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His words strike a chord, and I'm momentarily taken aback. "Get me… Oh!" The realization hits me, a mix of surprise and other emotions swirling within.
"Is this why you want to get married?" The question escapes me before I can hold it in, a part of me seeking reassurance amidst the chaos.
He closes the distance between us, his hands enveloping mine with a gentleness that belies his strength. "It's one of the reasons. But it's not the only reason. The truth is, Pia, I've fallen for you in a way I've never experienced before. And I'd be a fool to let you go."
His sincere and heartfelt admission washes over me, soothing the tumult of my thoughts. A warm smile breaks through the uncertainty, and I find myself engulfed by a wave of emotions—a profound connection to this man who, against all odds, has become my beacon in the storm.
The sudden sound of my stomach growling shatters the serene moment between us, eliciting laughter from both Marco and me. It's a welcome interruption, grounding us in the reality of everyday needs amidst the whirlwind of emotions and plans.
As our laughter fades, three individuals appear as if summoned by the moment itself. I'm disconcerted by their sudden presence, having not expected to meet anyone else today. The older woman steps forward, introducing herself with a warmth that immediately puts me at ease. "Sir, madam, we are so happy you've arrived. I am Rosa Carbajal; this is my husband, Eugene, and our daughter, Jenny. We'll be attending to you." Her greeting, accompanied by formal handshakes, is welcoming and slightly overwhelming. "Salamat po," I respond, echoing the polite gesture with a nod of appreciation.
Marco takes the lead, his familiarity with such interactions evident. "Salamat Inay, Tito, and Jenny. We are grateful for all the assistance you will be providing." His concern for their comfort and well-being shines through as he inquires about their quarters, which Eugene assures us of their satisfaction regarding.
"If you need anything, and I mean anything at all, please don't hesitate to ask. The house fund is already set up; you should have access to it soon," Marco adds, ensuring they feel supported and valued in their roles here.
Rosa's assurance that they've already been briefed and are prepared to manage the household in our absence catches me off guard, prompting a look of confusion toward Marco.
"I'm not following," I admit, still piecing together the sudden influx of information.
Marco's smile is both reassuring and filled with a hint of excitement. "I purchased this house. After all, we'll need a place to call home whenever you want to return for a visit," he reveals, the significance of his words slowly sinking in.
The realization that this magnificent estate is now ours—together—sends a rush of joy through me. I resist the urge to leap into his arms, mindful of the presence of our new staff. Instead, I muster a playful grin. "You have, have you?"
His response, a devilish smile and a pointed, "We have," cements our shared future, a life intertwined not just by circumstance but by choice.
"Very well. When you are both ready, we have your merienda prepared," Rosa informs us, her tone warm and inviting. Jenny and Eugene tactfully make their way out, giving us a moment. "Salamat. Please, set the table. I am famished," I respond, my hunger now impossible to ignore after the deluge of emotions and surprises.
Marco's embrace again engulfs me, a fortress of strength and warmth. "What else have you done behind my back?" I tease, playfully prodding his solid abs.
His response is wrapped in the promise of more surprises. "Well, babe, you'll just have to wait to find out," he quips, leaning in for a kiss cut short by Joshua's interruption.
"Duty calls," Marco says after Joshua's message, his voice tinged with regret as he departs with a swift kiss.
Left alone, I venture towards the dining area, discovering a room that could easily grace the pages of a luxury interior magazine. The space's opulence, with its expansive glass walls and a stunning chandelier, does little to dispel the slight chill from the air conditioning—set at lower temperatures, a luxury that still feels foreign to me.
Jenny's appearance startles me, her youth and warmth a pleasant reminder of the house's lively spirit. "Adobo?" I am enticed by the familiar, comforting aroma. Her confirmation ignites a spark of excitement—homemade adobo, a dish I've always cherished.
As I savor the meal alone, the dish's richness mirrors the complexity of my current life—unexpected, traditional, yet entirely new. Finishing, I insist on taking my plate to the kitchen, meeting Inay Rosa's protest with a firm but friendly refusal. Complimenting her on the adobo, I express a genuine interest in learning her recipe. It’s a small but significant step in weaving my presence into the fabric of this new home.
Navigating the mansion searching for our bedroom becomes an adventure, my curiosity leading me through the lavish corridors. Suddenly, Marco's arms sweep me off my feet, his playful act of carrying me over the threshold into our bedroom—a space as breathtaking as the rest of the estate—leaving me amused and touched.
"Welcome home, Señora Cervantes," he declares, setting me down with a reverence that underscores the gravity of our new beginning. The realization that I am to become Pia Cervantes, leaving behind the name Mendoza and all its associated burdens, fills me with a profound sense of liberation and belonging.
As I snuggle into Marco's embrace, his words, "I like that," resonate with a promise of unity, safety, and an unwritten future we're set to explore together. At this moment, within the walls of our extraordinary home, I find the sense of peace and belonging that I've longed for—a feeling of being exactly where I'm meant to be, with the person who's reshaped my understanding of love and home.
Looking up at Marco, a blend of concern and determination in my eyes, I break the silence that has enveloped us since my brother's unwelcome appearance. "Is everything all right? You've been quiet about the plan, the assassination." Marco's warm and all-consuming gaze meets mine, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. Yet, beneath the allure, growing frustration simmers within me.
He gently cups my face, a gesture that would have melted me under different circumstances. "You need not worry about that," he murmurs, but his words only fan the flames of my discontent.
Pulling away, I find myself fighting for a voice in a life that has often rendered me silent. "Marco, I've spent my life being sidelined, expected to follow without question. Please, don't sideline me too. We're meant to be equals in this marriage, partners. Don't shut me out, especially when it directly concerns me."
His smile tightens, the terseness unmasking the depth of our disagreement. "I'm doing this for your safety," he insists, but his protection feels like a gilded cage.
I pace toward the expansive window. The lush garden, and the promise of freedom it represents, are just beyond reach. The urge to escape to the veranda, to breathe in the open air, grows, yet Marco intercepts me. "Babe, please," he pleads, but his endearment now feels like a shackle.
"No. Don't 'babe' me right now, Marco. You're not shutting me out," I assert, a surge of resolve steeling me against his attempts at placation. "This is how it starts. It isn't about protection; it's about respect, about trust. How can we build a life together on silence and secrets? Just like them? Like my family?"
His reaction is immediate, a storm of emotion—pain, then anger—flashing across his features. "Don't ever compare me to those monsters who hurt you," he growls. Still, his words, intended to distance himself from my past, only highlight the parallels I can't ignore.
