Chapter 17: What Jealousy Reveals
1376 Words
The following morning arrived heavy with sunlight after days of rain.
The Monteverde estate breathed differently after storms.
The fields glittered.
Workers returned to routine.
And yet—
inside the ancestral house—
something remained unsettled.
Lola woke early and escaped before breakfast.
The eastern fields welcomed her with cool wind and damp earth. She wore simple linen and carried her camera across her shoulder.
Photography had always steadied her.
Not because it erased emotion.
But because it taught distance.
A lens framed chaos.
Made it manageable.
She followed narrow pathways through sugarcane while morning birds drifted above the fields.
And despite herself—
her thoughts wandered.
To the veranda.
To rain.
To Gabriel asking:
Why him?
She disliked the memory.
Not because of anger.
But because beneath his jealousy—
she had heard hurt.
And hurt complicated things.
Lola lifted her camera and photographed an old worker repairing irrigation lines.
Click.
The familiar sound calmed her.
Another memory surfaced.
A different life.
She had once painted instead of photographed.
And there too—
art had become refuge from emotions she could not untangle.
Some habits, apparently, survived centuries.
“You vanish professionally.”
She lowered the camera.
Matteo approached carrying coffee.
Of course.
She almost smiled.
“You appear professionally.”
“I adapt.”
He handed her a cup.
“I guessed you’d be here.”
“You know my habits too well.”
“Occupational hazard.”
They stood quietly beneath morning light.
No pressure.
No uncomfortable tension.
Just companionship.
And perhaps—
that was precisely why she trusted him.
“You look thoughtful,” Matteo said.
“I usually am.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
She smiled faintly.
“I’ve heard that before.”
His expression softened.
“You’ve been distant lately.”
The observation surprised her.
“I work.”
“You hide.”
Interesting.
Why did everyone insist on that word lately?
She looked toward the fields.
“Is this interrogation?”
“No.” Matteo’s voice remained gentle.
“Concern.”
The distinction mattered.
And somehow—
that kindness made honesty easier.
“I’m tired,” she admitted.
“Of work?”
She hesitated.
Then—
“Complicated people.”
His eyes softened knowingly.
Ah.
So there was someone.
Matteo did not ask directly.
Perhaps because he already suspected.
Or perhaps because kindness sometimes meant patience.
“Well,” he said lightly, “I brought emergency coffee for complicated mornings.”
She laughed softly.
And somewhere across the estate—
unfortunately—
Gabriel saw it.
He had ridden out early hoping distance might improve perspective.
Instead—
he discovered Matteo standing beside Lola beneath morning sunlight.
Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.
The sight irritated him instantly.
Not because they stood too close.
They didn’t.
Not because Matteo touched her.
He didn’t.
No—
what bothered him was something subtler.
She looked comfortable.
And Gabriel—
watching from horseback—
recognized comfort with unpleasant clarity.
He slowed near the ridge.
And suddenly hated himself.
Because Alejandro had been right.
This was fear.
Not competition.
Fear.
The realization sat heavily in his chest.
Before he could retreat unnoticed—
Lola looked up.
Their eyes met across distance.
Briefly.
And even from far away—
he sensed it.
Not hostility.
Only caution.
The feeling unsettled him more than jealousy ever had.
Matteo followed her gaze.
Then looked toward Gabriel.
Ah.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
Gabriel gave a brief nod.
Matteo returned it politely.
And somehow—
that civility irritated him too.
Cowardly, he thought suddenly.
Watching from distances.
Thinking from distances.
Perhaps that was the real problem.
He turned his horse and rode back toward the estate.
But the image stayed with him.
Lola laughing.
And not with him.
Breakfast proved equally unfortunate.
The Monteverde dining room filled with sunlight and suspicious family observation.
Celestina noticed moods the way priests noticed confession.
And this morning—
she noticed several.
Gabriel looked quieter.
Lola looked guarded.
And Matteo—
well.
Matteo looked hopeful.
Dangerous combination.
Bella, meanwhile, looked delighted.
The woman survived through gossip.
“Coffee?” Celestina asked gently.
Gabriel nodded.
Lola thanked the staff softly.
And then—
Alejandro made the mistake.
“Matteo tells me the gallery opening is nearly confirmed.”
Wonderful.
Conversation turned immediately.
Matteo smiled toward Lola.
“The curator called last night.”
Bella clasped her hands dramatically.
“We’re becoming artistic.”
Lola sighed.
“You exaggerate.”
“I support talent.”
Gabriel remained suspiciously silent.
Which Celestina noticed.
And Bella noticed.
And unfortunately—
Lola noticed too.
Matteo continued warmly,
“You should stop hiding your work.”
There was that word again.
Hide.
Gabriel looked up.
Interesting.
Everyone believed she hid.
Perhaps because everyone sensed the same thing—
that Lola carried rooms inside herself she rarely unlocked.
“You’ve seen the photographs?” Matteo asked Gabriel politely.
“A few.”
“And?”
The room quieted.
Lola looked mildly uncomfortable.
Gabriel met her eyes briefly.
Then answered honestly.
“They’re beautiful.”
The sincerity surprised everyone.
Especially her.
For one second—
something softened.
Small.
Unexpected.
Then Matteo smiled.
“She notices details people miss.”
The remark landed too personally.
And again—
that quiet discomfort returned.
Because Matteo knew these pieces of her.
And Gabriel—
despite all his attention—
still stood outside.
Breakfast continued.
But beneath conversation—
fault lines remained.
Until eventually Matteo excused himself to take a business call.
Bella followed suspiciously.
Leaving the dining room quieter.
Too quiet.
Celestina stirred tea.
Then—
with dangerous maternal innocence—
“You two should inspect the northern farm today.”
Lola nearly sighed.
Ah.
There it was.
Gabriel almost laughed.
“My mother negotiates through agriculture.”
“I optimize circumstances,” Celestina corrected.
Alejandro looked entirely unhelpful.
“There were irrigation concerns.”
Lola looked suspicious.
“There were?”
“Possibly.”
Manipulation.
Elegant manipulation.
And somehow—
both of them knew resistance would only encourage Celestina further.
So by late morning—
they found themselves driving toward the northern property alone.
Again.
The road wound through wide fields and quiet villages.
This time—
silence arrived heavier.
Neither seemed eager to disturb it.
Until finally—
Gabriel spoke.
“I saw you this morning.”
She kept her eyes on the road.
“With Matteo.”
Ah.
There it was.
Not accusation.
Not entirely.
Only truth wearing discomfort.
“He brought coffee.”
“I noticed.”
The answer sounded drier than intended.
Lola almost smiled.
“You disapprove of caffeine now?”
“No.”
“Just Matteo?”
He looked outside.
“I told you already.”
“Yes.”
She adjusted the steering wheel.
“And I still don’t understand why.”
Neither did he.
Or rather—
he understood too well now.
And that was the problem.
The truck passed rice fields glittering beneath sunlight.
Then—
quietly—
“I don’t like how careful you are with me.”
The honesty startled them both.
Lola glanced sideways.
“What does that mean?”
His jaw tightened.
“You trust him.”
“And?”
“You don’t trust me.”
Silence filled the vehicle.
Not because she lacked answer.
But because the answer felt dangerous.
Finally—
“I’m learning you.”
The words landed softly.
Not cruel.
Not condemning.
Only honest.
And somehow—
they hurt.
Gabriel looked ahead.
“And what have you learned?”
She hesitated.
Too much perhaps.
That he listened.
That he cared more than he admitted.
That jealousy made him careless.
That beneath arrogance lived loneliness.
And perhaps—
that disappointed people frightened him too.
But she said only—
“That you don’t know what you want yet.”
The statement lingered.
Because once again—
she had reached uncomfortable truth.
He looked toward distant mountains.
Maybe she was right.
Or maybe—
he knew exactly what he wanted—
and simply feared saying it aloud.
The northern fields appeared ahead.
And neither of them realized—
that the day waiting there would begin changing everything.
Because sometimes—
what jealousy revealed was not anger.
Not pride.
But longing disguised as resistance.
And longing—
if left unanswered—
could become reckless.
- Writer
