Dusk Till Dawn

7

Freya

The silence was unnerving as we stepped through the front door. The house, once buzzing with the laughter and chatter of guests, now stood hollow, as though it had never witnessed the chaos of our engagement party. Everyone had left, taking with them the tension that clung to the air like smoke.

I should have been relieved, but instead, an emptiness settled in my chest.

Marco moved quietly beside me, his presence a constant I couldn't ignore. He was always there—watching, waiting—but tonight, he didn't say a word. The weight of our earlier conversations, the forced smiles, the congratulations, hung heavily between us, a reminder of the charade we had to maintain.

"I'll sleep on the couch," Marco said, breaking the stillness. His voice was calm, detached, and it only deepened the guilt twisting inside me. He didn't ask or hesitate, just... respected the distance.

I nodded, unable to find the words. What could I say? That I wanted to say something different but didn't know how? That the idea of sleeping beside someone—even him—made my skin prickle with unease?

As he settled on the couch, I lingered in the doorway of the bedroom, staring at the empty bed. It wasn't that I didn't trust him. It wasn't about him at all—it was me. The years of isolation, of waking up alone, had forged a habit I couldn't break. The thought of someone lying next to me, even if it was Marco, was too much.

The guilt gnawed at me as I climbed into the bed, my back turned towards the room, my mind replaying the look in Marco's eyes—tired, resigned, but also understanding. Why was he so patient? Why did he always seem to know when to give me space?

I pulled the covers tighter, closing my eyes, wishing I didn't feel this way. Wishing I didn't feel like I was pushing him away, even when I didn't mean to.

Tomorrow, everything would be back to normal. But tonight, I couldn't bear the weight of pretending any longer. Not after everything we'd been through.

And so, with the soft hum of his breath from the other room, I drifted into uneasy sleep, wondering if I'd ever be able to tell him the truth.

Morning sunlight filtered through the large kitchen windows, casting a warm glow over the familiar scene. Breakfast at the Amatos had always been a predictable routine, each person falling into their roles as naturally as breathing. Marco was already outside, tending to the horses like he always did, while Zio Marcus and Zio Hades sat at the table, engrossed in quiet conversation about business matters I didn't quite care to follow.

I poked at my plate absentmindedly, my eyes wandering towards the stables outside. Marco moved with ease, every action deliberate and precise. His tall frame cut a sharp silhouette against the morning light, and I found myself staring longer than necessary.

It was easy to admire Marco from a distance—those dark curls that always seemed effortlessly styled, his strong jawline that made him look impossibly serious, and the way his broad shoulders filled out the simple sweater he wore. He looked like a man who could carry the weight of the world without breaking a sweat.

Stop it, Freya, I scolded myself, feeling the ridiculousness of it all. You've seen him a million times before. He's Marco. You know, the guy who's broody and impossible to read half the time? The same guy you just spent all night trying to avoid.

But my eyes betrayed me, tracing the lines of his features as though seeing them for the first time.

Silly. I was being silly.