I close the laptop with more force than necessary.
My phone buzzes on the table.
Liana: I'm home. Thank you for being so understanding. I promise I'll be normal from now on. Well, more normal. As normal as I can be.
Her text is followed by a heart emoji.
Even after crying. Even after the most mortifying evening of her life—or mine—she sends me a heart emoji.
I type back: Don't worry about it. Get some rest.
Liana: You too. Goodnight, Santo.
I set down my phone and pour myself a large glass of wine.
The guilt is still there, sitting heavy in my chest. Sharp. Uncomfortable.
She tried so hard. Put in so much effort and research. And I shut her down completely.
Made her cry.
I drain the glass and pour another.
Tomorrow, when she comes to get her laptop, I'll be nicer. More understanding. Less quick to judge.
Tomorrow, I'll give her the benefit of the doubt.
But tonight?
Tonight, I can't shake the image of her tears. The way her voice broke. The genuine embarrassment on her face.
It felt real.
It looked real.
But so did everything else she's done. The steak-eating. The gun-grabbing. The grandmother-inviting. The moving-in-without-asking.
All of it looked genuine in the moment.
I walk to my window, staring out at the city lights spread below.
Twenty-four days until the wedding.
Twenty-four days to figure out if I'm falling for a woman or falling for an elaborate performance.
And twenty-four days to figure out why, despite everything, I felt worse seeing her cry than I did seeing sex toys on my dining table.
I finish my wine and head to bed.
But sleep doesn't come easy.
Because somewhere between the schedule and the tears, between the chaos and the vulnerability, Liana Costa has gotten completely under my skin.
And I have no idea if that's exactly what she planned all along.
Chapter 15: Liana
I arrive at the port by six in the morning, when the Mediterranean is still painted in shades of rose and gold from the rising sun. The water stretches out before me, peaceful in these early hours before the chaos of commerce begins. It's beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache, knowing that in three weeks, this won't be mine to manage anymore.
