Page 48 of Unworthy Ties
Gabriella
Iperched at the edge of the chair, laptop open, Photoshop humming softly as I zoomed into the photos I had taken recently. And by recently, I meant within the past few months. I loved taking them, but I was a bit (a lot) of a procrastinator when it came to editing.
The photos of Rocco at the bay were vibrant, capturing the way the sunlight danced on the water’s surface, illuminating his playful spirit. Each image told a story, a fleeting moment of joy that I was determined to preserve. I cackled when I saw the image of him cleaning the bird poop off his jacket—I forgot I had taken that one.
I kept scrolling further back, to random photos I had taken. There were images of the autumn leaves, burnt oranges and deep reds colliding in a chaotic yet beautiful tapestry. The crunch of those leaves underfoot echoed in my memory, a reminder of lazy afternoons spent wandering through the park.Each click of the shutter was a testament to the world’s fleeting beauty, and I felt a pang of longing as I reflected on the past.
I paused, scrolling past snapshots of cafe lattes, street murals, and stray cats, when one image made me stop cold. It was taken when I was waiting in Rocco’s car, that day outside the Salvaggio’s mansion. My finger hovered over the zoom tool as I leaned closer, heart rate quickening.
I hadn’t noticed the details when I snapped it—too busy pretending to be invisible—but now the crates stood out, mysterious and foreboding. A chill ran down my spine as I realized I might have captured something… significant.
I blinked rapidly, willing my imagination to calm down. Maybe I was reading too much into shadows and shapes, letting paranoia creep in where there was none. I shook my head, trying to banish the cold thrill crawling up my spine. It had to be nothing… right?
I let out a slow, shaky breath and closed the image, pushing it to the back of my mind. There were too many “what ifs” swirling in my head already—this was just another one I didn’t need. I told myself it was nothing, a trick of light and shadow, and forced my focus back to the mundane edits waiting on my screen.
The backlog of photos loomed as a daunting mountain, each image demanding my attention like an impatient child. I let out a long, resigned sigh, shoulders slumping. Fine. I’d just sit down and do it. No excuses. No distractions. Just me, the screen, and the endless parade of images waiting to be edited.
Just as I settled on which image of Rocco I wanted to edit, none other than the man himself walked in.
He leaned against the doorframe, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Looks like someone finally tackled the mountain,” he said, voice low and teasing.
His presence filled the room with warmth, and I felt my cheeks heat under his gaze. “Oh, you know me,” I replied, feigning nonchalance while my heart raced. “Just the quintessential procrastinator.”
Rocco pushed himself off the doorframe and strolled towards me, his casual stride deceptively confident. He crouched slightly beside me, eyes scanning the photo on my screen.
“Huh,” he said quietly, voice calm, though the slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed his focus. “Didn’t expect to see myself like this.”
I tilted my head, curious. “You like it?”
He gave a stiff shrug, his jaw tight. “Flattered… and maybe a little embarrassed.”
I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Different good or different bad?”
“Good,” he said simply, tone clipped, but his eyes lingered on the screen a moment longer than necessary before he looked away, as if the admission cost him something.
“Good, huh?” I echoed, trying to mask the fluttering in my chest. “Well, I think you’ve mastered the art of being photogenic without even trying.”
He arched an eyebrow, lips quirking just slightly. “Careful. Flattery like that might make me expect something in return.”
“Why don’t you help me edit these photos, then?”
He blinked, eyes narrowing. “Help you with Photoshop?” His tone was flat, but the faint edge of disbelief was obvious. “You do know I’ve never opened that program in my life, right?”
“Well, I could use a handsome assistant to offer moral support while I navigate through these.”
“Handsome assistant, huh?” Rocco chuckled, leaning closer, his playful gaze never leaving my face. “I might be able to manage that. What’s my first task, then?”
I tapped the screen, pointing to a photo I’d just adjusted. “Okay, tell me if this looks right. I know my way around Photoshop, but a second opinion never hurts—especially when it comes from someone who can’t tell a layer from a folder.”
He arched an eyebrow, expression deadpan. “So my job is purely aesthetic judgment?”
“Exactly,” I said with a grin. “Your job is to nod at the right moments and tell me if it looks good.”
Rocco leaned back in his chair, a playful grin stretching across his face as he crossed his arms. “I think I can manage that. Just point to the pictures of me first, and I’ll spare no praise.”
I let out a cackle. “And I thought Felix was the self-absorbed twin.”
Rocco’s expression remained nearly unreadable, but for the briefest moment, his gaze lingered a second longer than usual. No words came, just a slight tightening of his jaw before he looked away, as if letting it slide.
