Chapter Seventeen:The Invitation
735 Words
Isabella
It arrives the next afternoon.
Not flowers.
Not jewelry.
Not something loud.
A book.
Delivered quietly with the rest of Luca’s business parcels. No note attached to the outside. No sender listed.
I shouldn’t recognize the handwriting inside.
But I do.
Page 47.
That’s all it says.
No signature.
No name.
My pulse begins to climb before I even open the book.
It’s a classic novel. One Luca owns already. One Adriano commented on during dinner weeks ago.
I flip to page forty-seven.
A single sentence is underlined in black ink:
“I would rather risk ruin than never know if you would have chosen me.”
My throat tightens.
It’s not crude.
It’s not desperate.
It’s calculated.
He isn’t asking for my body.
He’s asking for my choice.
I shouldn’t respond.
I stare at the page for a long time.
Then I close the book.
And I send one message.
Tomorrow. 6PM. The conservatory café.
I don’t explain.
If he comes, he understands.
If he doesn’t…
Then this ends.
Adriano
She responded.
Of course she did.
The conservatory café is quiet at that hour. Glass walls. Soft greenery. Public enough to look innocent.
Private enough to say what shouldn’t be said.
I arrive early.
Not because I’m eager.
Because I like knowing the exits.
White again today.
Lighter shirt. Sleeves rolled. No jacket. Dark jeans. Clean lines. Controlled presence.
I choose a table near the back where vines hang slightly lower from the ceiling beams.
I wait.
Five minutes pass.
Ten.
And then,
She walks in.
Black dress again.
But softer this time. Less structured. Hair loose. No heavy makeup.
She looks like she came for answers.
She spots me.
Hesitates.
Then walks forward.
“You came,” she says.
“You asked.”
She sits across from me.
There’s no flirting this time.
No teasing.
Just tension.
“You shouldn’t have sent that,” she says quietly.
“You shouldn’t have answered.”
Her fingers curl around her glass of water.
“I needed to know what you meant.”
I lean back slightly.
“I meant exactly what was underlined.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
“If he wasn’t in your life,” I continue calmly, “would you have chosen me?”
She doesn’t answer.
That silence is louder than words.
“I’m not asking you to betray him,” I say. “I’m asking if you ever wondered.”
She inhales slowly.
“Yes.”
The word is barely audible.
But it’s enough.
The air shifts.
This isn’t a game anymore.
This is admission.
“I don’t want to be a secret,” I say quietly.
“You already are.”
Her honesty hits hard.
I lean forward slightly, lowering my voice.
“Then don’t make me one.”
Footsteps approach.
Heavy.
Measured.
Too measured.
Her eyes flick past my shoulder.
And drain of color.
I don’t turn immediately.
I already know.
Black.
Luca.
Isabella
He’s standing near the entrance.
All black again.
Black shirt fitted to his body. Black trousers tailored perfectly. Even his expression feels darker today.
Controlled.
Too controlled.
He walks toward us without hurry.
Without surprise.
As if he’s exactly where he intended to be.
“You picked an interesting place for coffee,” Luca says calmly.
My pulse pounds so loudly I’m sure they both hear it.
“How did you”
He cuts me off gently.
“You left the book in our bedroom.”
Silence crashes down.
I forgot.
I forgot to hide it.
Luca’s gaze shifts to Adriano.
Then back to me.
“You wanted privacy,” Luca continues. “So I thought I’d join you before this became… inappropriate.”
Adriano finally stands.
Slowly.
White facing black.
“I didn’t know this was a private meeting,” Adriano says evenly.
Luca’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
“Everything with her is private.”
That’s the first possessive statement he’s made.
Ever.
I feel it.
The shift.
The ownership.
But there’s something else beneath it.
Fear.
Luca looks at me.
Not angry.
Wounded.
“Did you ask him here?” he asks softly.
And that softness hurts more than if he’d shouted.
I open my mouth.
No words come out.
Because yes.
I did.
And now both men are watching me.
Waiting.
White temptation.
Black devotion.
And I realize something terrifying.
This was never about them fighting.
It’s about me choosing.
- Writer
