Page 70 of Unravel Me

I glance toward the bundle and take my hands off it. Then I look back at Mauro, expecting some kind of response, perhaps for him to take the kit away. Instead, he does the exact opposite. He places both hands along the sides of the package and gently slides it even closer to me.

Then he takes his phone, and quickly types something. A moment later, the text-to-speech app reads the message aloud.

"Nothing in your past could ever discourage me, Jared. I believe you are utter perfection. My own past is difficult as well. I think you already sense I'm seriously interested in you, and this gift reflects exactly how I feel. But I also understand your situation, so for now, accept the kit with no obligations whatsoever. I don't want anything in return. I also know that no one should make life-changing decisions during heat recovery. If, after it’s over, you decide there could be something between us, I’ll be here."

I stare at him in silence. His words lift some of the weight from my chest; my past doesn't seem to deter him, and there's something in his eyes that feels like warmth, longing… and deep hunger. But there’s the part that remains unraveled. Staring intently, I'm waiting for him to say something more, to shed some light on this whole situation: the strange knowledge about me that the Santoro family seems to possess, Silvio's open declaration that he had been waiting for me, and the inexplicable way Mauro’s been treating me… the whole instant possessiveness.

But nothing comes.

I sense some kind of… wall, as if there were an area within him that offers passive but constant resistance to my curiosity.

And… I'm afraid of secrets.

Mark had secrets.

On the surface, he seemed like a good candidate. He had looks, he came from wealth, he had a promising political career, but he hid a great deal of darkness within him. So all those tempting, shiny things could never create a safe future for me, not really.

If my old self looked at Mauro, I’d see the same, material things. He’s the nephew of the owner of this mansion, he’s expected to inherit the entire estate one day, the land, along with a prosperous company, and… is devastatingly handsome.

A few years ago, that alone would’ve been enough for me to consider him a perfect match for me. But life has taught me too many painful lessons. I couldn’t wipe away my tears with stacks of cash.

And I don’t know Mauro, at all. I can't afford to make the same mistake anymore.

Morals matter, honesty matters.

I have questions ready to spill from my lips, prepared to dig deeper, but I can sense the unwavering resistance coming from him, like a hand raised in a clear ‘stop, don’t do this’ gesture. And that indeed stops me in my tracks.

And there’s one more thing on top of all this:

…the entity from the forest.

I can't completely let go of the thought that I might find him again.

Of course, that’s assuming he isn’t Mauro, I just can’t stand the thought of never seeing him again, even if only briefly, just to… say my farewell.

As ridiculous as it sounds, some strange sense of loyalty still ties me to that green fae. I remember his tenderness, the soft, gentle touch of his hand on my face. He was the first to show me this kind of warmth, and I cherish the memory.

So maybe I shouldn’t push this conversation any further, but simply accept Mauro’s short, somewhat vague reply as something that’s actually useful, something that might help me maintain some neutrality and distance in this situation.

Veyron suggested it would be better to wait these few days, finish recovering, and give myself some time to think. What I surely need is for this post-heat brain fog to lift, without the pressure of having to make any decision right now.

But…

That doesn't mean we can’t just casually talk! Take our time, kinda ‘feeling each’ other out, right? Maybe some secrets will unravel along the way?

There is one thing I could start with, since I'm curious about it.

"How did you lose your voice? Were you born that way?"

The faintest flicker crosses Mauro's face, and only then do I realize how that might have sounded to him. As if I were trying to figure out whether he'd been born… ‘defective’.

But Mauro doesn't let any hurt show. He simply lowers his head, types something into his phone, and a moment later, the synthesized voice speaks for him.

"No. I wasn't born like this. When I was seven years old, I witnessed my parents' deaths. The events that followed… caused me to lose my ability to speak. I was given drugs meant to erase my memories, but instead they damaged the speech center in my brain."

"You witnessed your parents die?" I ask quietly.

Mauro nods but doesn't type anything else.