Until He Sees Me - Broken Yet His

Chapter 16 - Held Together

A month in Miami, and I’m finally hitting my stride. The project is going well, my relationship with Isabelle keeps getting stronger, and for the first time in forever, I actually feel like I belong somewhere.

Massimo, well, he keeps acting in this strange way, looking at me like I mean everything. And I keep ignoring it, pretending it’s not here, telling myself it’s all in my head.

My routine's become sacred: coffee with Simba on the terrace watching the sunrise, a quick beach run, then off to either the office or The Azure, depending on what needs my attention. Today's a site day, I need to check down the terrace layout and confirm installation timelines with contractors.

The Azure looks incredible now that it's almost finished. White stone gleaming in the morning sun, infinity pools that seem to pour directly into the ocean. Workers move across the property like dancers, adding final touches to landscaping and interior details.

I'm standing on the main terrace sketching lighting positions when I hear familiar footsteps behind me.

"View never gets old, does it?"

I turn to find Massimo walking toward me, looking effortlessly perfect in his tailored shirt and dark slacks. He's been showing up at the site more often lately, always with some legitimate reason, checking progress, discussing vendor details, approving finishes. But I'm starting to think he just likes watching his vision come to life.

"Really doesn't," I agree, gesturing toward the water. "I was just thinking about how the lighting will interact with the sunset."

He moves beside me, close enough that his cologne hits me, that expensive, warm scent that’s becoming way too familiar.

"Show me."

So I do. I walk him through the entire lighting design, pointing out fixture positions, explaining how they'll layer ambiance throughout the space. He listens intently, asking questions that prove he gets both the technical and aesthetic sides.

“È perfetto,” he murmurs at one point.

The Italian rolls off his tongue so naturally it makes my stomach flutter. God, when he speaks like that, I almost forget what I’m supposed to be doing.

"It's going to be spectacular," he says when I finish.

"I hope so. Everything depends on the custom installations being perfect."

That's when my phone rings.

The screen shows "Luxe Lighting Solutions." My stomach drops, but I tell myself it's probably routine.

"Excuse me," I say, stepping away. "Hi, David. Please tell me you're calling with delivery updates."

The pause on the other end says everything.

"I'm afraid there's been a complication."

Ice floods my veins.

"What kind of complication?"

"Shipping delay. The custom fixtures are stuck in customs in Los Angeles. Documentation issues."

I can feel Massimo watching me, probably seeing all the color drain from my face.

"How long?" I interrupt.

"Forty-eight hours minimum. Possibly seventy-two."

The words hit like physical blows. Forty-eight hours means missing our installation window. Missing installation means cascade delays through the entire timeline. The opening is less than four months away, which suddenly feels like nothing.

"David, you need to understand, this delay doesn't just affect lighting. It affects everything."

"I know, Miss Miller, and I'm really sorry. We're doing everything possible to expedite-"

"Doing everything possible isn't good enough." My voice comes out sharper than I intended, too sharp, and I know Massimo probably heard it. "I need solutions, not apologies."

My heart starts racing.

"What about air freight? Rush shipping?"

"The units are too large for standard air freight, and charter cargo would cost..."

He quotes a number that makes my vision blur. Not just expensive, catastrophic.

"I'll call you back," I manage, hanging up with shaking hands.

I stare at my phone while my brain cycles through impossible scenarios. Charter freight destroys our budget. Standard shipping means unacceptable delays. There's no good solution.

"Emma?"

Massimo's voice sounds concerned, but I can barely hear him over the rushing in my ears.

"The lighting," I whisper. "The custom installations. They're stuck."

"For how long?"

"Two, maybe three days."

"We'll figure something out."

"No, you don't get it." The words start tumbling out fast. "Those fixtures are the centerpiece of everything. Without them, the whole design falls apart. And if we delay installation, we miss testing windows, which means no proper rehearsals, which means-"

"Emma, breathe."

"The opening will be a disaster and everyone will know I couldn't handle basic logistics and you'll regret bringing me here because obviously I'm not qualified and it will be like Mom always said I would fail-"

My chest feels tight. Like someone's sitting on it. The shaking gets worse, and suddenly I can't catch my breath properly. I feel the weight of all the last weeks, all the hard work, all the sleepless nights, everything that I work for untill now to try and make this perfect.

"I need to fix this. Call the shipping company, the freight forwarders, customs directly-"

"Emma, stop."

"I should have had backup options, planned for this, any competent coordinator would have seen this coming-"

"Emma."

"Now you're standing there watching me fall apart which proves I was never right for this job-"

“Emma, ascolta.”

The sound of his Italian, low and steady, somehow cuts through the chaos.

"I can't breathe properly. Why can't I breathe?"

"Because you're having a panic attack."

"I need to sit down."

"Okay. Let's sit."

He guides me to a low stone wall bordering the terrace, his hand steady on my arm. Not grabbing, just... there. Grounding.

"Can you look at me?"

I try, but everything feels shaky and unfocused.

"I need to fix this problem-"

"The problem can wait. Right now, focus on breathing."

"In through your nose," he says quietly. "Count to three. Out through your mouth."

I try to follow, but my chest feels crushed.

"I can't... it's not working..."

"Yes, it is. Try again. In… due… tre… hold… out slowly.”

He counts with me, voice steady and calm. Gradually, the crushing weight in my chest starts to ease.

"Better. Keep going."

We sit there on the stone wall, construction noise fading to background as he talks me through the attack. Miami sun warms my skin, and slowly the world stops tilting.

"That's better," he says when my breathing finally evens out.

"Sorry. I don’t usually let anyone see me crack like that."

"Don't apologize. This kind of pressure would get to anyone."

"But you hired me to handle pressure."

"I hired you because you're brilliant at what you do. One stressful moment doesn't change that."

I look up at him, surprised by the conviction in his voice.

"The lighting situation is solvable. I have customs connections, freight contacts. We'll figure it out."

"You don't have to-"

"Yes, I do. This is my project too, and you're part of my team."

The way he says "my team" makes something warm spread through my chest.

"I just hate feeling helpless."

"You're not helpless. You identified a critical problem and you're working to solve it. That's exactly what you should do."

A strand of hair falls across my face, damp with perspiration from the panic. Before I can fix it, Massimo's hand moves gently, his fingers brushing the hair away from my cheek and tucking it behind my ear.

The touch is so gentle, so unexpected, that I freeze, startled by the intimacy.

For a moment, we just look at each other. His expression is softer than I've ever seen it, and I'm acutely aware of how close we're sitting, how his hand is still hovering near my face.

Then his phone buzzes, and the spell breaks. He pulls back, checking the screen.

"I should take this," he says, standing. "But we're going to solve the lighting situation. I promise."

As he steps away to answer, I stay on the stone wall, heart still racing, but not from panic this time.

What just happened felt too real to call it professional

And the scariest part is how much I wanted it to continue.