POV:Alessandro
The day ends the way most days do. With numbers that pretend to matter more than people. Meetings stretch into one another without friction. Boston holding, Chicago corrected, Florida quiet in a way that suggests something is building beneath it. Men speak. I listen. Decisions are made, absorbed, and moved past.
Efficient. Contained. Controlled.
But the structure is no longer clean. There’s a second system running beneath it now. Quieter. Less predictable.
Her.
The woman I can’t keep out of my mind, no matter what happens. The woman whose lips I can almost still feel if I close my eyes.
Which is how I find my feet walking towards her room as a dark hush overcomes the house.
I don’t knock. I stroll in, craving her more than I care to admit.
She’s standing by the window, dressed in black. Always black. The fabric falls cleanly, simply, but differently than before. The cut is sharper, the line more deliberate. It follows her body instead of concealing it.
She doesn’t turn immediately, though I know she knows I’m there. She just chooses not to acknowledge me.
I close the door behind me. “That’s new.” I point to her dress.
She turns, noticing my gesture. “You notice everything.”
“Yes.”
Her mouth curves slightly. “How exhausting.”
“Show me.”
A beat. “Show you what?”
“Everything you bought.”
She tilts her head. “You assume I bought something for you?”
“I assume you don’t do anything without purpose.”
“Flattering.”
“Accurate.”
I step further into the room. The distance between us narrows without being acknowledged. Her floral scent infiltrates my nostrils.
“What did you buy?” I ask again.
She exhales softly, as if I’ve become mildly inconvenient. “A dress.”
“For what purpose?”
She turns fully now. “For the same purpose everything in this house exists.”
“Which is?”
“To be seen.”
I study her. “You’re changing the way you move through the house.”
“And you’re adjusting it to accommodate me.”
