The silence that follows isn't uncomfortable. It's... real. Two people existing in the same space, aware of each other, not pretending quite as hard as we were before.
We swim for a while longer, the only sounds the splash of water and the occasional bird call from the gardens. It's peaceful in a way I didn't expect. Safe, even.
After a while, my muscles start to ache pleasantly and I pull myself out of the pool. He stays in the water, watching me wrap a towel around myself.
"Camilla?" His voice is soft, uncertain.
I pause, looking back at him. "Yes?"
"Would you like to take a drive tomorrow? Through the mountains, maybe. Just the two of us."
A simple invitation. Nothing loaded, nothing heavy. Just an offer to spend time together in daylight, away from the villa and all its memories.
"I'd like that," I say, surprising myself with how much I mean it.
Relief flashes across his face. "Me too. We can leave after breakfast."
"Okay."
I head inside, my heart doing something weird. He's asking me on what amounts to a date. A real, normal thing that normal people do.
As I shower and dress, I think about him swimming laps in that pool. About how he's changing his patterns, using spaces he's ignored, finding new ways to exist in this villa that's been his fortress for years.
He's not the same man who kidnapped me from that cathedral.
And I'm not the same woman who was taken.
And I don't know if that's healing or just a different kind of damage.
But tonight, I'll go to him anyway.
And tomorrow, we'll drive through the mountains and pretend we're normal people having a normal day together.
We're not fooling anyone, especially not ourselves.
But for now, we'll keep pretending. Because the alternative—acknowledging what's really happening between us—is more terrifying than any violence we've survived.
More terrifying because it's real.
And real things can actually hurt you.
Chapter 42: Renato
I'm not expecting her.
It's 2 AM and I'm lying in bed, replaying last night over and over in my mind. The way she looked in the moonlight. The sound she made when she came apart. The trust in her eyes when she let me slide inside her.
The empty space beside me when I woke up this morning.
One night to help her heal. One night where she let me worship her the way she deserved.
I tell myself it was enough. It has to be enough because it will never happen again.
That's when I hear it. The soft click of my door opening.
I sit up slowly, wondering if I’ve conjured her out of darkness and desperation. But no—she's real.
Standing in my doorway again in simple pajamas, looking at me with eyes that are less uncertain than they were last night.
