Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 23833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 119(@200wpm)___ 95(@250wpm)___ 79(@300wpm)
Please God, please. You can't be serious, surely?
The longer I stare at him, the more my despair grows.
So, so not good.
How was Ezio Marchetti still the epitome of masculine perfection even when he was just standing there?
Please God, please let me be wrong, please.
I see him drop his phone back into his pocket, and I can't help holding my breath.
Please, please, please let this not be what I fear.
There were a few times in my life, a really precious few, that I encountered people who acted as if they saw me...only for their own actions to expose the truth, and it was that they only pretended to see me because they assumed I could be their gateway to the Marchettis.
Other times, though, and this was much, much rarer, there were people who did see me...for a moment.
Like Joe, the guy in my English class, and whose heart I did my best not to break even as I had to tell him the truth about Sarica and Giancarlo. And at that time, he had seen me in his brokenness, and he had needed a friend. But as soon as he had moved on, it was as if I had been a figment of his imagination, and to this day I still feel secondhand embarrassment every time I remember how I had said 'hi' to him in the hallway, and he had given me a rather awkward smile before asking if we had ever met.
I used to pray to God to please never let me go through that again, and yet here I am, hoping, wishing, and praying that's exactly the case with...him.
Ezio.
Just thinking of his name has shivers running down my spine, and I find myself hoping, wishing, and praying even harder.
Please, please, please!
Please God.
Please.
Let me see in his gaze that I've become invisible.
Please.
Because that's entirely plausible. Right?
Ezio saw me falling into the water from his suite's balcony.
He reacted as any Marchetti would and jumped in to save me.
But now that I'm safe, he's free to forget me and get on with his life.
That sounds plausible. Doesn't it?
But the moment Ezio turns to face me again, the enigmatic darkness of his gaze makes my heart drop to my stomach.
So not good.
It's not that I'm blaming You, God, but why? Why can't this man be the same as the others? Why can't it be someone else?
"Dr. Castro is on his way."
I force myself to nod. The less said, the better, especially since the only thing I want to say is what I should not say at all.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
I manage another nod, but the words threatening to burst out of my heart are getting harder to contain.
(No. No. No!)
I can't ever tell this man that for him to be the only one to still see me like this-—
(This has to be a mistake! I'm reading this wrong! Absolutely wrong!)
I can't ever tell him that I finally remember the second thing that hit me while I was drowning and on the brink of life and death—-
(I'm wrong, I have to be wrong, I must be!)
Ezio is still looking at me like he's trying to figure me out, and I can practically hear God gently chiding me in my mind like only a perfect father ever could.
You may not be blaming me.
But you know better than to doubt my plans for you.
And those plans have always included him.
Four
IT'S A BRAND NEW DAY that the Lord has made, I remind myself as I stare at my reflection in the mirror the next day. God and I had a really long heart-to-heart talk last night. I prayed, and He spoke to me through His word. Now I know what I have to do.
If I'm serious about fully rejoicing and being glad in this new day, then I must have the courage to at the very least explore the possibility that Ezio Marchetti is indeed one of the reasons God has saved my life by making me invisible.
Or at least that's the plan...until I come out of my bedroom to join the others for breakfast, and God being God, of course, it has to be him who's coming down the same flight of stairs at the exact same time I do.
Why are You in such a hurry, God?
Sunlight streaming from the stairwell windows makes me shield my gaze, but my hopes are dashed when I glance back at Ezio.
Ugh.
He still dazzles even under normal lighting, and how is it that he looks even more beautiful in his casual wear? Cashmere sweater and jeans, never mind if they're just as elegant and expensive as the tux he had worn last night, should have made Ezio look more human. But it's as if the simplicity of his clothes is meant to make him stand out more, and—-
"Buongiorno."
I know I should've expected that. A Marchetti is not a Marchetti without manners, and of course, I should have expected him to greet me first. But I didn't, and so hearing his honey-smooth voice address me in Italian almost makes me jump out of my skin.