Page 52 of A Win-Win Situation
"Leora?" he presses with more concern in his voice and it fills me with a warm feeling.
"I’m good. I just got a little dizzy."
Lucas wears a confused frown, his hand, a source of comforting warmth, remains on my back, tracing soothing circles.
"You sure you're okay?" he asks gently, "Maybe we should take a moment."
I appreciate his support, I hadn’t expected it to feel so tender.
"I'm alright," I assure him, though his lingering concern doesn't escape me.
Lucas seemsto be lost in thought, his grip on the steering wheel tight. We seem to be back to silence.
I hate it.
John used it against me as a form of punishment. It didn’t matter if I was the reason for the argument. In the end it was always my fault.
Silence makes me feel small. It makes me feel alone and I don’t like it.
I glance at him through the corner of my eye, hoping to see a change in his expression. He’s still grasping the wheel, his jaw set and tensed. I notice a little curl that has fallen over his forehead, softening his features. It’s cute, and more than anything, I want to brush it away.
However, now does not seem like the right time for that. I shift my gaze to the dangling object hanging around the rearview mirror that Lucas had touched when we sat down in the car. It's a delicate rosary, with pristine white beads that reflect the soft interior lights of the car. On the bottom, a small golden cross dangles gracefully, glinting in the sunlight. It sways gently with each movement of the vehicle. It makes me want to touch it—maybe it will give me some strength to endure this marriage.
My hand reaches out, fingers almost brushing against the beads, but just before I make contact, his head turns to me, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of curiosity and a hint of something unreadable. I snatch my hand back, my heart pounding as I wait for him to say something—anything at all—but he doesn’t.
I try to distract myself by looking out the window, but my mind keeps going back to our argument. A part of me wishes I could take back my words and start fresh, but I know that's not possible. Maybe I should apologize—try to make things right—because I won’t be able to stand this for long. However, once again there’s another voice telling me that he’s the one who should apologize first, not me.
Before I know it, we're pulling up to a building and Lucas puts the car in park and turns to me. "We're here."
He grabs my hand as we walk toward a large house, and I can't help but feel a sense of wonder at its beauty. The house is elegant, overlooking the shimmering Mediterranean Sea. The exterior is painted a pristine white, with terracotta tiles covering the roof and cascading bougainvillea climbing up the external walls.
As we approach the grand, double doors, adorned with intricate wrought-iron accents, I can feel the warm breeze carrying the scent of sea salt and lavender. We knock on the door, and it’s not long before a stylishly dressed man greets us with a welcoming smile. He ushers us inside the villa, revealing a spacious foyer with high ceilings and elegant furnishings.
The interior of the villa is just as breathtaking as the exterior, with marble floors, grand chandeliers, and ornate furniture. The walls are adorned with priceless works of art, and the floor-to-ceiling windows provide breathtaking views of the sea and the rolling hills.
He leads us through the hallway and out to the backside of the villa, where Antoine seems to be resting. The outdoor area is a tranquil oasis with lush greenery and a serene fountain at its center. Antoine is sitting on a chaise lounge, looking tired and frail in a way I've never seen before. I can see the exhaustion etched on his face.
He looks so small, not like the Antoine from a few days ago or even yesterday, when he was happily introducing me to everyone he knew. He coughs and a wave of sadness washes over me as I realize how sick he actually is.
As soon as Lucas spots Antoine, he goes rigid, clearly shocked by the severity of his condition. When I look up at him, the beautiful olive tone of his skin has morphed into a pale white, a stark contrast to its usual warmth. I squeeze his hand gently to offer him comfort; the tension from the argument setaside for this. But he withdraws as if he's suddenly realized we were holding hands.
Why is he pushing me away? I know he’s upset, and I try to focus on the fact that this is about his uncle and not me, but I can’t help but feel a little hurt at the rejection.
It's clear that Lucas is struggling with the reality of the situation, and I feel powerless to help him. Despite his tough exterior, I can see the pain and sadness in his eyes. The state of Antoine has shocked him, he didn’t expect him to be this bad. As we approach Antoine, I try to stay strong, but my heart breaks seeing him so frail and weak. When he notices us, he stands up, or at least he tries to.
"No, Ammo, sit down," Lucas says as he runs to help him but he’s already up, raising a trembling hand to Lucas’s shoulder.
"Ya ibni, I’m happy you came to visit."
When he spots me, a smile spreads over his face. "Leora, come come sit."
After giving him a hug, I take a seat. "How are you, Antoine?"
"I’m doing well. I’m just a little tired today after being on my feet for the past few days. Don’t worry, a quick nap and I’ll be back to normal." I can sense the strength and determination in his voice, and I hope that he’s right.
He looks between Lucas and I. "So, how has married life been so far?" A chuckle escapes his lips as he winks at me.
Lucas's expression remains blank, as if he doesn't know what to say or how to react. I take the initiative and joke back. "Well, it’s been twenty-four hours and we haven’t killed each other yet, so that’s a positive." Antoine laughs in response to my comment. Lucas finally cracks a small smile, but it quickly disappears.
