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Her cheeks redden when the implication of my words lands. She clears her throat and looks away from me. I lean back in my chair with a smile. Conversation thankfully shifts to her and her life. She tells me a little about growing up. Her brother, her family. Then I decide to ask her something I’ve always been curious about.
“When did you start learning pottery? It’s not a hobby many people cultivate. And you not only cultivated it but you thrived. How did you start out?”
Rosa pauses for a second. I see a slight flicker of hesitation in her blue eyes before she crushes it.
“I was pretty isolated as a child. While my father was grooming Roman to take over the family business, I was mostly left alone. No one really paid any attention to me. I know they all loved me, but my dad treated me like just another one of his possessions, and my brother treated me like something he had to protect. And my mother, she was the probably the worst. She treated me like a project. She raised me to be perfect. The perfect daughter, the perfect sister, and finally, the perfect wife.”
There’s a hint of bitterness in her tone.
“I know she did it to protect me. In her eyes, that was the best way to prepare me for the world we live in. I had to do everything right. And when there’s a strong weight of expectation on you, it starts to feel crushing. I needed an escape. Some form of freedom. And I’ve always liked art. Even as a little kid, I loved to draw, to create things. My mother took me to an event one day where there were so many different artists showcasing their talents. I was drawn to the potter. Something about what he did called to me, the way he molded the clay with his hands. The process was intriguing. I asked my mother for the tools to practice before I went to bed that day. When I got home from school a few days later, I had everything I needed and I blossomed from there. Pottery’s an outlet for me,” she says softly.
“You haven’t worked on it since you moved in,” I point out. “Did you need me to set something up for you?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I’m still trying to figure all of this out and would rather deal with it head-on. Like I said, art is a means of escape for me. A way to express my feelingswithout going crazy. I guess you could say it’s my therapy but, I think I should face this head-on so I know what I’m really getting into.”
“So you’re saying you’re okay right now?” I ask her..
“I love being a potter, but it doesn’t define my entire being. I exist apart from it. I don’t know if you… if you understand that?” she asks.
“Yeah, I get it,principessa.”
More than she’ll ever know. Better than anyone, I understand having a means of escape and not letting it rule you or control you. Not letting yourself become dependent on it.
We spend the rest of the evening eating our meal and engaging in small talk. I can’t remember the last time I did something so domesticated. But it’s worth it, though. I tell myself it just has to be worth it. Otherwise, everything I’ve ever wanted, everything I’ve built will crumble.
There also can’t be any other reasons.
Our engagement takesplace a week later. Rosa’s in her bedroom when I knock on her door. It’s pretty late, but I was hoping to do this today and be done with it. When she opens it, my breath catches. Moonlight plays across her skin, a reflection from the open window in her room. It makes her glow. Her waves of hair spread out across her face. She’s only in a thin tank top, which barely conceals the rise and fall of her breasts.
“Enzo?” she asks. “What are you doing here?”
Apart from that first day, she has never been in my bedroom and vice versa. Despite both rooms being extremely close to each other.
“I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”
“Sure,” she says, moving from the doorway.
I step inside the large room and the door clicks shut behind me. My gaze drifts across the room but I barely take in anything as I turn around to look at her. I can’t not look at her. I clench my jaw, trying to distract myself from her nipples, which are hard and visible beneath her tank top. Her eyes widen when she notices. She blushes, grabbing a robe from the corner of her bed. I don’t stop her as she pulls it on.
Much better. At least now I can focus on what I came here to do.
“Remember when you said you wanted to make this marriage work?” I ask her.
She nods once, expression growing worried.
“Well, I’m going to take that as a sign that you don’t have as many doubts as you did when you first moved in. I was trying to give you some time to get used to life here, but I think we’ve used up enough time.”
“What are you talking about?” she asks, voice soft.
“Here.” I offer her a small velvet box.
She accepts it from my hands, and I watch as she opens it. “Holy shit.”
A chuckle escapes me. “I thought we might get engaged officially.”
She looks at me, something vulnerable in the depths of her eyes.
“Enzo, this ring is… it’s beautiful,” she breathes. “I wasn’t expecting something like this.”
