Chapter 12
1619 Words
ISABELLA
I didn’t tell Adrian about dinner with Daniel. I told myself it wasn’t a lie — just… selective silence. He didn’t need to know. He wasn’t my keeper. He wasn’t my boyfriend. He wasn’t anything I owed explanations to. At least, that’s what I repeated to myself as I typed out a different message entirely.
Me:
I drove the Porsche today. Didn’t crash.
His reply came seconds later.
Adrian:
Okay.
I stared at the screen. Okay. Just that. No good, no I’m glad, no be careful, no send me a picture, no did you like it? Just okay.
I tossed my phone onto the bed with a groan. “Infuriating man.”
I changed into something comfortable and padded into the kitchen, hoping food would distract me from the irritation simmering under my skin.
Mara stood at the counter, sleeves rolled, ingredients lined up neatly. She was about to start chopping vegetables when I stepped in.
“Stop,” I said, holding up a hand. “I’ll cook tonight.”
She blinked. “Miss Isabella—”
“No arguments.” I grabbed the cutting board from her. “Sit. Or… stand. Or hover. Whatever you do. But I’m cooking.”
She hesitated, clearly torn between obedience and her training, but eventually stepped aside.
I started pulling ingredients together — garlic, tomatoes, basil — something simple, something grounding. Mara watched quietly, hands clasped behind her back.
“Will you eat with me?” I asked.
She nodded once. “Yes.”
“Good.” I smiled. “I hate eating alone.”
She didn’t respond, but her posture softened just a little.
As I cooked, I tried to make conversation.
“Is Adrian still out of town?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“No.”
“Is he safe?”
“Yes.”
I sighed. “Do you ever say anything besides yes or no?”
She blinked. “Sometimes.”
I stared at her. “That’s not helpful.”
She offered the faintest hint of a smile — the closest thing to amusement I’d ever seen from her.
I plated the pasta and set the table. Mara sat across from me, posture perfect, movements precise. She ate quietly, efficiently, like someone who’d been trained to consume food, not enjoy it.
I tried again.
“Does Adrian usually travel like this?”
“Yes.”
“Does he always leave without telling people where he’s going?”
“Yes.”
“Does he ever tell you anything?”
“No.”
I dropped my fork. “Mara, please. I’m begging you. Give me something. Anything.”
She tilted her head. “He cares about you.”
My breath caught. I hadn’t expected that.
“Is that your opinion,” I asked softly, “or something you were told to say?”
She looked at me for a long moment — longer than she ever had before.
“My observation,” she said.
My chest tightened. I looked down at my plate, suddenly unable to eat. Because I didn’t want to think about Adrian caring. I didn’t want to think about the way he looked at me. I didn’t want to think about the kiss, the heat, the way his voice had broken when he said You’re going to ruin me.
I didn’t want to think about tomorrow night. About Daniel. About the conversation I owed him. About the truth I didn’t want to say out loud.
I pushed my plate away. Mara watched me, silent and steady.
“Are you finished?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She stood to clear the table, but I stopped her. “I’ll do it.”
She hesitated. “Okay.”
I washed the dishes slowly, letting the warm water soothe my hands, letting the quiet settle around me.
My phone buzzed on the counter. I dried my hands and checked it.
Daniel:
Can’t wait for tomorrow.
My stomach twisted. I typed a reply, then deleted it. Typed another. Deleted that too. Finally, I sent:
Me:
Me too.
I set the phone down and leaned against the counter, closing my eyes. Tomorrow, everything would change. And tonight, I had to live with the weight of the choice I’d already made.
**
The next morning came too quickly. I barely slept, my mind looping between Daniel’s voice, Adrian’s one-word text, and the weight of the decision I’d already made. By the time my mother and Sophia arrived to pick me up for a day of shopping, I felt hollow.
I like that I am spending some time with my mother and sister, a rare moment of normalcy in a life that rarely allowed it. But today, everything felt muted. The mall was buzzing — bright lights, chatter, the scent of perfume and coffee drifting through the air. I drifted through racks of dresses, fingers brushing fabrics without really seeing them.
Black? Too dramatic. Too final. Too much like mourning. Maroon? Maybe. Rich, warm, bittersweet — like the last sip of wine before goodbye. I held up a maroon dress against myself, studying the reflection. It was beautiful. Elegant. A little sad.
Sophia appeared beside me, her expression softening. “You don’t look excited.”
“I’m fine,” I said automatically.
She raised a brow. “You’re lying.”
I sighed, lowering the dress. “It’s nothing.”
“Bella.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “What’s wrong?”
Our mother was across the store, animatedly discussing fabrics with a saleslady — far enough not to hear us. I swallowed. “I’m meeting Daniel for dinner tonight.”
Sophia’s face fell instantly. “Oh.”
“Yeah.”
She glanced toward our mother, then back at me, worry clouding her eyes. “Adrian wouldn’t like that.”
A bitter laugh escaped me. “Adrian doesn’t get to like or dislike anything I do.”
Sophia didn’t argue. She just looked at me — really looked — and saw the truth I was trying to hide.
“You’re breaking up with Daniel,” she whispered.
I nodded, throat tight. “It’s the last time I’ll see him like that. As… us.”
Sophia’s hand slipped into mine. “I’m sorry.”
I blinked hard. “I used to love going to dinner with him. I used to get excited picking out a dress. Now I’m dreading it.”
“Because it’s over,” she said gently.
“Because I’m ending it,” I corrected. “And I hate that I have to.”
Sophia squeezed my hand. “You’re doing the right thing.”
“Am I?” My voice cracked. “Because it doesn’t feel like it.”
She hesitated, then said quietly, “Adrian really wouldn’t like it.”
I closed my eyes. “I know.”
And that was the problem. Because part of me — the part I didn’t want to acknowledge — cared what Adrian liked. Cared what he thought. Cared how he’d react. And that terrified me more than anything.
I held the maroon dress against myself again, studying the reflection. It looked good. It looked right. It looked like goodbye.
Sophia watched me with her arms crossed, her expression somewhere between worried and exasperated. “I don’t care what Adrian thinks,” I muttered, pouting as I put the dress back on the rack.
Sophia cleared her throat. “Bella… I’m afraid for you.”
I blinked. “For me? Why?”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “What if Adrian hurts you?”
I froze, the weight of her words settling heavily on my shoulders. “What?” I whispered.
“I’ve heard things,” she said, eyes darting toward our mother to make sure she wasn’t listening. “Horror stories about how dons treat their wives. Controlling. Possessive. Dangerous.”
I scoffed, trying to shake off the unease creeping in. “We’re not married.”
“Being engaged is almost the same thing,” she shot back. “Especially in families like ours.”
I swallowed hard, feeling the truth of her words. She wasn’t wrong.
Sophia continued, voice trembling slightly. “Adrian is known to be ruthless, Bella. People talk. They say he’s cold. That he doesn’t forgive. That he—”
“He’s not like that with me,” I said quickly, my voice a little too sharp.
Her brows lifted. “Yet.”
A chill ran down my spine, the reality of the situation pressing in on me.
Sophia reached for my hand. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
I looked away, staring at the rows of dresses, the soft lighting, the illusion of normalcy. “I’m not going to get hurt,” I said, but the words felt thin, like a fragile promise I wasn’t sure I could keep.
“Bella,” she whispered, “you’re meeting Daniel tonight. Adrian would lose his mind if he knew.”
“I told you,” I said, forcing a smile, “I don’t care.”
But I did. God, I did.
Sophia squeezed my hand tighter. “I’m scared for you. For real.”
I exhaled shakily. “Soph… Adrian isn’t a monster.”
She hesitated. “Maybe not. But he’s a Salvatore. And Salvatores don’t lose gracefully.”
My chest tightened, the weight of the Salvatore name a constant reminder of the stakes involved.
She wasn’t wrong about that either. I pulled my hand away gently. “I’ll be fine.”
Sophia didn’t argue. She just looked at me with that soft, worried expression that made me feel like I was standing on the edge of something dangerous.
- Writer
