Page 133 of Mine Again
I’ll make her understand. She has to.
Still, the unease churning in my gut coils tighter with every passing second, ready to detonate.
I expected anger. I braced for tears. But this fury? This silence?
I didn’t see that coming.
My gaze keeps drifting back to the screen on the wall.
Isa is still walking. The camera glitches as she passes beneath a canopy of trees, then picks her up again a few seconds later. Her posture is rigid. It’s like I can feel her unraveling, and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.
She can’t get off the island, but the way she’s storming through the terrain, I’m afraid she’ll trip and break her neck.
Waiting for her to cool off is torture. The kind she’d argue I deserve. And she’s probably right.
I salt the slices and set them aside, then reach for the eggplant. The heat of the pan warms the air around me, but it doesn’t reach the cold knot lodged in my chest.
I check the screen again.
Isa is at the cliffs now, facing the open sea, watching the sun drop lower toward the horizon. Her arms hang listlessly at her sides, her hair pulled loose by the wind. She looks so small from here. So far away.
I need to be closer to her. But I can’t chase her again. Not yet.
The smell of garlic drifts up from the stove, but I barely register it. My focus is locked on her. Always her.
I put Isa through hell today. Pushed too far, too fast.
Granted, she insisted I tell her, but I never meant to overwhelm her like that. The moment just slipped out of my control, and I couldn’t stop it.
I couldn’t lie to her. I never have. And I wasn’t going to start now.
I roll a strip of eggplant around the ricotta filling, then reach for a zucchini ribbon and do the same. The coils line up neatly in the dish,one after the other, alternating. Order in the middle of chaos.
I thought she’d be back by now. That the worst of the shock would have faded. Or that maybe she’d storm through the door and scream at me.
I’d take it. Gladly.
Anything but this silence. Anything but her out there, alone.
Chapter Forty-Nine
Luca
Iset the plate down in front of Isa and watch as she picks up her fork and knife, slicing into theinvoltiniwithout a word.
She hasn’t spoken since she came back ten minutes ago. She walked into the kitchen like a ghost, and the tension thickened instantly.
I hate it.
It’s never been like this between us. Sure, we had the occasional argument, but it always blew over as fast as it flared up. Forgotten before it had time to land.
“Isa,” I say softly. I wait for her to look at me, but she keeps her eyes fixed on her plate, cutting into the grilled zucchini with deliberate calm.
She’s not going to make this easy.
“I didn’t want to keep the agreement with your father from you,” I continue, watching for any shift in her expression. “But for our engagement to continue, he had one condition.”
Her knife pauses mid-cut, just for a second, before she resumes. No reaction. No words.
