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6
RENZO
My bookworm is wrapped in a world of academia and whispers of leaves in the wind. Camila sits under an oak tree, textbook pages fluttering like a caged bird desperate for freedom. Camila’s eyes are focused, and her brow furrowed in concentration until Elio interrupts.
Elio should have no claim on her laughter – that crystal sound floating across the grounds to where I sit. Watching him effortlessly make her smile with his wit irks me. He has a way about him, sure, but I want to be the one to unravel the mystery behind those dark brown eyes.
I lean back, stretching my arms across the back of the bench, muscles tense beneath inked skin. I can’t stand it—this game we play, Elio and me, at subtle war for attention under the guise of gathering intelligence. It’s more than that now; it’s personal.
I stand, moving toward them. Elio notices my approach and raises an eyebrow as if challenging me to interrupt their moment. Camila glances up then, a slight flush creeping onto her cheeks when she sees me.
“Renzo,” she greets with a nod that’s too formal for my liking.
I smirk, closing the distance between us in a few confident strides. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I say, though I couldn’t care less if I was.
Elio closes his book with a soft thud, his eyes never leaving mine. “We were just discussing Dostoevsky,” he replies coolly.
“Ah,” I chuckle lowly. “Crime and Punishment? It seems fitting for the Barone brothers.”
Camila’s laughter breaks through the chaos in my mind. “Are you implying you’re both criminals or just misunderstood?”
“Maybe a bit of both,” I admit with a wink.
She shakes her head, amusement dancing in her gaze before it flickers with something else – caution, maybe. But it’s gone before I can decipher it.
I sit beside her on the grass, ignoring Elio’s sharp glare. “So tell me, bookworm,” I begin, leaning closer than necessary. “What’s your verdict on Raskolnikov?”
Camila shifts, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear as she ponders the question. Her lips part slightly, and I catch a glimpse of her tongue grazing her bottom lip – a nervous habit, or maybe something more deliberate?
“He’s complex,” she announces. “He’s tortured by his own philosophy and actions. But aren’t we all, to some extent?”
I grin. “Deep,” I tease. “But true.”
She tilts her head, considering me with newfound curiosity. “And what about you, Renzo? Do you feel tormented by your actions?”
I lean back on my hands, feeling the coolness of the grass against my palms.
“I’ve done things,” I admit, weighing each word before it left my lips. “Things that would keep most people up at night.”
Her gaze doesn’t waver, those deep pools of brown studying me as if she’s trying to read every chapter of my life. It’s unnerving yet exhilarating.
“But you sleep just fine?” she asks.
I flash her a wolfish smile. “Like a baby.”
She laughs a genuine laugh that fills the space between us.
Elio stands from his spot under the oak tree, his expression unreadable. “I should get going,” he declares.
Camila looks up at him, an apology in her eyes. “I didn’t mean to?—”
“It’s fine,” Elio cuts in before she can finish. “I’ll see you tonight for dinner?”
She smiles warmly. “Yes, I can’t wait.”
As he walks away, his back to us like a dark silhouette against the brightness of the day, I feel jealousy coil through me, hearing they’ve got a date planned already.
“Picked the boring brother, then?” I ask.
