Page 11 of The One
A knock on the door makes us both jump apart. I hide the phone behind my back as Isa grabs my other hand as we turn.
Fausto enters, carrying a duffel bag. He drops it by the door.
“Your mother sent this for you to get changed into. Hurry!”
He studies us for a moment, his gaze zeroing in on our clasped hands before bouncing between Isa and me.
Oh god. He knows, doesn’t he?
My heart pounds, heat rushing through my body.
Fausto’s eyes narrow, and I stop breathing, my grip tightening around the phone.
He opens his mouth, his gaze now locked on me. I press the phone closer to my back, praying it won’t slip and clatter to the floor.
Just when I brace for one of his scathing lectures, he shuts his mouth, but his piercing stare doesn’t waver.
Sweat beads on my forehead, but I don’t dare wipe it. I have no free hand anyway.
The seconds drag on until, finally, Fausto shifts his focus to my sister.
“Five minutes, Isabella,” he says. Then, without another word, he turns and walks away.
When he’s gone, Isa and I let out the breath we were holding.
I clutch the phone to my chest, feeling my heart hammering wildly beneath my fingers.
“Phew. That was close,” I say, still breathless.
“I’d hate to have made it this far without them finding the phone, only for my plan to fall apart at the last minute. Make sure you hide it well,” Isa pleads.
“I promise. This is our only way to stay in touch. I won’t risk it being found.” I hug her again. “Thank you, Isa. I’m so glad we still can talk.”
“Me too, sis. But only at night, when the house is asleep.”
Isa walks over to the bag, unzips it, and peeks inside.
“Looks likemammapicked something unassuming and comfortable. I’m glad she doesn’t make you dress up.”
“That’s because she doesn’t want me to draw any attention. Ah well, blending into the background is much more my style anyway.”
“Don’t undersell yourself, Mari. You are beautiful. And who knows what will happen in Rome now that you’ll be living in Mateo De Marco’s house. He might finally notice you.”
I laugh at that.
“Oh Isa. I love your optimism. I’ll be in the servants’ quarters for sure and not see him at all.
“Besides, I’d only turn beet-red and stutter if he actually talked to me. I’ve had enough embarrassment to last me a lifetime. I don’t need more.”
Isa motions for me to turn around and finds the hidden zipper of my wedding dress. She pulls it down until the back falls open.
Trying to lighten the still heavy mood, she teases, “What a way to get out of this marriage though, Mari! And the dramatic wait until the very last second.”
My shoulders tense, making it hard to shrug off the dress.
“Better late than never,” I mutter, the heaviness inside me not budging.
The dress, which I had no say in choosing, drops to the floor, pooling into a pile of creamy white silk.
