Chapter 4 – The Distance Between

Isabella

Twenty-five minutes is not long enough to talk yourself back into composure, but it's what I have.

I change out of the gown in the suite they've given us, pulling on a simple dress that doesn't press against my ribs and doesn't smell like the reception hall. My hands are steadier by the time I'm done.

The courtyard air is cool when I step outside. Lanterns glow amber along the stone walls, and under different circumstances it might be beautiful. Papa stands with Aurelia near the steps, and when he sees me his face does the thing it always does...forgets to hide how much he loves me.

I walk straight into him.

His arms come around me and I press my face to his shoulder, and the tears I've been managing all day finally slip past. He doesn't tell me not to cry. He just holds me, one hand moving slow and steady across my back the way it did when I was small and had nightmares.

"Shh, Princess," he says, though I feel his chest shake when he says it. "You'll be fine."

Behind me, I feel Dante's presence before I hear him. He doesn't interrupt. When I finally pull back and wipe my face, I turn, and he's standing a few feet away, watching.

Not with impatience. With something more careful, something I can't name before he glances away.

Aurelia wraps me in a hug and tells me to send pictures and to eat properly and to let myself enjoy it. She's smiling but her eyes are teary too.

Dante shakes my father's hand. "She's in safe hands," he says.

Papa looks at him for a long moment. "See that she is," he says, and there's the same weight in those four words that was there at the altar.

The limo pulls around.

Dante opens the door and waits.

I look back once at Papa and Aurelia standing side by side. Papa raises one hand to wave goodbye. Aurelia presses her fingers to her lips.

I settle into the car.

Through the tinted glass, I watch them shrink to shadows. Then they're gone. The ache in my chest is unreasonable.

"Stop it," Dante says beside me. "We aren't being sent into the wilderness. We're just going away for a few days,.

"You think I don't I know that."

" I don't think you do, because if you do, you won't be clawing at the glass like you're trying to jump out"

I pull my hand back into my lap. I wasn't aware I had done it.

"Well, you can't blame me for wanting to be somewhere else."

The silence that follows isn't comfortable, but isn't hostile either. He opens his briefcase, pulls out his laptop, and starts to work. Not once does he spare me a glace.

I watch the city pass and try to decide whether being ignored is better or worse than being watched. The lights blur together. Palermo at night looks different from inside a limo with tinted windows, more distant, like I'm already gone even though we haven't left yet.

"Do you ever stop working?" I ask eventually.

"Work doesn't wait," he mutters, not looking up. "Especially if that work finances expensive trips like this"

"I didn't ask for an expensive trip like this"

That makes him look up, his eyes unreadable. "That's so convenient for you to say. Are you disappointed, tesoro? Were you expecting something more expensive?"

The word tesoro hangs in the air between us, bitter and cold. I keet my face turned towards the window.

"Of course not." I reply.

I feel his gaze linger on me for a long, heavy moment before he finally returns to his laptop.

He moves through the airport like he owns it. No one makes him wait. His hand stays on my back, steady and firm. He probably doesn't even think about it. It means nothing to him.

But to me, it means everything. It means a loss of boundary.

Once on the jet, I take the window seat. He sits beside me, jacket off, laptop moved from briefcase to lap without a break. The cabin is all leather and dark wood, the kind of luxury that doesn't need to show off.

I last four minutes before boredom wins.

"Have you been to Mauritius?"

He looks up slightly. "No."

"Your mother talks about it like she was born there."

Something shifts at the corner of his mouth. "She told me the same stories when I was a boy. White sand. Water so clear you can see the bottom. Sunsets that don't look real."

"She made me a list," I say. "Places she wanted me to see. I thought it was sweet until I realized there were twenty items on it."

The ghost of a smile vanishes as quickly as it appeared. He doesn't offer a comment or ask what else is on the list. Instead, he just nods once and drops his gaze back to the screen.

The rhythmic clicking of his keyboard starts up again, loud in the quiet cabin. It’s his way of ending the conversation. He’s finished with the memory, and he’s finished with me.

"I didn't think I'd actually get a honeymoon. Not for this."

He looks at me then. "Why not?"

"Because this marriage isn't real."

He holds my gaze. His face doesn't change, but something behind his eyes does. "Real enough for her," he says. "Real enough for everyone else. There's no harm in enjoying what's in front of you."

"Says the man who brought his work on his honeymoon."

"I have work to do."

"It’s the same thing."

He doesn't argue. I think about his mother's list. The twenty things she wanted me to see, and I wonder if she once made a list for herself and never used it.

"Does it get lonely?" I ask quietly. "The way you live. Everyone moving at your speed. Everything on your terms."

A pause. "Lonely is safer."

He says it without any emotion, like a phrase he’s told himself so many times it has lost its meaning. I look at him.

"Safe for who? For you? Or for the people who try to get close?"

He doesn't answer. His jaw tightens, barely, and he turns a page.

The silence stretches. I should let it go. leave him to his work.

Instead, I hear myself say, "Your mother didn't strike me as someone who plays it safe."

He stops moving. For a moment I think he's going to ignore me entirely.

"My mother," he says carefully, "believes in things I don't."

"Like what?"

"Love. Romance. The idea that two people can build something that lasts without contracts or terms or clear expectations."

"And you don't believe in any of that."

"I believe in what I can control."

"That makes both of us. I cant stand that fleeting feeling".

"I'm glad we're on the same page." He goes ahead to say "I'm sure you know what to expect from this relationship and love isn't one of them."

I study his profile in the dim cabin light. "Don't worry, i rather disappear into thin air than fall in love. Especially with you."

The steward appears, but Dante doesn’t look up from his screen. He simply begins to list an order, his voice as steady and cold as if he’s reading a contract.

“She hasn’t eaten,” he says. “Bring her something light; tomato basil soup, warm, not too hot. Soft bread on the side. Then grilled chicken with mashed potatoes and vegetables… nothing heavy. A small portion of penne, marinara, no cream. Fresh orange juice and water. Still. No alcohol for now. Later, a fruit plate… and a light slice of cheesecake.”

I blink at him, the sheer arrogance of the list making my head spin. “You noticed that?”

“I notice everything.” His eyes lift briefly to mine, sharp and dark. “You’ve had nothing since this morning. The reception doesn’t count...you were too busy being displayed.”

The last sentence is dry. It isn’t unkind, exactly, but it stings.

“You didn’t even ask me what I wanted,” I snap. My voice is tight with a sudden annoyance.

“I didn’t need to.”

The dismissal in his tone makes my chest tighten. It’s a power move...a reminder that in this "marriage," he holds the pen. “I’m not hungry,” I lie, just to see if I can break his rhythm.

“Then eat to prove me wrong.” He looks back at his laptop, already finished with the conversation.

When the tray arrives, the smell of the warm bread hits me, and my stomach betrays me with a sharp ache. It’s exactly what I need. I hate that he's right. I hate that he decided for me without a single word of consultation.

I take a small, reluctant bite. It’s light. Careful. Perfect.

“You didn't even ask me,” I repeat, my voice smaller now, caught between the comfort of the food and the bitterness of his control.

“You’re welcome,” he says, his eyes never leaving the screen.

Outside, the stars are thick and close at this altitude. The hum of the engines fills the silence between us, and for a terrifying second, it feels almost companionable.

I push the tray away, the half-eaten cheesecake a silent protest. I’m not full, but I’m finished with his charity. I want him to see the waste. I want him to know that even if he’s right, he doesn't own my appetite.

His phone buzzes on the armrest.

Dante glances at the screen. Something in his face changes instantly....a sudden, jagged shift, like a light being snuffed out. He turns the phone face down with a sharp, violent motion.

"Problem?" I ask, my voice sounding small against the sudden tension.

"Nothing that concerns you."

His voice is different now. The "grumpy" distance from before has sharpened into something dangerous. But I saw the name on the screen before he covered it. One word. A name I don’t know.

Nico.

I don't ask. I stare ahead, filing the name away. Minutes pass...ten, maybe twenty. I lose count. The food sits cold between us. I am sitting in a private jet with the man I married this morning, watching him stare at a blank screen as if he’s ready to tear it apart.

"You're still looking at me," he snaps. He doesn't even turn his head. "What is it now? Do you want a different dessert? Money?"

"I was just—"

"Stop." He finally looks at me, and his eyes are full of a cold, focused rage. "You're exactly like the rest of them. Always watching, always waiting for a moment to ask for something more. You got the ring, you got the trip. Don't push your luck by pretending you care about my business."

The words hit like a physical slap. The "companionable" silence is dead.

"I didn't ask for any of this," I whisper, my throat tight.

"Then stop acting like you did." He turns back to his laptop, his fingers flying across the keys with a furious speed. "Go to sleep. You're just another line in a contract, and I've already paid the bill."

I don't look at the stars. I don't look at him. I unbuckle my seatbelt, the click loud and defiant in the freezing cabin. I stand up, my legs feeling heavy, and walk toward the back of the jet.

I need the bathroom. I need a door I can lock. I need to be anywhere except in the space he occupies.