Page 20 of Marco

I've always prided myself on being in control. Of my emotions, my reactions, every aspect of my life. But Alessia makes me feel off-balance, like I'm standing on uncertain ground.

With her, I find myself saying and doing things I never imagined. Revealing secrets I've never shared. Feeling things I swore I never would.

It terrifies me. But it also exhilarates me in a way I've never known.

I stare out at the storm, more confused than ever. The rules have changed, the game redefined. I don't know how to protect my heart when I can't even understand my own feelings.

But as lightning splits the sky, illuminating the darkness, I make a silent vow. I will not let the ghosts of my past dictate my future. Not this time.

For once in my life, I will fight for something real. Something that feels like hope.

nine

Alessia

Iwake to the smell of frying garlic and basil. It's hard to explain, but I immediately know that Marco must be cooking in the kitchen. I stretch beneath the silk sheets, the morning light filtering through the curtains.

My bare feet meet the cold marble floor as I make my way downstairs, tying my robe around my waist. Marco stands at the stove, sleeves rolled up, wrist flicking as he tosses mushrooms in the pan. He looks even more attractive than I imagined, his broad shoulders and forearms rippling each time he flicks the pan.

"Buongiorno," he says without turning.

"Something smells amazing."

"Just a little breakfast."

I pour myself some coffee and sit at the counter. Marco plates two omelets, handing me one.

"Grazie."

We eat in silence. He reads the paper while I gaze out the window at the climbing roses along the garden wall. I never pictured this. Waking up to Marco cooking breakfast, sharing these quiet moments.

"I have a meeting later," he says, breaking the silence. "But I found this in a used bookstore yesterday."

He slides a worn copy of Haunting Adeline across the counter. I run my fingers over the embossed cover.

"You remembered it's my favorite."

Marco shrugs, but I catch the hint of a smile.

"Who knew you were such a dark romance lover? A connoisseur of smut?" I say playfully.

He snorts. "Don't get any ideas."

But as we banter over breakfast, I feel something shift between us. A blurring of lines. In these simple moments, we are no longer enemies bound by convenience. Just two souls sharing a meal, enjoying each other's company.

Perhaps we are more than either of us realized.

I smile to myself as I wash the breakfast dishes, the warm water soothing my hands. Marco disappeared into his office after we ate, off to handle "business" no doubt. I don't ask too many questions about his work. Plausible deniability and all that. And I still don't feel like it's my place.

As I'm drying the last plate, a wave of dizziness hits me. I grip the counter to steady myself. Must be coming down with something. I make my way upstairs to lie down, each step an effort.

I collapse into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. My limbs feel heavy, my head throbbing. My body trembles despite the warmth of the covers, and eventually I drift into a feverish sleep.

Sometime later, I'm startled awake by a cool hand on my forehead. Marco sits at the edge of the bed, brow furrowed.

"You're burning up," he says.

"It's just a cold or something," I rasp. "I'll be fine."

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