Chapter 3 — The Man Who Doesn’t Ask
1444 Words
The night refused to settle.
Even hours after the last guest had left and the staff began clearing crystal and silver from the ballroom, Sofia remained awake.
Her engagement ring lay heavy against her skin.
It wasn’t ostentatious. Marco had chosen something traditional — a large emerald-cut diamond set in platinum. Elegant. Impressive. Strategically appropriate.
It sparkled under the dim light of her bedroom, catching reflections from the city beyond her window.
It felt like a shackle.
Sofia sat at her vanity, still in her gown, staring at her reflection. She looked composed. Perfect. The future wife of Marco Bianchi.
No one would guess that her pulse still remembered the way Matteo Russo had looked at her on the terrace.
You deserve more than duty.
The words had followed her upstairs like a whisper pressed against her spine.
A soft knock sounded at her door.
She straightened instantly. “Yes?”
Her father stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. He rarely waited.
“You handled yourself well tonight,” he said, closing the door behind him.
“Thank you.”
He studied her reflection in the mirror rather than looking at her directly.
“This is a good match,” he continued. “The Bianchi family has influence we need. Stability.”
Stability.
She nodded.
“You understand why this matters.”
“Yes, Papa.”
He finally met her eyes in the mirror. “Marco is ambitious. That is not a flaw.”
No, she thought. It isn’t.
“He will expect respect.”
“I know.”
“He will expect obedience.”
The word landed with quiet finality.
Her throat tightened slightly, but she kept her voice calm. “I have always been obedient.”
“Yes,” her father said softly. “You have.”
Something in his tone almost sounded like regret.
“Russo was watching you,” he added casually.
Her fingers stilled against the edge of the vanity.
“I noticed.”
“He is not part of this arrangement.”
“I understand.”
Her father’s gaze sharpened slightly. “Do you?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between them — heavy, assessing.
“You will keep your distance,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Sofia lowered her eyes briefly. “Of course.”
He nodded once, satisfied, and moved toward the door.
“Get some rest. Tomorrow, we begin preparations.”
For the wedding.
The door closed behind him.
Sofia exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping the moment she was alone again.
Obedience.
Distance.
Duty.
She slipped the ring off her finger and set it carefully on the vanity.
Her skin felt lighter without it.
—
The following afternoon, the estate felt different.
Word of her engagement had traveled quickly. Calls came in from relatives and allied families. Florists. Event planners. Designers. Her mother floated from room to room, already discussing venues and guest lists.
Sofia moved through it all like a ghost.
She listened. Nodded. Agreed.
Inside, something restless stirred.
By late afternoon, she escaped again — this time to the garden behind the estate. It was quieter there, shielded from the main road by tall hedges and wrought-iron gates.
The air smelled faintly of roses and damp earth.
She walked along the stone path slowly, letting the rhythm of her steps steady her thoughts.
You deserve more than duty.
She stopped abruptly.
The words were reckless. Dangerous.
And yet… they felt true.
A car engine purred faintly beyond the gate.
Her heart stuttered.
No one was expected.
The gate opened with a soft mechanical click.
Sofia turned.
Matteo Russo stepped through as though he belonged there.
He wasn’t dressed for a formal gathering this time. No tie. The top button of his dark shirt undone. Sunglasses resting in his hand.
He looked less polished.
More real.
Her pulse betrayed her immediately.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she said softly.
“And yet,” he replied calmly, closing the gate behind him, “I am.”
He walked toward her without hurry, each step deliberate.
She should leave. She knew that.
She didn’t.
“What do you want?” she asked.
His gaze flicked briefly to her left hand.
The ring was back on.
“I wanted to see if you were as composed today as you were last night.”
“And?”
“You aren’t.”
The honesty made heat rise in her chest.
“You’re very observant,” she said.
“I have to be.”
He stopped a few feet away. Close enough that she could see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.
Close enough that the air between them felt charged.
“You shouldn’t have come,” she repeated, though the words lacked conviction.
“Is that what you want?” he asked quietly.
Her breath caught.
He didn’t say should.
He said want.
“I don’t have that luxury.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He stepped closer.
Not touching.
Just close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.
Her heart pounded.
“Why does it bother you?” she asked suddenly, the question bursting from her before she could swallow it.
“Your engagement.”
His jaw tightened slightly.
“Because I don’t like watching you disappear.”
The words stunned her.
“I’m not disappearing.”
“You shrink around him.”
Her lips parted in protest.
He wasn’t wrong.
“You’re different when you speak to me,” he continued, voice lower now. “You push back.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means you have more in you than silence.”
Her pulse raced under his gaze.
“Marco is a good match,” she said, almost as if convincing herself.
“He is ambitious,” Matteo agreed.
“That’s not a crime.”
“No.”
“But?” she pressed.
He studied her face carefully, as though measuring how much truth she could handle.
“But he wants to own what he marries.”
“And you don’t?” she challenged, surprised by her own boldness.
Something dark and heated flashed in his eyes.
“Oh, I absolutely do,” he said.
The bluntness stole the air from her lungs.
“But not like that,” he added, voice steady. “I don’t want something quiet and small. I want something that can stand beside me.”
Her heartbeat thundered.
“You barely know me.”
“I know enough.”
Silence stretched.
The garden felt too small. The world too narrow.
“You’re promised,” he said finally.
“Yes.”
“But you haven’t said you’re happy.”
She looked away.
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It should.”
His hand lifted slightly — hesitating — before brushing a stray strand of hair away from her shoulder.
The contact was brief.
Controlled.
But it burned.
Her breath hitched.
“You’re not fragile,” he murmured.
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
His fingers lingered near her skin but didn’t touch again.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.
“Because someone should ask what you want.”
Her defenses wavered.
“I don’t know what I want,” she admitted.
His gaze softened slightly.
“That’s honest.”
Footsteps echoed faintly from inside the estate.
Sofia stepped back immediately, the spell cracking.
“You need to leave.”
Matteo held her gaze for a long moment.
“If you marry him,” he said quietly, “you will spend your life being exactly what he expects.”
“And what do you expect?” she asked.
His eyes darkened.
“I expect you to surprise me.”
The words settled deep in her chest.
Heavy. Dangerous.
He stepped back at last, restoring distance between them.
“I won’t force this,” he said. “But I won’t ignore it either.”
“This?” she asked, breath unsteady.
He didn’t smile.
“This tension.”
Her pulse betrayed her again.
Without another word, he turned and walked toward the gate.
Just before stepping through, he paused.
“You deserve to choose,” he said.
Then he was gone.
The gate closed softly behind him.
Sofia stood frozen in the garden, her heart racing, her thoughts unraveling.
The world she had always accepted — structured, predictable, obedient — no longer felt solid beneath her feet.
For the first time in her life, someone had looked at her not as a daughter.
Not as a bride.
But as something unfinished.
And the most dangerous part?
She wasn’t sure she wanted to stay unfinished anymore.
- Writer
