Page 33 of All is Not Lost

But no, I refuse to dwell on doubt. I have to believe in love—in our love—even if it's new and even if it scares me. Because isn't that what love is? A leap of faith into the arms of another, trusting they'll catch you?

"Here goes everything," I murmur.

My heart is ready to speak its truth, regardless of the outcome. Hope flutters in my chest for the first time in what feels like forever, delicate yet determined. Tonight, under the Italian sky, I'll lay bare my soul to Giovanni and pray that love is strong enough to carry us through the storm.

I stumble onto the gravel path leading up to his villa, my breaths coming in quick gasps. The moon hangs heavy above me, a silent witness to the turmoil inside my chest. My fingers fumble with the hem of my shirt, smoothing down imaginary wrinkles—a nervous tick I can't seem to shake.

"Where have you been?" His voice slices through the night, stopping me dead in my tracks.

Giovanni stands outside the front door, arms crossed over his chest. The porch light throws shadows across his face, but it's impossible to miss the hurt flickering in his eyes, mingling with confusion. It's as if I'm looking at him for the first time, really seeing the man who has slowly become my everything.

"I—Giovanni, I need to talk to you," I begin, my voice barely more than a whisper carried away by the breeze.

"Talk, then," he says, his tone edged with something that sounds like pain. He doesn't move toward me and doesn't uncross his arms. He's like a statue, beautiful and cold, waiting for an explanation I'm not sure I have the right to give.

I take a step closer, my heart hammering against my ribcage. "I went to see Daniel tonight. He is here… to see me. We went out for dinner."

His jaw tightens, and he looks away, a muscle twitching in his cheek.

"Perché?" he asks, his Italian accent thicker with emotion. Why? That single word carries the weight of a thousand accusations.

"Because he asked to see me—to apologize, to explain," I rush on, the words tumbling out of me now. "But, Giovanni, it wasn't about him. Not really. It was about me needing closure, needing to understand that what we had—it's over. That I don't love him anymore." I pause, taking a shaky breath. "Because I've fallen for you."

There, I've said it. The truth lays bare between us, trembling in the space where our hearts both beat too fast. His expression softens slightly, but his stance remains guarded, braced for impact.

"Daniel—he's part of your past," Giovanni finally says, his voice low and steady. "And yet, he’s here in our present."

I nod, acknowledging the unspoken fear that clings to his words. "He is, and I can't change that. But I can choose who I want in my future. I choose you, Giovanni."

My confession hangs in the air, a fragile hope waiting to be shattered or embraced. Giovanni's dark curls sway as he shakes his head, a mixture of disbelief and wonder painting his features.

"Ti amo, Sophia," he breathes out. "I love you."

He closes the distance between us in three long strides, his hands cupping my face as if I'm something precious, something cherished. And in the warmth of his touch, I find the answer to every question, the end to every doubt.

"Ti amo anch'io," I reply, my voice steady despite the tears that blur my vision. I love you, too.

We stand there under the star-studded sky, the silence filled with the sound of our synchronized breaths. A promise blooms within the quiet—a promise of new beginnings, of a love that speaks in laughs shared, tender touches, and moments of vulnerability.

And as I lean into his embrace, I know that this is home. This is where my story was always meant to lead. But seeing the look on Giovanni’s face, I worry it’s too late—that I have ruined it.

“I saw you. I saw you leave with him earlier tonight. And it crushed my heart.”

Giovanni's hands fall away from me, and he steps back, his dark eyes searching mine with a hurt that echoes the ache in my own heart. I watch him wrestle with the words I've just spoken, each syllable a weight added to the scale of our future together. He loves me; that much is clear. But love is not immune to pain, and the sight of Daniel and me together has planted a seed of doubt that now threatens to grow wild and unchecked. I can’t blame him with the history he has.

"Talk to me, Giovanni," I plead, stepping forward and reaching for him. "Please."

He runs a hand through his thick curls, a gesture of frustration and confusion. "Sophia, I want to understand, I do. But seeing you with him…." His voice trails off, and he turns away, his gaze lost to the night sky, where stars flicker like distant fires, out of reach and cold.

"Seeing me with Daniel hurt you," I finish for him, the truth of it sharp in my throat. "But it was a goodbye, Giovanni. A closing of a chapter that should never have been reopened."

"Is it truly closed?" he asks, turning to face me again. There's a vulnerability in his question, a fear that maybe, just maybe, I am not as certain as I claim.

"Completely," I assure him, finding courage in the earnestness of his eyes. "I'm here with you. That's where I want to be."

Giovanni nods slowly, the battle within him subsiding enough to let hope glimmer through. But before the silence settles too comfortably between us, I know there's more I have to say. The hardest part still awaits; it coils in my stomach, heavy as stone.

"There's something else," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "Something I haven't told you."

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