Chapter 50
*Grace POV*
I try to lie still in bed, knowing I need to rest, but every second that passes only reminds me of Elio. Despite the lingering ache in my ribs, the dull reminder of my injuries, I can’t bear lying here any longer, alone with my thoughts. Ignoring the pain, I slip out of bed and head down the hall toward the kitchen. I need something to distract me, anything that will keep my mind from spinning itself into knots over him.
As I pass the living room, I catch sight of Sony, his voice a low growl as he speaks into his phone. Well, more accurately, *threatens* someone on the other end. His eyes flick in my direction, and I quicken my pace, heading into the sanctuary of Eleonor’s kitchen before he can engage me.
When Eleonor spots me, she raises an eyebrow, her expression filled with motherly concern.
"It’s like you have to recover, Grace,” she says, crossing her arms and looking at me with a mix of affection and exasperation.
"I’m fine, really," I reply, reaching for a dish towel and helping her dry the dishes she’s already washed. "I can’t stand doing nothing anymore."
"Is that a double meaning?" she asks, her tone curious. "Are you also planning to do something about... whatever is between you and the master?"
I can’t help but blush at her pointed question. There’s something about Eleonor’s frankness that always catches me off guard. "I don’t know how much I *can* do about it, Eleonor," I murmur, embarrassed. "Elio keeps pushing me away. He won’t let me close enough to even try."
Eleonor pauses, turning to look at me with an understanding yet serious expression. "Have you thought that maybe… it’s better this way?"
"What do you mean?" I ask, meeting her gaze.
She hesitates, her voice soft enough that Sony wouldn’t overhear if he decided to eavesdrop. "The master, he’s a good man... sometimes. But he’s also older, and he could practically be your father. He’s from a different world, Grace.”
I know she’s only saying this to protect me, to help me see the reality of the situation, but it still stings. I look down, carefully folding the dish towel as I search for the right words. "I know that. Believe me, I didn’t *want* to feel anything for him. It just… happened."
Eleonor nods, a hint of sympathy in her eyes. She doesn’t need to say anything more for me to know she understands the kind of pull Elio has, the way he makes you want to be close to him despite all logic.
She continues washing a few more plates in silence, but something tugs at me. I’ve always wondered about her own history in this household, especially her interactions with Sony. There’s a quiet tension that seems to flare up whenever he’s around, a mutual wariness that goes beyond mere professionalism. Gathering my courage, I finally decide to ask the question that’s been sitting at the back of my mind for a while now.
"If you don’t mind me asking... you served Mr. Domenico when he was in charge too, right?” I say carefully. “Why don’t you seem to care for him?”
Eleonor’s hands still for a moment, her expression darkening as she absorbs my question. It’s clear she doesn’t often talk about the past, and for a second, I think she’s not going to answer. But then she sighs, her shoulders slumping ever so slightly, and when she speaks, her voice is filled with a sadness I’ve never heard from her before.
"Mr. Domenico was always… a cold-blooded man," she says quietly, glancing toward the door as if to make sure he’s not lurking outside. "I watched him teach Elio from a young age that his emotions clouded his judgment, that compassion was a weakness to be crushed. And when I say 'taught,' I mean he drilled it into him every chance he got. It’s… not normal for a parent to teach you that emotions are something to be feared."
I shiver at her words, feeling a pang of sorrow for the younger version of Elio who endured such lessons, molded into the hardened man I see now. I don’t know what to say, so I just listen, my heart heavy.
"When Elio reached adulthood, I thought he’d come to his senses, that he’d see his father’s teachings for what they were—cold, ruthless nonsense," she continues, her voice steady but her expression bitter. "But he didn’t. At least, not until…"
She trails off, and I feel her eyes settle on me, a hint of something warm but sad in her gaze.
"Not until I showed up?" I finish her sentence softly, the realization hitting me.
Eleonor gives a small nod, her lips curving into a faint smile. "Yes. I think you’ve stirred something in him that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. Maybe he’s even feeling things he’s never felt before, things he doesn’t know how to handle."
Her words send a warm, tingling sensation through me, a strange mix of hope and sadness. I don’t want Elio to suffer, to be torn apart by feelings he’s been trained to reject. But the idea that I might have somehow cracked through his icy exterior, that I’ve made him question everything he’s known… it gives me a sense of purpose.
"And yet, he still won’t let me close," I whisper, voicing my frustration. "Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it, if he’ll ever let himself feel anything fully."
Eleonor places a comforting hand on my shoulder, her gaze soft and filled with a wisdom that only comes from experience. "Change doesn’t happen overnight, Grace. And for a man like Elio, it’s even harder. He’s been conditioned to believe that caring for someone is a liability, that it makes him weak. But the fact that he even lets you close at all… that’s something. More than something. He cares about you, even if he’s terrified to admit it."
I nod, letting her words sink in, letting the warmth of her reassurance steady me. She’s right—Elio is a man of contradictions, someone who wants connection but has been taught to reject it at every turn. It’ll take time, patience, and more understanding than I thought I’d need, but something in me refuses to give up on him.
After we finish the dishes, I linger in the kitchen a while longer, helping Eleonor with the little tasks she insists she can handle on her own. It’s a quiet, peaceful moment, and for the first time in days, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
I’m not sure what the future holds for Elio and me, or if he’ll ever be able to break free from his father’s teachings. But as I stand here with Eleonor, feeling a small surge of determination, I know that whatever happens, I’m willing to fight for him, even if he can’t yet fight for himself.