Chapter 25: Cracks Beneath Composure
1641 Words
The conference ended near midnight.
And somehow—
exhaustion felt easier than emotion.
The drive back to the Monteverde estate passed beneath quiet skies and dim provincial roads. Bella had fallen asleep almost immediately beside Bianca in the backseat, while paperwork and conference folders occupied the remaining space like unwanted witnesses.
In front—
silence lived between Gabriel and Lola.
Not hostile.
Only careful.
The ballroom.
The dance.
The fountain.
And his question—
You really miss nothing?
The memory lingered.
Lola looked out the window.
Rice fields stretched dark beyond the highway while distant lights flickered like uncertain stars.
She should not be thinking about him.
And yet—
his expression near the fountain remained annoyingly difficult to forget.
Not arrogant.
Not demanding.
Only tired.
Dangerous thing.
Because tired men sometimes looked softer than they truly were.
Beside her, Gabriel watched the road.
And replayed her answer.
I miss who I thought you were.
The sentence had followed him all evening.
Sharp.
Honest.
Deserved.
He glanced toward her briefly.
She looked calm.
Untouched.
And somehow—
that hurt.
Not because he wanted her suffering.
God, no.
But because he feared he had already become something finished in her story.
The estate gates appeared at last.
Relief arrived quietly.
Until—
Bianca spoke from the backseat.
“Well.”
Bella opened one eye.
“That sounds scandalous.”
Bianca crossed elegant legs.
“I dislike unresolved tension.”
Gabriel exhaled.
“You survived several hours of diplomacy. Congratulations.”
“I deserve medals.”
Bella yawned dramatically.
“And emotional compensation.”
No one laughed.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The vehicle stopped beneath the ancestral house portico.
Bella escaped first.
Bianca followed more slowly, pausing beside Gabriel before entering.
Her voice lowered.
“You should sleep.”
“That sounds maternal.”
“It’s practical.”
Then—
more softly—
“You’re losing yourself a little.”
The remark unsettled him.
Because perhaps—
she was right.
Morning arrived warm and mercilessly bright.
Lola woke before sunrise.
Sleep had visited poorly again.
The conference still lingered inside her thoughts, but not because of investors or speeches.
No—
it was the fountain conversation she disliked remembering.
And worse—
the strange ache beneath it.
She dressed simply and escaped toward the eastern fields with her camera.
The farm welcomed silence.
Always had.
Mist still rested above irrigation canals while workers prepared early machinery.
Photography steadied her.
It created distance.
Necessary distance.
She lifted the camera and framed dawn against sugarcane.
Click.
The familiar sound calmed her.
A memory surfaced unexpectedly.
Another lifetime.
A hillside monastery.
She had once sketched sunrises instead of photographing them.
And even then—
art had become refuge from emotional noise.
Some things survived centuries.
“You disappear beautifully.”
She lowered the camera.
Matteo approached carrying coffee.
Of course.
She nearly smiled.
“You appear suspiciously often.”
“I cultivate timing.”
He handed her a cup.
The morning breeze moved gently between them.
And unlike conversations with Gabriel—
nothing here felt sharp.
No emotional weather.
Only warmth.
“You left early last night,” Matteo said.
“I was tired.”
“You looked thoughtful.”
That sounded dangerously observant.
“I attended a conference.”
“You survived a conference.”
He smiled.
“That deserves sympathy.”
She laughed softly.
And somewhere near the upper veranda—
unfortunately—
Gabriel saw it again.
Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.
He stood above with untouched coffee and growing irritation.
Not anger.
No.
Something quieter.
Because watching Lola with Matteo had become a peculiar form of punishment.
The problem was not romance.
Not yet.
The problem was comfort.
Matteo stood where Gabriel no longer could.
And increasingly—
that frightened him.
Alejandro appeared beside him.
“You glare loudly.”
“I’m drinking coffee.”
“No,” his father said dryly.
“You’re suffering theatrically.”
Gabriel looked away.
“They seem close.”
Alejandro followed his gaze.
Interesting.
“So they do.”
The older man looked entirely too thoughtful.
Then—
“Did you expect her to wait?”
The question landed heavily.
“I’m not asking her to.”
“No?”
Gabriel said nothing.
Because silence had become confession lately.
Alejandro sipped coffee.
“You know what pride does?”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It mistakes longing for control.”
The words lingered.
And annoyingly—
they sounded true.
Breakfast proved unexpectedly uncomfortable.
Matteo remained at the estate after accompanying Lola back from the fields.
Naturally.
Bella looked delighted.
Celestina looked pleased.
And Bianca—
well.
Bianca looked increasingly thoughtful.
The dining room glowed softly beneath morning light while conversation drifted toward agriculture and gallery schedules.
Then—
danger arrived wearing casual politeness.
Matteo looked toward Lola.
“The Manila trip.”
Ah.
There it was.
Lola set down her tea.
“What about it?”
“The curator confirmed Tuesday.”
Bella brightened.
“Artistic scandal.”
Lola sighed.
“You exaggerate.”
“I support culture.”
Matteo smiled.
“We can leave early morning.”
The wording sounded innocent.
Entirely innocent.
And yet—
Gabriel heard only one detail.
We.
His coffee suddenly tasted bitter.
Alejandro looked interested.
“You’re staying overnight?”
Matteo answered calmly.
“If necessary.”
The room quieted.
Not dramatically.
Only enough.
Lola hesitated.
Because truthfully—
she had not thought that far.
And suddenly—
she became aware of Gabriel’s silence.
Annoying awareness.
Very annoying.
Bianca noticed too.
Ah.
There it was again.
That sharp stillness he carried lately.
Before matters became stranger—
Lola answered,
“I haven’t finalized plans.”
Matteo nodded politely.
“Of course.”
No pressure.
Never pressure.
And somehow—
that gentleness stirred guilt again.
Because she still had not told him the truth.
Not fully.
After breakfast, Matteo excused himself to take business calls.
Bella disappeared suspiciously.
And Bianca—
unexpectedly—
found Lola alone in the library.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
The older woman stood near the shelves examining photography books.
“You hide in beautiful places.”
“That sounds judgmental.”
“Observational.”
Lola almost smiled.
Rain threatened again beyond tall windows.
Bianca turned toward her.
“You don’t trust Gabriel.”
Straightforward.
Dangerous.
Lola closed the folder she carried.
“No.”
The answer arrived too quickly.
Bianca lifted a brow.
“That sounded rehearsed.”
Silence.
Then—
carefully—
“I don’t trust him with my peace.”
The honesty surprised even her.
Bianca looked thoughtful.
Fair answer.
And perhaps—
deserved.
“He hurt you.”
The words carried no accusation.
Only understanding.
Lola looked toward the rain.
“Yes.”
Bianca folded her arms lightly.
“You know what interests me?”
“That sentence worries me.”
“You still defend him.”
Lola blinked.
“I do no such thing.”
“No?”
Bianca smiled faintly.
“You never call him cruel.”
The observation unsettled her.
Because it was true.
Disappointing.
Impulsive.
Careless.
But not cruel.
And somehow—
that distinction complicated anger.
Before she could answer—
footsteps sounded outside.
Then Gabriel entered.
Wonderful timing.
He stopped when he saw them.
And immediately—
the atmosphere shifted.
Bianca looked between them.
Ah.
Emotional weather again.
“I should go,” she said.
Lola looked suspicious.
“That sounds deliberate.”
“I cultivate mystery.”
And just like that—
she left.
Coward.
Silence followed.
The library smelled of old books and approaching rain.
Gabriel remained near the doorway.
Lola stayed by the window.
Distance.
Careful distance.
Then—
“You’re going to Manila.”
No greeting.
Only injury disguised poorly.
She nearly sighed.
“Good afternoon to you too.”
He stepped inside.
“With Matteo.”
The patience she had cultivated all morning thinned immediately.
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“For the gallery.”
“You say that like it’s criminal.”
The rain began softly outside.
And suddenly—
the room felt smaller.
“You didn’t tell me.”
The remark startled her.
Because it sounded strangely personal.
“I wasn’t aware I owed announcements.”
The truth landed sharply.
He looked toward the rain.
“No.”
Then—
more quietly—
“I suppose not.”
Something in his voice unsettled her.
Not accusation.
Only disappointment.
Dangerous thing.
She gathered her folder.
“You should stop doing this.”
His eyes lifted.
“Doing what?”
“Looking wounded every time my life continues.”
The words struck hard.
Good.
Perhaps they should.
For several seconds—
only rain filled the room.
Then he said quietly,
“You think I want to stop your life.”
The honesty caught her unexpectedly.
She hesitated.
No.
Not consciously.
But his jealousy felt heavy sometimes.
Too heavy.
And she was tired.
So tired.
“I think,” she said softly, “you don’t know how to stand outside something you want.”
The sentence lingered.
Because once again—
she had found uncomfortable truth.
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then—
painfully honest—
“What if I’m learning too late?”
Silence.
Dangerous silence.
Her pulse shifted annoyingly.
No.
She would not step closer to confusion again.
So she looked toward the rain instead.
And answered only—
“Then that’s unfortunate.”
The words sounded colder than she intended.
She left moments later.
And standing alone inside the library—
with rain falling against old windows—
Gabriel discovered something deeply unpleasant.
Hope had begun hurting.
Because for the first time in years—
he was no longer fighting for pride.
He was fighting against the terrifying possibility that he had already become a lesson in someone else’s survival.
And outside—
unaware of the storm still gathering—
Manila waited.
- Writer
