Page 23 of The Ruin I Chose

I wandered through the streets of Trastevere, the cobblestones warm beneath my sandals, the air thick with the scent of espresso and basil. I didn’t know where I was going. I just needed to move, to breathe, to not feel like I was someone’s liability.

Eventually, I found myself at the Basilica of Santa Maria. One of Rome’s oldest churches, glowing with golden mosaics and candlelight. The sacred hush inside wrapped around me like a balm.

I sat in the back pew, letting the silence settle into my bones. I studied the architectural details—the gilded coffered ceiling, the marble columns, the frescoes that told stories in pigment and shadow.

As a designer, I admired the balance of grandeur and intimacy. As a woman, I envied it. I wanted a spine like marble. Not one that bent every time a man’s hands remembered me. I wanted to be built like this place—anchored, luminous, impossible to ignore. Unbreakable in all the places where I still cracked.

Everything here had purpose. Every curve, every line, every beam of light. Unlike me. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore.

Later, I wandered through Piazza Trilussa, settling on the steps and watching the river breathe. A few people gathered nearby, playing music. A violin. A guitar. A voice that cracked on the high notes. I just sat there, absorbing, breathing, trying not to feel like I was coming undone.

It was almost nine when the fatigue finally caught up with me. I stood, stretched, and made my way back to the palazzo.

The streets were quieter now. Shadows stretched longer as the city had softened. When I reached the door, I hesitated. I didn’t know what version of Marcello I’d find inside. The man who made me come undone with a single look—or the one who pushed me away with a single sentence.

I stepped inside anyway. A part of me hoped he wasn’t there. A darker part prayed he was. Because I wasn’t afraid of him. I was afraid of what I felt when he looked at me, like I was some damsel in distress.

The air felt thick and electric, charged with the heavy tension that comes right before lightning splits the sky open. I heard muffled voices, grumbling. I avoided them and slipped quietly into the room.

A few seconds later, Marcello barged in, pacing with clenched fists, eyes burning with fury. He hissed under his breath, unable to speak. I could feel the heat of his anger from across the room—like a storm waiting to break. His silence scraped against the walls, before he spoke.

“Where were you?”

His voice didn’t rise; instead, it dropped low enough that the floor seemed to vibrate beneath it. He wasn’t just angry; he looked afraid. And that scared me more than his words ever could.

I blinked, stunned. “Out. I needed—”

“You needed what?” he snapped, mocking.

“You needed to walk into a city full of men who’d swallow you whole? Alone?”

I hated how he made me feel small. Like I’d done something reckless. But wasn’t that the point of being here? To feel something again? To be reckless for once, and not apologise for it?

I stepped back, heart racing. His rage was sharp, but beneath it, I felt something else.

“Why do you care?” I shot back. “I’m just a guest, Marcello. A temporary inconvenience you can fuck and forget. I won’t be your burden anymore.”

There, I said it. I wanted him to flinch. To feel the sting of being pushed away. Tears of fury streamed down my face. He let out a deep grunt, muttering under his breath:

“Comu ti spiecu…”

(How do I explain…)

His voice cracked on the words, like they scraped his throat on the way out. He crossed the room in two strides and grabbed the side of my neck. His thumb pressed just under my jaw, forcing my eyes to meet his. His fingers were warm, trembling with the effort of holding something back. Heat shot straight between my legs, humiliating in its honesty.

“You’re not a burden,” he said in his deep, low voice.

His fingers on my cheek felt like a confession. I wanted to believe him. But I’d been lied to before—by men who said I mattered, then disappeared when it got hard.

“You’re…”

“I’m no one.”

I pulled away.

“No one to you. Just a moment. A blur you’ll forget,” I said, voice breaking.

He looked into my eyes, searching. I saw it then. The need. The ache. Emotion and desire coursed through him and I felt every crack in his restraint.