Page 62 of The One
It could be the dress she’s wearing. She looks stunning in it, the colorful fabric hugging her slender frame in all the right ways. Her hair is free from its usual ponytail and falls in long, dark cascades down her shoulders and back.
Wow. She is something else.
Strange sensations stir in my stomach. Could those be butterflies?
No. It’s just the relief of seeing her unharmed and in one magnificent piece.
My gaze travels to her face and my breath hitches, but not in a good way. I can’t see her eyes, they’re hidden behind large sunglasses, but her features look tight and she’s pale.
Somethingdidhappen.
I might not have known her for long, but somehow, I feel a bond with her, an invisible string that ties me to her emotions.
I continue walking toward her, yet she doesn’t notice me. She seems completely lost in her own thoughts, barely registering anything around her.
“Mariella,” I call out when I’m about to reach her.
Startled, clearly not expecting to see me, her hands fly to her chest as if she is trying to keep her heart inside her body. Even with her sunglasses on, I watch as her eyes widen, almost comically so.
“Signor De Marco, I…,” she stammers, her voice unusually high-pitched as she trails off.
The way she reacts makes my heart skip a beat, a mix of concern and something deeper stirring within me.
“I thought we agreed you’ll call me Mateo.”
The customary blush creeps up her cheeks, making me smile.
“Umm, of course, sig… I mean Mateo.”
Hearing my name from her lips stirs something inside me. I’m tempted to lift her sunglasses, wanting to see her eyes again, wanting to get lost in them and feel the same peace I experienced the last time.
My hand lifts, but she flinches ever so slightly.
My brows furrow. “What happened?”
While she’s shy, she’s not afraid of me. My gaze shifts to her cheek. She’s covered the bruise with makeup, but I can still make out its presence. My jaw clenches, the fire inside me turning stormy again. I really should have punched Antonio at least once for this.
Mariella’s eyes dart around as if searching for someone. Alarmed, I scan the area too, but nothing seems amiss.
It’s time to get out of here and figure out what’s got her so spooked.
I take her elbow and guide her toward my car, where Gustavo is in a heated argument with a group of taxi drivers. I parked in their zone, so I’m not surprised they’re upset. But as we approach, and a few of them recognize who I am, they wisely drop the matter and retreat.
I settle Mariella into the passenger seat and instruct Gustavo to return home. As I pull out into traffic, I keep her in my peripheral vision. The further we get from the Colosseum, the more she seems to relax. The death grip she has on her hands loosens, and her shoulders gradually lower.
While some of her tension eases, mine ratchets up. The knot in my stomach tightens as the questions swirl in my mind.
What happened to make her so anxious?
The need for answers gnaws at me. I spot a small car park and pull in, the tires crunching on the loose gravel.
Startled, Mariella turns to me, her wide eyes reflecting a mix of confusion and apprehension. Then she tenses again, as if bracing for a confrontation.
“Why have we stopped?” she asks, glancing nervously out the window.
I let the question hang in the air, watching her until her gaze shifts back to me. This time, I reach up and gently take off her sunglasses. I need to see her eyes for this conversation.
“What happened at the Colosseum?” I ask again, turning my body fully toward her. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost.”
