His eyes barely move over my head, like an aircraft flying too low, in danger of crashing.
It never happens, though.
He knows I’m watching him with a famished look on my face. I don’t care who’s watching me. I can’t touch this man even if I wanted to.
And then, as I run a napkin over my lips and swallow the mix of cake, Chantilly cream, and blueberry, a miracle happens.
Painted in stark disinterest, his stare moves from the group of people conversing at the head of the table and slants toward me.
Our eyes connect, and something changes in his gaze.
A faint light blooms in the depths of his eyes as if he’s finally found the only interesting thing in the room.
Completely floored at the level of attention I receive, I stay frozen in my seat, impressed yet shattered to pieces.
I have wanted him to look at me like that for so long, and now that he does, my world crumbles before his very eyes.
He must be fully aware of the pilfering of my soul happening right now.
There’s nothing I can do to stop it.
That look on his face as he has his gaze fixed on me tells me everything I need to know.
He sees me.
For the first time in my life, someone trulyseesme.
That thought alone rebuilds my confidence, fuels my naughtiest dreams, and nourishes my optimism.
Maybe not all is lost.
Maybe I won’t be the victim in this story.
Maybe a year from now, I won’t be living in a golden cage, my life oscillating between forced silence, cruel punishments, and a performative existence.
Or maybe he is as bad as the rest of them.
I won’t know that unless I try to learn more about him.
He rips his eyes away from me, with no conclusive expression on his face.
It’s hard to impress this man, and no amount of effort, money spent on my looks, silly grinning, or bedroom eyes can sway him the other way.
He always seems unimpressed with women, and I’m not the exception to the rule.
Just by looking at him, I can’t tell whether he’s a good man or a bad man. In all fairness, I’ve never gotten closer to a good man, so I lack a point of reference.
He must be bad. Worse than many. How else can he survive in this world?
I wish I knew what made him tick. What had attracted him to that woman? Vittoria Pietro was it, wasn’t it?
If he is, in fact, attracted to her, why did he send her away? And did he?
Or is she waiting for him to finish his dinner?
He must’ve asked her to wait for him.
I’m familiar with how these men operate.
