Chapter 12: Fault Lines
1447 Words
Gabriel did not sleep well.
The ancestral house remained quiet long after midnight, yet rest avoided him with irritating determination.
He stood by the bedroom window overlooking the dark gardens.
And replayed the veranda scene repeatedly.
Her wrist beneath his hand.
The stillness in her eyes.
Not fear.
That would have been easier to understand.
No—
what haunted him was disappointment.
He rubbed his jaw.
Damn.
The impulse had been brief.
Stupid.
And entirely unlike him.
He disliked losing control.
Especially in front of Lola.
Especially with Lola.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
Bianca entered without waiting.
“You look terrible.”
“Good evening to you too.”
She crossed the room carrying tea.
“I heard.”
His expression sharpened.
“Heard what?”
“You and Lola.”
Of course.
Nothing survived long in the Monteverde household.
He exhaled.
“It wasn’t dramatic.”
Bianca studied him carefully.
“You grabbed her.”
His silence answered enough.
And for once—
Bianca looked entirely serious.
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“It wasn’t.”
“No,” she said quietly.
“It wasn’t.”
The words lingered.
Because she knew him.
Not romantically perhaps—
but honestly.
Gabriel Monteverde controlled negotiations, businesses, and himself with almost obsessive discipline.
So what happened?
He looked toward the garden.
“I apologized.”
“And?”
“She accepted it politely.”
Bianca sighed.
“That sounds worse.”
He frowned.
“She wasn’t angry.”
“That,” Bianca said gently, “doesn’t mean she wasn’t hurt.”
The observation landed uncomfortably.
He looked away.
And for the first time—
the truth arrived with unpleasant clarity.
Matteo bothered him.
Not because of pastries.
Or flowers.
Or persistence.
But because Lola seemed unreachable.
And Matteo—
somehow—
stood closer to her world than he did.
Dangerous realization.
Bianca watched him.
“You like her.”
He remained silent.
Then—
“No.”
Bianca nearly smiled.
“You’re getting worse at lying.”
Morning arrived cool and overcast.
Lola woke early and escaped to the eastern fields before breakfast.
The farm steadied her.
Always had.
Workers greeted her warmly while mist hovered over sugarcane and distant mountains.
She preferred this version of life.
Quiet.
Honest.
The wind moved gently against her skin.
And yet—
her thoughts remained unsettled.
Not because Gabriel held her wrist.
The touch itself had lasted seconds.
No—
what disturbed her was something else.
The frustration in his voice.
The possessiveness she sensed beneath questions he had no right asking.
And worse—
the disappointment she felt afterward.
Why disappointment?
She barely knew him.
A memory surfaced.
Another life.
A scholar once admired for patience.
Until impatience revealed itself.
That memory ended in betrayal.
Lola sighed softly.
People rarely stayed exactly as we imagined them.
“Thinking too loudly again?”
She turned.
Bella approached carrying coffee and scandal.
“You walk quietly,” Lola said.
“I survive through stealth.”
Bella handed her a cup.
Then—
“You and Gabriel.”
Lola almost smiled.
“That sentence sounds dangerous.”
“I heard he upset you.”
News traveled efficiently.
“It’s resolved.”
Bella studied her face.
“Is it?”
Lola looked toward the fields.
“He apologized.”
“And?”
“And I accepted.”
Bella folded her arms.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
No.
It didn’t.
Because forgiveness and comfort were different things.
And something fragile had shifted.
“I dislike being stopped,” Lola said quietly.
Bella nodded.
“I know.”
They stood silently.
Then Bella tilted her head.
“You know who arrived early this morning?”
Lola looked suspicious.
“Who?”
“Persistent pastry man.”
She sighed.
“Matteo?”
Bella grinned.
“With breakfast.”
Of course.
Matteo Arrieta remained stubbornly hopeful.
And somehow—
the timing felt exhausting.
Breakfast at the Monteverde estate carried unusual tension.
Gabriel entered late.
And immediately noticed Matteo.
Wonderful.
The man sat comfortably beside Alejandro discussing agricultural investments.
Celestina looked delighted.
Bella looked entertained.
And Lola—
Lola sat across the table wearing pale linen and maddening composure.
No visible awkwardness.
No accusation.
Just distance.
Which somehow unsettled him more.
“Gabriel,” Alejandro greeted.
“You remember Matteo.”
“Difficult to forget.”
Matteo smiled politely.
“Morning.”
Gabriel sat beside Bianca.
And entirely failed not to notice the box of pastries near Lola.
Ridiculous.
Bianca kicked his shoe lightly beneath the table.
Behave.
He ignored her.
Conversation flowed around business and provincial politics until Matteo turned toward Lola.
“I spoke with the Manila gallery.”
Ah.
The gallery.
Gabriel looked up.
Lola blinked.
“You did?”
“They’re opening the exhibit next month.”
Bella smiled.
“You’re still considering displaying your photography?”
Gabriel frowned slightly.
Photography?
Interesting.
Lola looked uncomfortable.
“It was only an idea.”
“You never told us you photograph,” Celestina said.
“It’s private.”
Matteo smiled.
“And excellent.”
Something unpleasant twisted inside Gabriel.
Because once again—
Matteo knew something he didn’t.
And irrationally—
that bothered him.
“You photograph?” he asked.
Lola looked at him briefly.
“Sometimes.”
“What kind?”
“Mostly places.”
The answer felt deliberately vague.
Matteo added warmly,
“She has beautiful work.”
And there it was again.
That familiarity.
That access.
Gabriel disliked it.
Breakfast ended soon after.
Guests scattered across the estate.
And somehow—
despite every reasonable instinct—
Gabriel found himself looking for Lola.
He found her eventually.
The old library.
Of course.
She sat near tall windows surrounded by books and soft daylight.
For a moment—
he simply watched.
She looked peaceful there.
Untouched by noise.
And strangely—
he did not want to disturb her.
Unfortunately—
he already had.
Lola noticed him before he spoke.
“You walk louder today.”
He leaned against the doorway.
“That sounds judgmental.”
“It’s observational.”
Silence followed.
Then—
“I’m sorry.”
No jokes.
No deflection.
Just honesty.
Her fingers rested against the book.
“You already apologized.”
“I mean it.”
She studied him quietly.
And suddenly—
he looked younger.
Not in age.
Only certainty.
“I know,” she said softly.
“But?”
There it was.
He heard it too.
She closed the book.
“But it unsettled me.”
The honesty stung.
Good.
Perhaps it should.
Gabriel stepped closer.
“I know.”
“No,” she said gently.
“You don’t.”
The words were not cruel.
Only true.
And somehow—
truth from her always landed more deeply.
He looked toward the shelves.
“You think I’m arrogant.”
“I think you’re used to certainty.”
“That sounds kinder.”
“It isn’t meant to insult you.”
He looked at her.
“Then what?”
Lola hesitated.
How could she explain?
That she had spent lifetimes protecting herself from emotional storms?
That possessiveness frightened her more than loneliness?
So she chose simplicity.
“You make me feel watched,” she said quietly.
The confession startled him.
Because suddenly—
he understood.
And disliked understanding.
“I don’t want that.”
Her expression softened slightly.
“I know.”
Silence returned.
The library smelled faintly of old paper and rain.
And unexpectedly—
the tension felt different now.
Less sharp.
More vulnerable.
Then—
laughter echoed from outside.
Both turned.
Through the library windows, Matteo stood in the garden waiting beside his vehicle.
Flowers again.
Persistent man.
Bella waved dramatically from the veranda.
Lola sighed.
Gabriel looked toward the scene.
And something inside him tightened once more.
Not anger.
But something dangerously close to loss.
Before he could stop himself—
“You’re going with him?”
Lola looked toward the window.
Then back at him.
“It’s lunch.”
The answer should have meant nothing.
And yet—
it did.
Because suddenly Gabriel realized something profoundly inconvenient.
The possibility of her belonging to someone else disturbed him far more than he wished to admit.
Lola stood and gathered her book.
He watched her.
And before she passed him—
she paused.
“Gabriel.”
He looked down.
Her voice softened.
“You don’t need to compete.”
The words lingered after she left.
And standing alone inside the old library—
watching her walk toward another man—
Gabriel Monteverde discovered a deeply unpleasant truth.
Jealousy did not arrive loudly.
Sometimes—
it began quietly.
Like fault lines beneath earth.
Invisible.
Until something finally broke.
- Writer
