Page 15 of King of Omen

MIA

I stepped out onto the deck, the cool breeze brushing my skin, offering solace amidst the chaos of Bianca’s funeral.

I rounded the terrace until I came to the small walled-off garden at the end of it.

Bianca and I had furnished, decorated and set it up for mimosas and sundowner drinks facing the valley.

Leaning against the railing, I gazed out at the expansive estate below and beyond, the beauty of the purple-tinged mountains. Taking a breath, I let the tranquillity of the surroundings soothe my frayed nerves.

The scent of lavender wafted through the air, mingling with the faint aroma of roses, creating a waft of fragrance that brought memories of Bianca rushing to mind.

With the sun descending below the horizon, casting lengthy shadows across the garden, I lost myself in thought.

The mask I had worn for so long, the facade of control, was cracking and crumbling. For the first time in weeks, I let out a silent sob, unchecked and unbidden. Each movement wracked my body, releasing a lifetime of pent-up emotions.

In the solitude of the garden, my tears flowed, mixing with the fragrant scents of flowers and earth.

The weight of grief pressed down on me, threatening to engulf my being. I clutched the railing, the metal cold beneath my fingertips as I struggled to compose myself.

A slight rustling behind me startled me.

Wiping at my tear-streaked cheeks, I turned and jolted at the sight of Lorenzo, standing still, his intense eyes locked onto my face.

He didn’t say a word. He just reached into his pocket, took out the stunning kerchief tucked in it, and offered it to me.

I glared at him at first, still smarting from his earlier insult.

He kept holding it out, and I accepted the luxe square with reluctance, attempting to quell the ache in my chest.

Our fingers brushed, and for a moment, I gasped at the tendril of heated energy it sent through me, unable to tell if it was an accident or not.

Not in the mood to entertain the thought further and bound by grief, I found an outdoor chair.

Perching on it, I buried my face in the silken, cotton-threaded cloth, trying to keep my cries silent.

An unexpected heat bloomed to my right, and I sensed Lorenzo’s companionable silence, his presence a balm on my shattered nerves.

He hadn’t moved; it was simply the temperature emanating from him that was warming me.

In time, the tight, wound-up angst that had built up within me began to ebb away in the tranquillity of the garden.

After a while, when my silent sobs had subsided, calmed by my in-depth breathing and his rock-solid essence, I found my voice. ‘Thank you.’

His rumbled timbre rolled over me, easing my moment of vulnerability in some strange way. ‘Can I get you anything?’

I turned my head, convinced that my red eyes were the last thing he wanted to witness, but I could not help myself.

Despite my reservations and his tsunami-like force of presence, his company was comforting yet disconcerting.

Our eyes locked, his holding a glint of concern, but something else was lurking beneath the surface, something that made me cautious.

I wiped away a stray tear and nodded, mustering a weak smile. ‘No, thank you. I’m OK.’

The words felt inadequate to describe the tumult of emotions churning inside me.

Stepping closer, his tall frame cast a shadow over me. ‘Funerals have a way of stirring up memories and sentiments we thought were long buried.’

His tone held a sandpaper raw edge as if he carried a weight of past sorrows.

---