Page 107 of Beneath the Shadows

“Yes,” I reply, my voice firm but low, unwavering under her accusation.

Her expression falters, just for a moment. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” I say, moving back to the counter. “Just coffee?”

“Fine, I’ll have coffee,” she mutters, her voice clipped.

I grab the French press and begin preparing her half-caff blend, the silence between us growing heavier. She watches my every move as though she’s waiting for me to make a mistake, to reveal the trap she thinks I’m setting.

While the coffee brews, I make her an omelet anyway. She might hate me, but I’m not about to let her starve. When the food’s ready, I set the plate down in front of her, a small smile tugging at my lips.

“You expect me to eat that?” She pushes the plate away from her.

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you think.”

“Prove it.”

Without hesitation, I stab a forkful of the omelet and take a bite. She watches me intently as I chew and swallow. After a moment, she cautiously picks up her fork and starts to eat. I don’t make a big deal out of it, but inwardly, I feel a sense of relief. It’s progress, no matter how small.

I sit across from her with my own plate of food, the silence still tense. “You don’t have to waitress anymore.”

Her head snaps up. “Really?”

“Unless you want to,” I add quickly, gauging her reaction.

She raises an eyebrow, her voice sharp again. “Am I allowed to go for a walk? Or do I need to ask your permission for that, too?”

I meet her challenging gaze without flinching. “Of course you can go for a walk. You don’t need to disguise your trips to the gallery either. All I ask is that you’re honest about where you’re going so I can make sure you’re safe.”

Her expression shifts, confusion creeping in. “I don’t have to ask permission?”

“No, Alessia.” I shake my head. “You’re not my prisoner.”

“What about guards? Do I have to have them?”

“They’ll always be there, but they’ll remain out of sight. You won’t even know they’re around unless you need them. I want you to have your privacy.” I pause, a thought coming to me. “Unless you want me to go with you. I’ll always make that a priority.”

Her hostility softens, but only slightly. “Why are youreallydoing this? Why are you letting me have this freedom?”

I meet her gaze, choosing my words carefully. “Because it’s your right, Alessia. It’s your life.” An idea hits me, something that might chip away at the walls she’s built. “You should open a bank account for the money you make from selling your photographs.”

Her fork stills. “How do you know about that?”

“I have my ways,” I reply with a shrug.

“And you’d let me do that?”

“It’s your money.”

Her defenses waver for the first time. “I’ve never had my own bank account. My father wouldn’t allow it. After we got married, Valentino took my ID. I don’t even know where it is.”

The mention of Valentino sends a surge of anger through me, but I keep it in check. “I’ll search the house.”

Alessia’s silent for a moment, absorbing my words. I stand and begin clearing her plate, giving her space to think. While I load the dishwasher, I add, “As soon as I find it, we’ll open that account. Then, you can decide what you want to do next.”

I want to show Alessia that this marriage doesn’t have to be something she fears—that it can be different,wecan be different. But I know earning her trust will take time. Time to remind her of what we used to feel for each other, before all the lies, before the darkness swallowed everything.

She watches me, her expression still guarded, the distance between us as far as ever. But there’s something in her eyes—fragile but real. Curiosity, maybe even the faintest glimmer of hope.

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