Page 54 of The One
“Thank you,” she calls softly into the night.
A strange sensation ripples through my stomach.
Does she know I’m here?
She can’t see me. I’m sure of it. And yet, I don’t move, barely daring to breathe.
I watch as her gaze drops to her new guitar. Her fingers trace the shape of the horses, that beaming smile still lighting up her face.
She closes her eyes, takes a deep, steadying breath, and begins to play.
The sound is crisper, clearer, and so much richer than my old guitar. Each note rings out pure and steady, effortlessly filling the night air.
As she strums and sings softly, her voice blending with the melody, my world falls back into place, even if only for a little while.
Chapter Twenty
Mariella
“Well, you look lovely today,” Giulia says with her usual warm smile as I step into the kitchen on Saturday morning.
It’s exactly one week since I escaped the nightmare of my arranged marriage to Renaldo Conti, and I’m celebrating by wearing something colorful.
“Thank you. I made this dress,” I reply proudly as I sidle up next to her.
Being around Giulia always lifts my spirits. She’s endlessly cheerful, probably because she does what she loves. She’s always behind the stove, cooking up something delicious, preparing to feed everyone.
“You made it,mia cara?”
I nod, a blush creeping up my cheeks.
It’s a vibrant wrap dress bursting with shades of magenta and purple, gathered at the side to accentuate my waist. I paired it with a silk scarf to hide any blush that might creep down my neck, like it does now.
I feel pretty, womanly, and ready to take on the day.
And just to be clear, I didn’t dress up for anyone but myself. It has nothing to do with the man of the house.
All week, I’ve only caught fleeting glimpses of Mateo, always on his way out. Even in the morning, he looks tired, worn at the edges, like he’s carrying too much. Dario mentioned that everyone here is constantly battling to stay ahead of the problems that keep occurring.
I feel for him. More than I should.
He tends to come home long after the house has fallen silent. That’s usually when I slip outside to play my guitar beneath the tree.Myguitar. I still can’t believe he gave it to me.
I’m utterly in love with it. The sound is so pure, so rich. It’s almost hypnotic.
And I know it was Mateo who had the solar lights installed. The gardener confirmed it. He also left the cushion under the tree the night he gave me the guitar. That sweet gesture still makes me smile.
Last night, the cushion had been moved, placed neatly on a bench. But not just any bench. One with the same intricate carving as my guitar, two wild horses forever frozen in motion, their manes tangled in an invisible wind.
I neverseeMateo when I play, but I swear I can sense him.
It sounds ridiculous, I know, but there’s a presence in the air, a quiet sense of being watched. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that soothes. A warmth I can’t explain.
It’s such a stark contrast to the chaos he stirs in me when he’s actually near.
“It’s beautiful,mia cara. You have so much talent,” Giulia says, taking my hand before stepping back to study my dress more closely. Of course, my blush deepens.
“I took a few different dresses and stitched them together to create this one. I love designing and sewing. I just wish I could do more of it.”
