My hands find the lavender bed again. I let my fingers move carefully around the roots, scooping and patting, tucking life back into place. I get lost in it. The rhythm. The scent. The smallness of the task. The world shrinks to just this moment, this patch of earth.
And then it shifts.
I feel him before I see him.
That same presence from the study. Heavy. Quiet, but not in the way of someone who doesn’t speak. Quiet in the way of someone used to commanding a room with a glance. My spine stiffens before I lift my head.
He’s here. Giovanni Renzetti. He's walking towards me.
Lou senses the change the same time I do. He murmurs something, probably an excuse, and disappears behind the hedges. I want to call him a coward, but I can’t blame him. I don’t know what this man is doing here either.
His presence is a stark contrast to this place. He looks too sharp, too solid, too tall. The dark, tailored suit clings to a body built like an exact replica of art itself. His broad shoulders block the sun for a moment. His face is carved, all clean lines and harsh edges. His jaw is tight, his mouth set. There’s stubble on his chin, just enough to shadow his mouth. His storm-colored eyes are on me again. And just like in the study, they're softened.
Giovanni stops a few feet away from me, not too close, but not distant enough to ignore. His hands are at his sides. His presence feels like a question I don’t know how to answer.
He looks at me. Not past me. Not around me. At me.
I sit back on my heels, heart rattling like loose glass inside me.
He doesn’t speak immediately. He just looks at me like he's studying me. The way his eyes move across my face, to flick briefly to my hearing aid, feels intrusive and oddly reverent. I feel like a page being read. Line by line. No part of me skipped.
Then he speaks.
“I came to apologize.”
His voice is low and rough. Like something dragged across granite. It's strangely… intimate. It curls low in my stomach and stays there.
I don’t move. I don't say anything. I don’t sign. I don’t offer anything. Because even if I could, what would I say?
He doesn’t seem fazed by my silence. Just watches me with those unreadable eyes, his expression patient, like he’s used to being waited on, not the other way around. His eyes are something other than unreadable. They're kind. Too kind. It unnerves me. It makes me want to scream.
I say nothing, still. I just continue to stare at him. I expect him to take the hint, to leave. But he doesn’t. He waits, like he has nowhere else to be.
He's searching my face for something. I don’t know what. It feels like he’s memorizing me. Like I’m something rare. I don’t understand the way my body reacts. The air feels too thin.
I shift back a little. Not out of fear or out of instinct, but out of the sudden need for air.
And then, slowly, deliberately, he lifts his hands. And he signs.
Are you okay?
I blink. My brain stutters, caught between disbelief and something stranger. He signs. The Don of the Renzetti family knows how to sign. And he’s using it. With me.
There’s no pity in his expression. No arrogance. No mockery. Just that same stillness. That same sharp attention. Like I’m the only thing he’s seeing right now.
It’s too much. He speaks my language. I don’t know what to do with that. Anger rushes in, hot and unwelcome. What is this man doing to me? Why is he here, trying to speak to me like I matter? I can’t take it. Not from him. Not from anyone.
I sign back. My movements are quick and sharp, every motion fueled by the fury I don’t try to hide.
I’m fine. I don’t need your pity.
His brows lift slightly, only for a second. The surprise is there. He hadn’t expected it. Good. Let him feel what it’s like to be misread.
He's good-looking, has a body made for sin, and he makes my blood thrum. But just… no.
My cheeks are hot, and not just from the sun. From the humiliation. From the rage. From the quiet, gnawing ache that’s been in my chest since I left the study. I lift my chin and look right at him.
He doesn’t say anything. Just watches in quiet speculation, like he can’t decide whether to be offended or amused.
