Chapter 75 Solace of a Friend
Chapter 75 Solace of a Friend
Binca
The silence in the Villa had gained mass. It used to be a peaceful quiet, the kind that smelled of beeswax, old paper, and the subtle, spicy cologne Alessandro wears. Now, it smells of stagnation. It presses against my eardrums, heavy with words unsaid and breaths held too long.
I wake before the alarm, my hand automatically drifting across the expanse of the mattress to the other side. The sheets are cold, pristine, undisturbed. He didn’t sleep here again.
A heavy stone settled in my chest, sitting right beneath the fluttering movement of the baby. I had foolishly thought the pregnancy would be a tether, binding our hearts together with shared wonder. Instead, it seems to be the very wedge driving us apart. The baby is innocent.He looked at me not with love, but with a forensic scrutiny, as if searching for cracks in a story I never told.
I cannot bear another breakfast of silence, where the clinking of silver against china sounds like sword strikes.
I dress quickly, bypassing the maternity clothes that emphasize my condition in favor of a loose, flowing dress that hides the curve of my belly. I need to feel like myself today, not just an incubator for the Desanti heir. I need to be Bianca the architect, Bianca the woman, not Bianca the suspect.
I descend the grand staircase, my heels clicking a lonely rhythm on the marble. I see Salvatore standing near the front door, his posture rigid, his eyes scanning the perimeter even inside the house.
“The car is ready, Mrs. D’Angelo,” he says, his face impassive. He reports to Alessandro. I know this. Everything I do, every breath I take, is logged and filed.
“I’m going to the city,” I tell him, pulling my coat tighter. “I have... meetings.”
It is a half-truth. I do have site visits, but that is not why I am fleeing. I need air that isn't recycled through Alessandro’s filters.
The drive is long, the silence in the car oppressive. When we arrive at the art district, I tell Salvatore to wait. He hesitates, his hand hovering near his earpiece, clearly torn between my orders and his standing instructions to shadow me.
“I am meeting a friend for coffee, Salvatore. I will be visible through the window. Please. Just give me an hour of normalcy.”
He nods slowly, retreating to the black SUV.
I enter the café, the bell above the door chiming a cheerful greeting. The scent of roasted beans and vanilla is a balm to my frayed nerves. I scan the room and spot him immediately.
Maxwell .
He stands as I approach, a smile lighting up his face a genuine, uncomplicated smile that asks for nothing.
He is the antithesis of Alessandro. Where my husband to be is ;midnight and storm clouds, Maxwell is golden hour and calm seas. He's a breath of fresh air
“Bee,” he says, using the nickname from our university days. He pulls out a chair for me. “You look... well, you look like you need a caffeine drip, but I know you can’t have one. I have not seen you at the center for a very long time and I understand why and I hope you can come back soon.”
“Herbal tea will have to do,” I manage a weak smile, sinking into the chair.
For the first twenty minutes, we don’t talk about the shadows in my life. We talk about the skyline. We argue playfully about the new modernist structure going up in the financial district. I show him sketches of the orphanage wing I’m designing. For a little while, the heavy cloak of the D’Angelo name slips off my shoulders. I am just Bianca again.
"I'm carrying precious cargo so I will visit the center when I am in the clear and my baby boy is okay.
“He’s icing you out, isn’t he?” Maxwell asks suddenly, his voice gentle.
I look down at my tea, tracing the rim of the cup.
“I don’t know what you mean Max.”
“Bianca. I’ve known you since you were wearing mismatched socks in studio class. You look shattered.”
He reached across the table, his hand covering mine. His skin is warm, a comforting, friendly weight.
“You don’t have to carry it all alone, you know. I’m here. As a friend. Always.”
I look up, tears pricking my eyes.
“I just... I miss him, Max. He’s right there in the house, but he’s gone,and I don’t know how to bring him back.”
“Then stop trying to fix it alone hun,” Maxwell says firmly, giving my hand a squeeze. “You have a life. It's not your fault.Don’t let his darkness swallow your light.”
I offer him a grateful, watery smile. For the first time in weeks, I feel seen...