Finally, she lifted her gaze. I saw the decision forming, despite the turmoil.
“Fine. I’ll do it,” she said. “But don’t get things twisted.” She paused, firm. “This is not a yes for us. It doesn’t mean I’m ready to move forward with you. I’m doing this for my daughter.”
I nodded.
“I understand. And I’m grateful.”
She watched me for a few seconds, calmer now, though still cautious. Then she looked away, toward the garden, before facing me again with something new in her eyes.
“I’ve spent the last few hours thinking about all this,” she said slowly. “And I’ve decided that if this is going to work, we need rules.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Rules?” I asked, unable to suppress a faint, ironic smile. “You really think rules are the solution?”
She narrowed her eyes at my tone.
“Yes. Rules. Because I don’t intend for what happened last night to happen again. And I think we both agree repeating that would only make things worse.”
I sighed. No, I didn’t agree—but I kept that to myself.
“Alright. I’m listening.”
She crossed her arms, adopting a more confident, almost professional stance.
“Rule one: physical contact limited to what’s strictly necessary. No unnecessary touching.”
I nodded.
“Understood.”
“Rule two: personal conversations kept to a minimum. Anything about the past or delicate matters happens only with the therapist—or when Clara isn’t around.”
“That’s reasonable,” I said, reluctantly.
She hesitated before continuing.
“Rule three—and the most important one: we do not enter each other’s bedrooms. Ever.”
I fought a smile.
“Separate rooms. Got it.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Don’t test me, Enrico. I’m serious.”
I raised my hands defensively, smiling despite myself.
“I’ll try my best.”
She sighed, then locked eyes with me.
“New rule,” she said. “You’re not allowed to look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like… like—never mind. Just don’t.”
