Page 112 of Ruins
“I’m just the messenger,” Luca says leaving me alone with my new gifts.
I grab my phone from where it rests beside my easel and dial Santo. The phone rings twice before his smooth, steady voice answers.
“Mia Dea. I take it you received my gift.”
Just hearing his voice sends warmth curling through my chest. “I love the lilies—they’re gorgeous. Thank you. And the laptop… it’s perfect.”
There’s a small pause. “The laptop was a necessity. I told you I’d get you one for your classes.”
“Yes, but this is more than I expected. It’s… a lot. Thank you, Santo.” My voice wavers slightly, the weight of his gesture settling deeper than I meant for it to.
“Only the best for you,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “But I have to go. I’ll be home by seven tonight.”
Before I can respond, the line clicks off.
I find myself sitting there in silence, cradling the device in my hands. A soft sigh escapes me as emotions crash over me. No one has ever followed through on their promises to me.
But Santo did.
He said I could paint, and now I have an entire room dedicated to it. He said I could go to school, and now it’s happening. I don’t think there’s anything I could ask for that he wouldn’t give me. That realization settles deep in my chest, warm and overwhelming.
Happier than I’ve been in a long time, I throw myself back into my painting, the scent of lilies filling the air as I work. I fall into my rhythm, brush gliding effortlessly over the canvas, lost in the quiet peace of creating. My phone buzzes with a text from Santo.
‘Remember to eat lunch Dea.’
It’s a simple message, but my heart flutters all the same. I glance at the clock and sigh. He’s right, of course. It’s already past noon, and I haven’t eaten anything since morning.
I make my way downstairs, heading to the kitchen where Julian is busy chopping vegetables. “Hey, Julian,” I greet him warmly, then grab an apple from the bowl on the counter. I’m about to leave when my phone buzzes again.
‘Not just an apple.’
I pause, heat creeping up my neck as I glance around, searching for the camera. I spot it above the kitchen entryway and wave, my lips pressing into a small, amused smile.
Julian chuckles. “Thought you could get away with that?”
I sigh dramatically. “I almost made it.”
Shaking his head, he plucks the apple from my hand and replaces it with a plate—a fresh sandwich, crisp vegetables on the side, and a small tub of hummus.
I take a bite, humming in satisfaction as the flavors hit my tongue. “This is really good, thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Julian says with pride. “Mr. Amato told me your favorite sandwich. I made the submarine dressing myself.”
I pause mid-chew, my heart doing another stupid flip.
“It’s perfect,” I say, taking another bite, letting the flavors linger.
The thought tugs at me—how does Santo know my favorite sandwich? But then it clicks. The list. The detailed file I was given about him before we got married. He must have gotten the same about me.
That realization sparks an idea.
“Julian, what’s Santo’s favorite meal?”
He barely hesitates. “Carbonara. Why?”
I lower my voice instinctively, hoping the camera won’t pick up what I’m about to say. “Santo will be home on time tonight, and I want to make it for him.”
Julian’s brows lift slightly, but a slow smile spreads across his face. “Sure, we can do that. What time is he coming home?”
