clings to his muscular frame. ”This place is beautiful,” I say, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us. The house stands as a testament to elegance and tranquility, its presence almost surreal under the starlit sky.

“I bought the house for my wife as a wedding gift,” Fabrizio begins, his voice tinged with melancholy. “Yet we were here only once since the twins were born. But it was special to her.” His words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken emotions.

“Is that why you wanted to come here?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

Fabrizio chuckles, but there’s a darkness to it, a shadow of pain. “No, definitely not. But no one knows about the property. It’s still in her name…”

I take a deep breath, staring into my glass of wine, contemplating the gravity of the moment and the glimpse of himself that he just shared. “I can’t even start to imagine the pain you went through when you lost your wife. But from my point of view, you still haveeverything. Forget the properties, the money, and God knows what else,” I pause, allowing my words to sink in. “ You've got a family, two wonderful kids. Don't mess that up. Don't give your children a reason to resent you in the future just because you couldn't find a way to keep living your life.”

I brace myself for his reaction, expecting a reprimand for overstepping boundaries. We aren’t friends or confidantes, and I am in no position to dictate his actions. But the anticipated outburst doesn’t come. Instead, he surprises me with a question.

“Why did you become a teacher?” he asks, his tone gentle but probing. The sudden shift in the conversation catches me off guard.

“Because I love children, and I love working with them, being around them,” I reply, the truth of my passion evident in my voice.

“And they love you.” I can hear the warmth in his words, a rare softness. “Well, at least mine adore you.” For a moment, silence envelops us, but this time it feels different—comforting, almost pleasant. The tension that once defined our interactions seems to dissipate, replaced by a newfound understanding.

“And I know what I said yesterday was not… fair,” Fabrizio continues, his voice sincere. “For what it’s worth, you would… will be a great mother.”

His words resonate deeply, leaving me momentarily speechless. In this fleeting moment, under the vast expanse of the night sky, a fragile bond forms between us. Maybe that’s why, with my gaze fixed on my glass, I tell him softly, “No, I won’t. Because I can’t have children.”

There’s a moment of complete silence, the kind that seems to stretch on forever.

“I am so—” he begins, but I cut him off sharply.

“No. Please, don’t.” I can’t bear to hear it. I don’t want his pity. Despite promising myself that I wouldn’t allow him to see me cry again, tears burn in my eyes, threatening to spill over. The suffocating weight of the revelation presses down on me once more, making it hard to breathe. I’ve always loved children; even as a little girl, I knew I wanted to be a mother. So, when I was told seven years ago that it might never happen, it felt like my world crumbled. The devastation I felt then still lingers today, as raw and painful as it was back then. Doctors, friends, and even my own inner voice had tried to convince me that time would heal the wound, but it hasn’t. The pain of saying those words out loud, or even thinking them, remains just as intense.

And usually, people don’t know how to react. They poke around, ask intrusive questions about the circumstances, andoffer unsolicited opinions and advice, none of which I ever asked for or wanted to hear.

So, it’s actually a pleasant surprise that Fabrizio remains quiet beside me. Perhaps it’s because he doesn’t care enough to say anything, or maybe he understands that sometimes silence is the best comfort one can offer. I down my glass of wine rather quickly, staring out at the calm sea, illuminated only by the gentle glow of the moon. I take deep breaths, trying to shove down the newly ignited anxiety bubbling up inside me. Unfortunately, the alcohol does little to nothing to bury the unwanted feelings. I turn the empty glass in my hand, feeling its smooth surface as a distraction.

Fabrizio picks up the bottle, silently asking with a gesture if I want a refill. I hold out my glass without directly looking at him, and he fills it up before emptying the remaining wine into his own glass.

The waves gently lap against the shore, a peaceful sound that contrasts sharply with the turmoil inside me. We sit there in silence, basking in the tranquility of a beautiful night in a breathtaking locale. The stillness wraps around us, neither of us seemingly able to find the words to break it. The only sound is the gentle surge of the sea, a soothing rhythm that contrasts with the tension building between us. The moon casts a shimmering reflection on the water, creating an atmosphere that borders on romantic. I almost chuckle at the thought; Fabrizio doesn’t strike me as a man with even a single romantic bone in his body.

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