Page 83 of The One
To him, it probably means nothing. He has more money than he could ever spend. But to me, him saying he wants me to be happy. Well…
Tears prick at my eyes, but I blink them away.
“That’s a shame. I would have loved to see more of your creations. You have an eye for what works.”
“I’ve got my designs with me,” I tell him.
Why did I do that? I don’t really want him to see.
“Will you show me?” he asks.
“You… you really want to see my designs?” I ask, taken aback.
Why would he be interested? He’s always impeccably dressed, yet never seemed that into fashion.
Maybe he’s still trying to pull me out of my earlier despair? That has to be it.
But hey, I’ll take it. Truth is, just thinking about my designs stirs a flicker of happiness in me. Much like the guitar, creating new designs has always been my escape, my joy.
I slide off his lap and this time he lets me go. I step into the walk-in wardrobe and retrieve my sketchbook. Quietly, I sit back down on the bed and hand it to him.
My heart erratically jumps in my chest as he takes it from me, our fingers brushing. He opens it with deliberate care and studies each drawing, giving every page his full attention, rather than flipping through quickly like I expected.
“This is incredible,” he says, glancing up at me. “You have talent.”
I can’t help but blush at his compliment. “Thanks, but it’s just doodles, really.”
“No, it’s not just doodles.” He turns to a page with a swirling dress design. “This is beautiful. I can see the movement in the fabric. It looks like it’s ready to come to life.”
I smile, feeling a flutter of pride. “That one was inspired by a girl dancing on the beach. She was a little drunk,” I chuckle. “But the way the fabric flowed, I had to capture it.”
Mateo nods, his eyes sparkling with interest. “You have an eye for detail.”
He flips to another page, revealing a sketch of a gown adorned with intricate lace. “And this one? Is there a story behind it?”
I take a deep breath, enjoying the warmth of his presence beside me.
“When Father announced I had to marry Renaldo Conti, I felt like my life was over. Once Father dismissed me, I ran to the beach on our property and sat there. I didn’t cry,” I say, needing him to know that really, I’m not a crybaby.
“Of course, I’d always known that day would come, so I accepted it. I drew this to escape my reality. I imagined a bride walking down the aisle, surrounded by flowers and sunlight, and so much happiness. This is the dress she would have worn, something romantic and ethereal.”
Mateo studies the sketch a moment longer, tracing a finger over the delicate lace pattern. “You’ve been a pawn in your father’s plans for so long,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “And no one ever asked what you wanted?”
I shake my head, feeling both vulnerable and strangely comforted.
“My life was always planned out for me. But drawing was my escape.”
Mateo’s gaze softens, his hand coming to rest lightly over mine.
“This dress,” he says, looking back at the sketch, “it’s like you were drawing a piece of yourself, the part that refused to give up on happiness.”
I bite my lip, surprised he sees so much.
“Maybe. I wanted to believe that part of me could still be free, even if I was trapped.”
He turns to me fully, his expression intense. “You’re not trapped anymore, Mari. Not as long as I’m here.”
There’s a sincerity in his voice that makes my breath hitch.
