Page 26 of The Bonventi Secret
I lean forward, my elbows resting on the table. "Once you've finished your PhD, then we'll talk about the wedding. I want you to have the time and space to achieve this goal you've been working toward for so long."
I watch as the last of her tension slowly drains from her body. Her shoulders relax, her hands unclench, and the fire in her eyes dims, replaced by a mix of confusion and hope.
"Why?" she finally asks, her voice soft and cautious. "Why would you do this?"
I offer her a small smile. "Because I respect intelligence, Livia. I respect dedication, ambition, and hard work. You've poured years of your life into this pursuit. I may be many things, but I'm not a man who disregards achievement or stands in the way of progress."
Livia swallows hard, her eyes searching my face as if looking for hidden agendas or motives. "I... I don't understand," she says.
"You don't have to understand right now," I reply. "Just know that your education is important to me because it's important to you. I simply want you to finish what you've started."
She nods slowly, still looking dazed. "Thank you," she says quietly, the words sounding almost foreign on her tongue.
"You're welcome, Livia. Now, is there anything specific you need to continue your work? Any particular books or resources?"
Livia hesitates, clearly caught off guard by my change in demeanor. But then, slowly, she begins to speak, her words tentative at first but soon gaining confidence as I listen, stealing glances at her lips and the way her mouth moves as she speaks.
"I have, um, a list of some things I've been eyeing," she says and leans forward slightly, "but they've either been out of print or the edition I need I've been unable to locate."
I stand. "Give me the list when you can, and I'll see what I can do. In the meantime," I say, waving her up out of her seat, "I'll show you to your new study. I do have some first editions from the 1800s that may or may not help you."
I place my hand on the small of her back, guiding her through the doorway. "This way, cara mia," I say softly into her ear.
We arrive at the library, a room I've always considered my sanctuary. The scent of old books fills the air, a smell that I've always found comforting. Shelves line the walls, filled with volumes collected over generations. The center of the room is dominated by a large oak desk, now cleared to make space for Livia's research, and tucked in the corner is my grandfather's old desk—the very surface he built the Bonventi family from.
I watch as Livia takes in the room, her eyes wide with wonder. I can see the expression of awe and gratitude. "This is an incredible personal library," she mumbles to herself.
"I'm glad you approve," I say, pleased by her reaction. "Tomorrow, you can start setting up your workspace. And again, Marcella will assist you with anything you need."
Livia turns to me, her eyes shining in the dim light. "Thank you, Enzo," she says, her voice sincere.
I nod, acknowledging her thanks. "I have some things to attend to, so I'll leave you here."
As I walk down the hall to my office, I realize its the first time she's spoken my name. A thought buried deep within enters my mind. I can't help but wonder what it would be like to have her choose this life, choose me willingly. To see that fierce intellect and unwavering spirit directed at me, not in defiance, but in desire.
I shake my head. Livia is a means to an end, nothing more. I've given her this to relax her, offer some hope, not because—well, whatever the fuck this thought is. I can't afford to be distracted by pretty things.
LIVIA - 9
As Enzo leaves, shutting the door behind him, I'm left alone in one of the largest personal libraries I've ever been in. The room itself is larger than some of the classrooms at UCLA.
The scent of old leather, aged paper, and a hint of wood polish mingles in the air. Months ago, I remember how tired my eyes were writing in my favorite corner in Young Research Library. The scent here of old books brings me right back to that spot.
Oh, how I miss my friends and classmates.
I feel my body tense up. How dare he think he can just gift me with this beautiful library with mahogany shelves and beautifully embossed books. Okay, sure they're nice and it’s a library of my dreams but these Persian rugs under my feet are not going to make me forget that I do not want to be here.
I look around as see what I assume are replicas of some famous paintings hanging on the walls, some I know, others I don't.
I run my fingers along the spines of the books, feeling the different textures—smooth leather, rough cloth, embossed titles.Some of these volumes must be first editions, priceless treasures of literature.
A lump forms in my throat as conflicting emotions swirl within me. Part of me wants to lose myself in this room, to dive into these books and forget everything else. But another part screams that this is just another controlling cage.
I turn away from the books, and my gaze land on a painting. It's a self-portrait by Rembrandt. His eyes are locked onto mine. "What are you looking at?" I snap at the painted face. "You think this makes it okay? That I should just roll over and accept this because he gave me a pretty room full of books?"
My voice echoes in the quiet library, and I feel slightly ridiculous talking to a painting, but the anger is real, I feel it burning in my chest.
I turn away from Rembrandt's piercing scrutiny, and something else catches my eye. A bright yellow post-it note hangs off a shelf across the room. Curious, I walk over and grab it.
