Chapter 94 Fiorella
The sun filtered in through the top windows, warm and bright, the kind of light that painted everything as deceptively peaceful. I sat at my dressing table, fingers toying with the edges of the letter still hidden in the drawer. My face in the mirror was serene, untroubled, but inside, I was anything but. The letter's words had begun to claw into me, low and deep, until every beat was edged by the weight of what I had not told Rocco.
The phone buzzed against the smooth wood, and I startled out of my trance. Rocco's name lit up on the screen. For an instant, I just seethed, heart racing, thumb hovering over the green button as if saying hello to him would make this secret more of a burden. Then I breathed and hit it.
"Hello, bella," his deep, low voice boomed out, still possessing the gravelly tone that gave away the fact he'd had barely any sleep.
"Hello," I muttered, trying to sound as normal as possible. "Busy already?"
He gave a low hum, the sound of a door opening behind him somewhere in the distance. "You know me. Couldn't sleep much. Meetings, calls… business as usual." A pause. "But I wanted to tell you something before the day slips away from me."
My stomach tightened. For a moment I thought, he knows. That somehow he'd found the letter, what it said.
"What is it?"
I could imagine him smiling gently, as if he felt my tension but was unable to interpret it. "Rosalia's planning something. I explained to her that it has to be low-key, but you know her. Already they're calling it an engagement party."
I had my mouth hanging open, and I opened it again in simple disbelief. "An engagement party?”
"Mm," he murmured, and I heard the nearly-smile in his tone. "She says we've gone long enough without doing anything but being quiet. That it's time folks understand we're serious."
A sharp ache formed in my chest at that. Serious. It should have sounded good, to hear him say it, but the word crushed against the guilt like a bruise.
"What do you think?" I asked, more softly than I'd meant to.
"I think she'll do it whether we approve or not." He laughed a third time, and then his voice became gentler. "But I think perhaps it would be a good thing for us, for you. You deserve a night that's yours, not the business's, not the name. Just us."
I smiled faintly, tracing the edge of my wrist with my finger. "That sounds… nice."
"Rosalia will call you later," he said. "She'll ask for details, colors, music, everything. Just say what you want, amore. I'll get it done."
I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. "Rocco."
"Hmm?"
I almost said it, the letter, the condition, the thing that had the power to shift everything between us. But his voice softened again, and I found myself too afraid.
"I just…thank you," I whispered. "For considering me."
He let out a quiet sigh, the kind that pushed against the quiet of the room. "I always think of you, Fiorella."
His voice saying my name somehow made my chest contract. Before I could say something, there was a soft tap from his side.
"I have to go," he said. "Rosalia will be calling soon. Don't concern yourself with it, okay?"
"I won't," I lied.
"Good," he said, and then bestowed on me that flash of warmth that always left me breathless, "I'll call you tonight. Ti amo."
The line clicked, and silence enveloped me again.
I sat there, staring at the phone in my hand, asking myself what kind of woman would plan a party with a secret that would break the man she cherished.
Rosalia called back a few hours later, on schedule. Her voice sparkled, warm, fizzing with the kind of joy that it was impossible not to grin back at, no matter if your own life was under way of shifting under your feet.
"Fiorella!" she almost sang. "I hope Rocco didn't ruin the surprise. He wasn't supposed to let you know yet!"
I smiled quietly, cradling the phone against my shoulder as I smoothed the free papers on my desk. "He might have said so.”
"Oh, of course he did," she replied putting on an air of annoyance. "He can't keep anything from you. Oh well, I'm just so happy he did! Now I can speak freely. We're planning the engagement party, and I want everything to be perfect. You're going to be my sister in law and I’m excited."
The words made me pause. There was a density to them, one that pressed against my ribs.
My throat narrowed again, the guilt twining deep. "So… when were you planning for the party?"
"I was going to ask you that," she said. "I want to make sure the date is fine for you. We're looking at soon, before the end of the month. That way, it's not too cold for the garden arrangement but then the ballroom is a great alternative.”
"That sounds beautiful," I said, the words spilling out involuntarily.
"And what of theme? Do you have something in mind that's classic? Refined? Or maybe even romantic? I was imagining cream and gold, eternal, warm lighting, a live quartet, oh, and the ballroom, of course. I'll have it reopened and restored. You'll love it."
It all sounded too good to be true.
"Whatever you think is best, I’ll prefer red though.” I said. "I leave things in your good taste, Rosalia."
She laughed a joyful laugh. "That’s wonderful, you won’t be disappointed.”
I smiled feebly, though it didn't quite make it to my eyes. "I'm sure you'll make it beautiful."
"I will," she promised. "And Rocco owes it to himself to see you happy. This party will be good for both of you. You'll see.".
She kept talking for a little while longer, about flowers and the guest list and even which photographers not to use. I grunted responses where I could, but my mind was elsewhere.
To the letter. To the words burned into my brain. To the time when Rocco would finally see that our engagement came at a price we never thought possible.
When finally Rosalia hung up, I sat in the quiet again, staring at the phone.
The house felt larger all of a sudden, the quiet more stifling.
I stood up from the chair and walked to the drawer, pushing it half-open so I could glimpse the edge of the letter. The printing was neat enough, but every turn of script was like an open wound that longed to be ripped afresh.
Half of me wanted to burn it. To tear it up and pretend it didn't exist. To live in this transitory fantasy where things were simple, where Rocco's laugh still tolled on the phone, where Rosalia dreamed champagne and silk and candlelight, where love wasn't wrapped up in conditions and names and ownership.
But pretending wouldn't make it disappear.
And I had known Rocco. The man who built his life on family name, bloodlines, and allegiance. The man who'd fight for me without qualm. until he knew the battle wasn't his to lose.
He'd read the letter. He'd hear what it meant. And everything between us would be different.
I leaned back against the lip of the desk, raking a hand through my face.
The single question I had been tormenting myself with since morning came to mind again, sharper now, more imperative.
When do I tell him?
Before the party, and risk breaking what Rosalia was so naively building?
Or afterwards when it would be too late to correct matters, when all the smiling faces in that ballroom would see our perfect facade shatter?
I shut my eyes, letting silence envelop me.
The truth was, there wasn't a right moment. There never would be.
But the more I waited, the more it felt as if something was developing inside of me, something living, heavy against my heart, goading me to let it go.
When Rocco found out, everything would be different.
Not just the party. Not just us.
Everything.