UNDECIDED (Wisemen Series #1)

12 | Tension Rising

ISABELLE
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The morning light crept cautiously through the curtains, setting a somber tone for the day. After a night of watching over Riccardo, providing a shoulder for his grief, albeit for a father he had barely connected with, the atmosphere had settled into a silent acknowledgment of our complicated entanglement.

Riccardo shifted on the couch, his first waking movements pulling me from my own restless thoughts. His eyes opened slowly, and when they met mine, there was an intensity that hadn't been there the night before-a storm of emotions veiled behind his usual restraint.

"Morning," he muttered, his voice hoarse, perhaps from sleep or the remnants of last night's sorrow.

"Good morning," I replied softly, pushing myself up into a sitting position. The air between us was thick with unspoken words, a mutual understanding of the comforting role I had taken on, yet laced with an underlying current of something deeper, more dangerous to our current friendship.

"How did you sleep?" I asked, though the shadows under his eyes were answer enough.

He rubbed his face, attempting to smother his fatigue. "Not well, but better for you being here," he admitted, and there was a raw honesty in his voice that resonated deep within me.

I nodded, feeling the weight of his gaze as it lingered on me longer than necessary. There was a tension there, an electric charge in the way he looked at me that seemed to pull at the very air around us.

"We should talk about last night," Riccardo finally said, breaking our silent exchange of looks. He sat up, his movements deliberate, as if every action was a carefully measured decision.

"Ric, you don't have to-" I began, but he raised a hand to stop me.

"No, I do. I need to thank you, not just for being here, but for understanding. For giving me space to... to not be okay about my dad."

His gratitude was earnest, but as he spoke, his eyes were intensely fixed on mine, searching, as if he were trying to communicate more than just thanks. The air seemed to thicken with each passing moment, charged with an unspoken connection that was becoming harder to ignore.

I swallowed, aware of the shift in the room. "Of course, Ric. You know I'm here for you, no matter what."

A silence fell over us then, filled only by the distant sounds of the city waking up. The intensity in Riccardo's gaze didn't waver, and I found myself caught in it, unable to look away. It was as if in his look, I could see the potential for something more between us, something neither of us had dared to voice until now.

Finally, Riccardo broke the gaze, his eyes flicking away as he gathered his thoughts. "There's something else," he began hesitantly, "something I haven't told anyone yet."

My heart quickened, sensing the significance of his words. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

He nodded, taking a deep breath before turning back to face me, his eyes locking onto mine with a renewed intensity. "It's about the wedding arrangements," he said, the words heavy between us.

The mention of his wedding-a reminder of the real world responsibilities that awaited him, including an arranged marriage that neither of us could wish away-cast a shadow over the room. The tension spiked, a palpable force that seemed to draw us closer even as it underscored the barriers between us.

"I'm not just going through with it because of obligation," he confessed, his gaze never leaving mine. "It's also because I don't know how to ask for what I really want. What I might want with you."