What We Left in the Dark

One

"Can you at least try to help me here?" I call out from under the bed, frustration lacing my voice as I fumble around in the dim space. A deep chuckle vibrates above me, sending a wave of unexpected electricity through my chest.

"It's hard when I've got such a perfect view distracting me," Giancarlo teases, tapping my butt lightly with his foot.

I yelp, smacking my head against the bottom of the bed frame. A sharp pain zips through my skull as his hands suddenly wrap around my ankles, yanking me back into the light of the bedroom.

"Are you alright?" he asks, kneeling beside me, his concern genuine as he helps me sit upright, fingers already parting my hair in search of any damage.

"I've got a headache starting behind my eye, but I'll live," I say, batting his hands away, embarrassed by my injury.

"Thank God you're an expert at hitting your head. Otherwise, I'd be worried," he quips, placing a soft kiss on my forehead before pulling me up to sit on the bed beside him.

He ducks down, disappearing under the bed again to retrieve his phone that had gone flying during our playful scuffle. As I wait for him to resurface, I turn over the words I've been holding back all morning, feeling the weight of them grow heavier.

"So," I begin cautiously, knitting my brows as I try to piece together the delicate question. "When were you going to tell me you're leaving?"

His head snaps up, reminding me of a startled meerkat. Wide-eyed, he stares at me, clearly not expecting me to know about his impending departure. His expression quickly changes, the surprise melting into a resigned sigh as his usual guarded look falls into place.

He runs a hand through his hair and exhales deeply, the tension suddenly filling the room. "When did you find out?"

One thing I've always admired about Giancarlo is his respect for time. He knows better than to waste it with excuses or false denials. Other men might've dragged out the conversation, feigned ignorance, or deflected until forced to admit the truth. But not Gian. He knows when the game is up.

"I saw the email on your phone the other day." I glance away, not wanting to meet his eyes. It had been an accidental discovery. His email notification had popped up during one of our Netflix marathons, the subject line clear as day: All Set for Your Trip to BYG. It had been impossible to ignore.

He doesn't deny it. "I was going to tell you tonight. After dinner." His voice is flat, without embellishment, his eyes focused on the floor. The guilt is already written all over his face. "But... maybe it's better we talk about it now."

He gets up slowly, moving from his crouched position to sit cautiously on the edge of the bed. I watch him with stone-like composure, determined not to break.

"My grandfather called me a few weeks ago," he begins, still avoiding my gaze. "His health is failing—kidney failure, they think."

The wave of guilt hits me hard and fast, knotting itself in my chest. Suddenly, my anger feels misplaced.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say, softer now, knowing there's more coming.

He nods but doesn't acknowledge my sympathy. "Yeah, I am too. He asked me and my uncle to come back. We need to settle his affairs, transition the business... you know, before it's too late."

A chill creeps up my spine, leaving my face cold. "So, you're leaving," I say, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. I want to sound compassionate, but the truth is, only half of what he's saying is really hitting me.

I blink away the wetness forming at the corners of my eyes. Crying won't help. It won't change anything.

"If I could, I'd stay. You know that, right?" Gian's eyes finally meet mine, imploring me to understand. "You're one of the most important people in my life. But I have to go. I have to take care of my family."

"I would never ask you to choose between me and your family. I'm not that person," I say, staring down at the floor. It's true, I would never ask him to stay. But it doesn't mean I don't want him to.

He scoots closer, his fingers gently wrapping around mine, the familiarity of his touch both comforting and painful. I watch our hands, how they seem to fit together perfectly—his olive skin, warm and steady, against my lighter Spanish tones. We've always looked like a perfect match.

"You're not just wife material to me, you're life material," he says, softly but firmly. "Like Adam and Eve. I know God placed a part of me in you. We're meant to be together."

The tears I've fought so hard to hold back finally spill, quietly soaking into the duvet beneath me.

"Just answer my question," I whisper, my voice trembling. "When are you leaving?"

He looks at me again, this time with sorrow etched into every line of his face. "Two days."

____________________________________________________________________________

The next morning, I sip my second latte of the day, trying to find solace in the creamy, warm blend of oat milk and blonde roast. The familiar scent and taste are my only comforts in the otherwise sterile office environment.

A knock at my glass door pulls me from my thoughts. Naomi, the firm's secretary, peeks in with her usual sugary smile, her bright personality impossible to ignore.

"Cat, baby! How's your day going?" she chirps, stepping into my office with a file folder in hand—a rarity, considering we store most documents digitally.

"Same as always, Naomi. Life's a rollercoaster, and my seatbelt's likely broken." I stand up, meeting her at the door, eyeing the folder in her hand with curiosity.

"Well, hold on tight," she jokes, handing me the file. "I wanted to bring this to you before I logged it into onboarding. I think you might be particularly interested in this one." She gives me a sly smile, raising her eyebrows as if she's in on some secret.

"What've you got for me?" I flip open the folder and scan the intake form. A company named Gilded is seeking pre-funding guidance. The contact information is vague—no specific names tied to the company.

"Of course, you've already done your digging," I say, smirking as I flip to the second page, filled with Naomi's handwritten notes.

"Obviously," she says, making herself comfortable in the chair across from my desk. "They're young but have already completed their first round of funding. Led by some digital asset company two years ago. The founders, Luca and Brad, don't use their last names anywhere. It could be a long-term client for you!"

A wave of interest washes over me. "Naomi, have I ever told you how much I appreciate you?" I grin, loving what I'm hearing.

"No, but feel free to start," she laughs, standing to leave. "You're welcome."

I glance at the clock—5:30 already. The sun has begun to set, casting soft pink and orange hues across the sky, signaling the end of another day. Realizing it's too late to dive into the new case tonight, I pack up my things and head out.

But as I sling my bag over my shoulder, a voice stops me in my tracks.

"Catalina, can you come here for a moment?"

Matt, the firm's most senior attorney, always insists on using my full name. I turn on my heel and step into his corner office.

"What's up, Matt?" I ask, trying to sound casual but feeling the weight of his request.

"Did Naomi bring you a new client earlier?" he asks, barely looking up from his computer.

"Yes, but it's just an intake form. A small company. Why?"

He finally looks up, eyes scanning me briefly. "It's a friend of the family. I can't take the case myself, but I'd consider it a personal favor if you helped them."

A wave of red flags rises in my mind, but I nod anyway. "Of course, I'll consider it."

"Good," he says, eyes back on his screen. "They're good people. Brad Everett and... Luca something or other."

My heart skips a beat.

"Ricci. Luca Ricci." He pauses, and my heart drops to the pit of my stomach. "Yeah, that's the one."

I feel like the ground has just shifted beneath me. Ricci.