Page 31 of The Bonventi Secret
Irub my eyes, blinking away the fatigue that's settled in after hours of intense focus. The books and papers strewn across the desk tell the story of my day — a chaotic journey through research, punctuated by frantic note-taking and moments of what I hope will lead to an academic epiphany.
My gaze falls on the sleek new computer Marcella delivered earlier. I'd been resistant at first, clinging to my old laptop like a life raft, but the allure of cutting-edge technology proved too strong. Now, the screen glows with half-finished thoughts and partially formed arguments.
I lean back in the plush leather chair, stretching my arms above my head. My shoulders pop, a reminder of how long I've been hunched over my work.
I really need to be getting up every hour to move around.
The library, which I've decided to call my library now, has become a safe place for me.
When I woke this morning, Enzo was already gone. I hurried to change and gathered all the things I brought for my research and hauled them down to the library to set up my work area. It took two trips, since I refused help from one of the guards at the door to Enzo's suite. I've been in this room ever since with no one bothering me all day. It felt really good to focus on the things that matter to me.
My stomach growls, which reminds me that I did have one visitor today. A woman whose name I didn't catch brought me some lunch, which sits half-eaten on a side table, long since gone cold. I glance at the ornate clock on the wall, surprised to see it's nearly dinnertime.
I stand up, stretching again, and make my way to one of the large windows. Outside, I see the damn all-too-perfect manicured grounds. It's weird to think that if something is too perfect, when it's not for most people even though they may wish it were, it can make you sick.
I turn away from the window and look around the room. While I've enjoyed being left alone in here, oddly enough, Enzo's absence today has been a little, almost unsettling. A part of me has been on edge all day, waiting for him to burst in at any moment. The quiet has been both a blessing and a curse — allowing me to lose myself in my work, yet leaving me with an inexplicable sense of anticipation.
As I take a step towards my desk, there's a quick knock at the library door, and then they swing open. My heart leaps into my throat, expecting to see his imposing figure. Instead, it's Marcella, her face stern as ever.
"Miss Falcone," she says, her tone professional.
"Please call me Livia," I say. I told her this morning when she dropped off the new computer, but she must have forgotten.
"Right, sorry. Livia. Dinner will be served in thirty minutes. Mr. Bonventi requests your presence in the dining room."
"I'll be there," I say.
Marcella nods and turns to leave but pauses at the door. "I took the liberty of laying out a dress from your closet on your bed. I'm sure Mr. Bonventi would appreciate it if you wore it."
Before I can respond, she's gone. I glance down at my wrinkled clothes, then back at the mess on my desk. Part of me wants to rebel, to show up to dinner in my current state just to spite Enzo.
Damn him.
Even when he's not here, he's in my head, influencing my decisions.
After a restless back and forth in my head, my jaw sets with determination. I'll go as I am. It's the real me, not some dolled-up version of myself. If Enzo can't handle that, it's his problem, not mine.
I make my way to the dining room, my stomach a knot of anticipation and nerves. As I approach the ornate double doors, they're pulled open by two men in suits. They barely acknowledge me as I walk through.
The rich aroma of garlic and herbs wafts through the air, making my stomach growl. Enzo stands at the head of the table, his broad shoulders filling out his tailored suit perfectly. He turns as I enter, his blue eyes looking me over.
“There you are," he says with a smile. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd lost your way."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "No, I found it quite easily, thank you." I move to take a seat at the far end of the table, but Enzo gestures to the chair to his right.
"Please, join me," he says.
I nod, walk over, and take my seat. Enzo helps push my chair in.
He places a hand on my shoulder, his touch is warm and gentle. “How was working in the library today?" he asks.
"It was nice," I reply. "Thanks again for —"
"Please," he says, cutting me off. “I like knowing you’re happy in there.”
“I am,” I nod still thinking of his touch.
"And did Marcella bring the computer?" he asks, leaning over me and pouring me a glass of wine.
