Me? A Red Flag?

I bet the material is quality.

Photo by emiraven on Unsplash

RENI’S POV:

As soon as we touched down in Italy, the reality of it all started to set in, layer by layer. I realized just how little I knew about Noah's family, and now I was here, surrounded by clues I couldn’t quite piece together. I should’ve asked him more questions when I had the chance, but with Noah, pressing for details usually ended in a playful brush-off and his typical, “Just trust me.” 

The convoy was something out of a high-stakes movie—eight sleek, dark cars, each one large and intimidating, cruising in a line. The security men were tall and stone-faced, dressed in sharp black suits. Their expressions were neutral, almost statuesque; they didn’t seem unfriendly, but not exactly warm, either. I tried a quiet ‘hello,’ which got me a few polite nods, but their silent, watchful presence only thickened the air. It was barely 5 a.m. on a Saturday, and the jet lag had settled in, heavy and disorienting. I didn’t even bother with any more small talk; it was like stepping into another world where words didn’t carry much weight.

I slipped into the Rolls-Royce, the interior cool and elegant, every detail polished to perfection. Noah gave a small, familiar pat on the shoulder of the man holding our door—a subtle gesture that seemed to mean more than words. Nathan had already taken his place in the black G-Wagon ahead, fitting perfectly into the silent protocol. Inside, Noah and I sat close but quiet, the silence between us deep, almost like we were both waiting for the other to speak first but too cautious to break the stillness.

I glanced over at him, watching as he rubbed his forehead again. I knew he was still struggling with that migraine and trying so hard not to let me see it as a reason to worry.

“Is your… head still hurting?” I asked softly, my voice barely a whisper, as though speaking louder might shatter the tense quiet surrounding us.

He gave a slight shrug, his face unreadable. “Maybe,” he mumbled.

“We should go to the hospital, Noah,” I murmured, unconvinced by his vague answer.

He raised an eyebrow and whispered back, “Why are you whispering?”

“Oh… it’s just… the atmosphere,” I admitted, feeling slightly embarrassed as I looked down.

He gave a small, knowing smile. “It’s tense?” he asked with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Wait till you get to the Alcott house.” His gaze drifted to the window, settling on the passing landscape that must have felt like home to him. It only heightened my own sense of being an outsider.

I’d imagined “old money” a hundred different ways, but I never thought it would feel so overwhelming, so intimidating. It was more intense than any movie I’d seen. I’d always considered myself brave, ready for anything, but now I was surrounded by a world I didn’t understand—and Noah wasn’t offering any hints. I looked over at him, my thoughts weighing heavily until I finally spoke.

“Can you at least tell me what I’m getting into?” I asked, watching him carefully, hoping he’d finally give me some hint of what lay ahead. But his gaze remained fixed outside the window, lost in a world of memories I wasn’t a part of. “I can’t meet your family if I don’t know anything about them, Noah.”

He turned back to me, his tone clipped. “So you’re not going?”

“What? Noah!” I exclaimed, shocked he’d jump to that. “Are you even listening to me?”

“I am, Reni,” he replied, his fingers fidgeting in his lap—a tell I knew well. “And it’s hard to know if you’re in or out.” His voice held a frustration I didn’t fully understand, something unspoken simmering beneath his words.

“Then just drop me at the hotel,” I said firmly, feeling my patience slipping. “I don’t want to meet your family this early, and you know I can’t show up looking like this.” I glanced down at my outfit—a loose, flowing pair of wide-legged brown pants that draped elegantly down to my ankles, giving me a relaxed yet refined look. Tucked into the pants was a simple white tube top that hugged my torso, minimalist and clean. Over it, I had on a beige knitted cardigan, its chunky buttons fastening just below the neckline, leaving it open enough to show the layers underneath.

“Great,” he responded, a sharp edge in his voice. “Even after I told you I have a meeting with my dad and Ryan right after we landed.”

I shot him a pointed look. “It’s 5 in the morning, Noah. Why is your dad even awake? And who did you tell this to? The last I checked, it was Nathan who mentioned it.”

Silence settled back between us, thick and tense. The words I wanted to say felt tangled up, heavy in the air.

“You didn’t think I deserved to know about Spain? Or about what Nathan said about this ‘Aurora’ situation?” I continued, my frustration spilling over. “Why did you even bring me here, Noah? To show me off to your family when they already have someone else in mind for you?”

He stayed silent, his face unreadable, and my irritation grew with every second. He was right beside me, yet he felt miles away like there was a wall between us that my words couldn’t penetrate.

“I’ll drop you off at the hotel after I see Ryan and my dad,” he finally said, his tone as distant as if I hadn’t been speaking at all.

“What? Noah, are you listening to me?” I pressed, my confusion and irritation mounting.

He sighed deeply, rubbing his forehead. “I can hear you, Reni. I hear you, but you can also hear my phone buzzing with messages and calls every second.” His voice was steady but firm, the strain evident in his face. He closed his eyes briefly, pressing his fingers into his temples as if this entire conversation only added to his migraine. “My head hurts. It’s too early. Can we just ride in silence?”

I was stunned. To say I was shocked is an understatement—there was no reason I could think of to deserve this sudden coldness he was throwing my way. My breath caught, a storm of concern and frustration swirling inside. His words were like a slap, making me feel small and dismissed as if I were nothing more than an inconvenience.

“If you want silence so badly, then stop the car and let me out. Tell your driver to stop the car—I want to get out,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I’d intended.

“Reni, for the love of God. Stop.” His voice softened, and he looked at me with that calm, steady gaze that usually melted my frustration away. But this time, it only added to the ache in my chest. He always did this, smoothing things over without actually saying what I needed to hear. “Just… stop.” He took a deep breath, his eyes serious. “I hear you. You want to go to the hotel. I’ll take you there myself before I go to Spain. I owe you explanations, Reni. I hear you, and I’ll tell you everything when I’m back. All I’m asking for is that you be calm. Is that too much to ask?”

The way he spoke, restrained but affectionate, made my heart ache. But I was so tired of not being heard. The Noah I thought I knew was reserved, someone who kept things close but listened when it mattered. Right now, he seemed preoccupied with everything else, and I felt like I was just another item on his to-do list.

“You’re not asking—you’re demanding. You owe me an apology—a huge one, Noah! I can’t believe this. I cannot believe you right now,” I said, turning away from him again to stare out the window, feeling hurt and strangely exposed.

The ride continued in silence, thick and tense, as the sprawling Alcott estate came into view. The sight was overwhelming—a vision of old-world elegance with manicured gardens and grand statues, like something out of a royal story. I should’ve been dazzled, but instead, a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. For all my fantasies of old money, I hadn’t expected it to feel this intimidating, this different. 

As I looked over at Noah, I couldn’t shake the thought: Who was he, really? Did I know him at all?

The car came to a slow stop, and an older man in a tailored suit stepped forward, opening the door with a slight bow. “Mr. Alcott is in the drawing room with Mr. Ryan, waiting for you,” he informed Noah with formal precision.

Noah nodded and turned back to me, his gaze softening, his voice almost apologetic. “Want to come with me?” His deep, familiar tone wrapped around me, calm and gentle. It was always hard to stay mad when he spoke like that, his eyes tugging at my frustration. But I was tired of being soothed without answers.

“No, I don’t want to,” I replied, not meeting his eyes, staring instead out the window, still irritated.

He sighed, hesitating for a moment, then rubbed my hand gently before releasing it. “Fine. I’ll ask Cino to bring you something to eat. I’ll be out in thirty minutes.”

“I’m not hungry,” I responded curtly, keeping my gaze steady, avoiding his.

With a resigned sigh, he stepped out of the car, closing the door softly behind him. I watched him disappear into the grand mansion with Nathan, feeling a strange hollowness settle over me. Noah was like a puzzle with pieces I couldn’t place, and I wondered if this trip was only revealing how much I didn’t know him.

As soon as Noah vanished, a short man with graying hair approached the car, holding a pen and paper. He knocked on the window, then opened the door with a small bow. “Ciao, signora,” he greeted me, his beady eyes examining me, almost as if he were assessing whether I truly belonged there. “I’m Cino. Signor Noè says I bring you something for food.” His English was choppy, a clear sign he didn’t use it often, making me realize that this household probably spoke mostly Italian. Who would’ve thought dating an American would lead me to an entirely Italian family?

“Hi, Cino. I’m Reni,” I managed to say with a polite smile, hoping to ease the awkwardness. His expression didn’t soften. His eyes held that same puzzled look as if wondering what I was doing in the car—or, for that matter, with ‘Signor Noè.’ “Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” I added, hoping to spare us both the discomfort.

“Oh… oh, signora. Dessert?” His voice softened a bit, almost pleading. “I do desserts for you?” Despite his earlier aloofness, he now looked genuinely concerned, as if Noah had made it clear he didn’t want me going without food. “Signor Noè says you must eat something. Please,” he added, his eyes wide with worry, as if not fulfilling Noah’s request would lead to trouble. But I didn’t have an appetite, not with everything weighing on my mind. And besides, I’d already told Noah I wasn’t hungry. He never listens.

“No, Cino. I don’t want anything. Thank you,” I said, my frustration slipping into my voice.

He sighed, nodded slightly, and closed the door. Yet he stayed nearby, lingering just outside the car as though waiting for me to change my mind. His presence made me uneasy, like an added weight pressing down on a day that was already overwhelming. 

Between the tension on the plane and now waiting for Noah to finish his endless meetings, I felt my energy slipping away. I knew I should take my antidepressants before my mood sank even lower, but I’d never been one to take medication on an empty stomach. Yet, in a small act of defiance, I was holding a silent ‘food strike’ against Noah’s behavior.

I closed my eyes, leaning back to escape for just a moment, but a woman’s voice outside pulled me back. She called out to Cino with a lilting American accent, though she exchanged greetings with him in fluent Italian. I opened my eyes, curious, and saw her—a young woman with striking blonde hair, although I could tell it wasn’t natural. She wore a fitted purple dress with dainty frills at the hem that ended mid-thigh, and a crisp white Hermès Birkin bag hung from her shoulder. Her heels were Gianvito Rossi; I recognized them, owning a pair myself. She looked flawless, carrying herself with an easy elegance, her face glowing with a smile that said she hadn’t worked a single day in her life.

The woman handed Cino a small gift bag and whispered something to him, to which he nodded and pointed toward the house. It seemed like she was asking if someone was available. I glanced at my phone; it was barely six in the morning. Why was everyone already bustling around?

She made her way to the house, the rhythmic clack of her heels echoing until she disappeared inside. I checked the timer I’d set for Noah—only five more minutes left. I’d promised myself I’d find a way out if he didn’t return by then. But just as my timer was about to go off, I saw him walking out of the mansion. I had to admit, he was still the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. His sharp jawline was perfectly defined, and seeing him walk toward me in his usual black slacks and a simple white t-shirt made my heart skip a beat. Easily the only mixed man that has me drooling. He looked focused, but as he approached, the woman from earlier hurried outside, calling his name as she ran up behind him. 

He glanced back, and I saw his expression shift, a subtle sigh escaping as he tucked his left hand into his pocket, his thumb pressing against his forehead like he was bracing himself. She reached him, wrapping her arms around him in a quick hug. I watched as she spoke, though I couldn’t make out a single word. Then, unexpectedly, she started wiping away tears, and his hands moved to her shoulders in a gentle, comforting way, as if he were trying to calm her down. I wondered what could have made her go from smiling to sobbing so quickly. Who was she? He had only ever mentioned Nathan and Ryan—no other friends or family.

Just then, my phone rang, jolting me from my thoughts. It was my mom. I’d spoken to her and Dad before leaving, letting them know I was visiting Noah’s family. “Mummy…” I answered, hearing my own voice crack slightly, betraying more sadness than I wanted to let on.

“Buttercup, what’s happening? Are you okay? How is Noah? How are things over there?” Concern laced her voice. “Let’s do a FaceTime.”

I panicked. The last thing I wanted was for her to see me looking this downhearted; I wasn’t even sure I could manage a convincing smile. “Mummy, I’m fine,” I assured her, trying to sound upbeat. “I’m just a little tired. Adjusting to the time difference is harder than I thought.” It wasn’t a lie, just not the whole story.

I glanced out the window as I spoke, watching Noah. He was finally heading back to the car, the girl now gone from sight. I felt a wave of relief as he walked to his side, where Cino stood, looking as if he’d been waiting there just in case I changed my mind about the food. Cino seemed to be saying something to Noah as though he was reporting my refusal to eat.

“Reni, are you listening to me?” My mother’s voice snapped me back to the call.

“Yes, Mummy, I heard you. Noah is doing great,” I replied quickly, though I hadn’t a clue how he was really feeling. I decided to tell her something positive, hoping it would put her at ease. “I’ll be coming to California as soon as we return to the U.S., and I might bring him along.” A big part of me wondered if we’d even be together by then, but I didn’t want to worry her.

“That would be wonderful, my Arike! Your dad and I can’t wait to meet him. Abi, Deji?” she called to my dad, who had been quiet on the line.

“Uh-huh. Big Reni, make sure you stay safe, okay? I was reading about the crime rate in Italy; it’s pretty low, but—just be careful.” Like every Nigerian dad, he worried over the smallest things. He had probably Googled, ‘Is Italy safe for a young Nigerian girl?’ and done his own mini-research. “I have only two children, please,” he added, responding to my mom’s murmurs.

Their little back-and-forth made me smile. I stole a glance at Noah, who was now sitting beside me, flipping through some papers, looking focused.

“Morenikeji, don’t frustrate that boy,” my mom chided in her usual way. “Be on your best behavior, hmm?”

“Ehn, leave my daughter alone. She’s always on her best behavior,” my dad interjected. “If he complains too much, just come home to Daddy, okay?”

“Oh my goodness, the two of you—please, don’t be dramatic. I’ll call you when I’m rested, Daddy, ” I said, my voice light with laughter. “And you too, Mummy. I’ll call you.” I giggled as they chuckled on the other end, their playful banter bringing me a warm sense of comfort. “I love you both so much,” I added before hanging up.

I exhaled deeply, reality settling back in as I turned to Noah. There was a new scent lingering on him, light and floral, no doubt from the girl’s perfume. I tried to ignore it, fighting the rising annoyance in my chest. After another stretch of silence, filled only by the rustle of Noah’s papers, I decided it was time to speak up.

I crossed my arms tightly, looking at him with a mix of frustration and exhaustion. “Can this wait? I really just want to go to the hotel now,” I said, rolling my eyes after a moment.

“Sure,” he replied, snapping the folder shut immediately. “How’s Mom and Dad?” He asked as he stacked the papers neatly and tucked them back into the folder on his lap.

“You mean my mom and dad?” I shot back, trying to shake off the tension but somehow ending up feeding right into it. “They’re fine. They asked about you. They’re excited to meet you.”

“We’ll go see them when we’re back in the U.S.,” he replied with a casual tone, barely looking at me as he leaned forward to ask the driver to start the trip to the hotel.

I didn’t respond. His tone felt dismissive as if it was all just part of a routine. Since we’d arrived, something about him had been distant, and I couldn't figure out what had changed or why.

“Cino was supposed to get you food,” he added, his gaze shifting back to me.

“I told you, I wasn’t hungry.” My voice sounded sharper than I intended, but I kept my eyes fixed out the window, away from his. “You were going to feed me in the car like some dog?” I looked back at him.

“You said you didn’t want to come in. Reni, you barely ate on the plane. And don’t you have meds to take?” His words weren’t harsh, but they landed hard. It was the way he said it like I was unstable. Like he thought I needed medication to stay sane.

My heart lurched, and I felt a knot in my stomach. “What did you just say to me?” I whispered, the room spinning as I closed my eyes, willing myself not to break. But the flood of emotions I’d been bottling up spilled over. “STOP THE CAR!” I shouted, squeezing my eyes shut.

“What’s this about?” he asked, his voice maddeningly calm, which only ignited my frustration further.

“TELL. YOUR. DRIVER. TO. STOP. THE. CAR,” I demanded, my voice shaking with emotion.

“Raj, please stop the car,” he said at last, his tone shifting, sharper now.

Raj hesitated. “But—”

“Just let the others know we’ll be at the farm,” Noah replied, and the car slowed to a stop. I reached for the door, only to find it locked. “Can you please ask him to let me out too?” I muttered, holding back tears.

“Raj…” he instructed firmly. The locks clicked open, and I flung the door open, bolting from the car, and slammed the door shut. I walked off the main road to the lush green field nearby, likely still part of the Alcott property. After a while, I sank onto the grass, the tears flowing freely. I hated how vulnerable I felt, how easily he’d managed to make me feel small.

Why would he say that to me? As if I were some fragile thing. As if I had no control over myself. Yet, deep down, I knew he was right, and I had only proven him right by getting out of the car. I wanted to say I didn’t care what he thinks or what he does after this, but I’d be lying to myself. I was in love with him and had been since our very first date. That made this hurt all the more.

I sat there for what felt like forever, staring off into the distance, hoping, maybe even expecting, he’d come after me. But the minutes dragged on, and my heart broke a little more with each one. Questions raced through my mind, looping without answers: Did he care? Did I do something wrong? Was he over me?

Finally, drained from crying and exhausted, I decided to go back. My feet felt heavy as I trudged back toward the car, my heart sinking with every step. But as I got closer, I spotted him standing beside the car, fidgeting with a candy stick, his gaze fixed on the ground. He looked...small, almost lost, like a sad puppy.

I brushed past him without a word, heading for my side of the car. He turned and opened the door for me, his hand lingering on the handle as I climbed in. Then, he gently closed the door. He circled to his side, slid into the seat beside me, and fell silent, leaving the air between us thick and heavy with words unsaid.

“Raj…” Noah called again, and soon we were moving, the car gliding down the quiet road as silence filled the space between us. I kept my eyes on my fingers, twisting them nervously, while he kept his gaze on me, his eyes speaking words he wouldn’t say.

“Here. It’s cherry flavor,” he finally broke the silence, holding out a stick of candy. His voice softened as he added, “Baby…”

I took the candy from him, a wave of guilt washing over me. I hated how quickly I could overreact, even though a part of me felt it was because he never reacted enough. But looking at him now, I saw how exhausted he was. I had been so wrapped up in my own emotions that I’d overlooked his struggles. Noah was the kind of person who kept everything hidden, so it was easy to forget he had limits, too, that he could be hurting. I wondered if this was how his brothers felt sometimes, always leaning on him because they knew he would allow it. It was too easy to let frustrations out on him, knowing he’d just take it.

Holding the candy tightly in both hands, I let out a slow breath, then looked up at him. His head rested against the seat, eyes closed, his face blank but somehow weighed down. I knew he wasn’t asleep; his mind was probably racing as always. I reached over and gently took his hand, which was gripping his phone, and felt his tense fingers relax at my touch. His eyes twitched, but they stayed shut, so I leaned in closer, resting my head on his shoulder and wrapping my arm around him in a small embrace. He let out a long, steadying breath, his body gradually softening against mine as if my presence was grounding him.

“Babe…” I murmured my voice barely a whisper. “Babe…”

“Hmm?” he replied, sounding almost relieved that we were talking again. “We really should stop fighting every five minutes,” he mumbled.

“I love you, Noah, and I’m sorry,” I whispered, my words thick with the emotion I’d held back. “I just... I hate the idea of you being mad at me.” A tremor caught in my throat. “Are you mad at me?” I was barely holding back tears now. “I know I can be selfish, hyper-independent. Sometimes, I even forget how to be with someone, but you make it look so easy. And I get scared, like... like I might never be good enough for you or your world.” 

He didn’t say anything; he just kissed my forehead, his hand gently adjusting my jacket on my shoulder. That simple, quiet gesture said everything he wouldn’t put into words.

We rode silently the rest of the way, the tension easing as I drifted into sleep beside him. His voice was what woke me—a low murmur as if he was speaking to someone about our reservation. I blinked awake, looking around. We weren’t parked in front of the hotel. I pushed my hair back, catching his eye as he noticed I was awake.

“Perfect timing. Thank you, Carl,” he said, hanging up the phone. “Baby, are you awake?” he asked, his voice softer, as though he didn’t want to disturb me if I wasn’t.

I pulled away from his embrace, rubbing my head as a wave of nausea hit. I hadn’t taken my antidepressants in nearly two days, and the withdrawal symptoms were coming on fast. My body felt prickly, my skin buzzing with electric shock sensations.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his hands reaching for me instinctively, though the touch only made my skin tingle painfully. I flinched, and he quickly pulled back, understanding without a word.

“I’m... I’m okay.” I tried to sound reassuring, though I knew he could tell I wasn’t. Glancing at the clock, I realized it was already past 7 AM. “Don’t you have to be in Spain? Oh my God, I’m sorry, Noah. Just drop me off anywhere—I’ll figure it out.” I’d wasted so much of his time with my drama today, and now I felt guilty for keeping him from his family.

He sighed, shaking his head. “What’s with this ‘drop me off anywhere’ you keep saying?” he muttered, pressing his hand to my forehead. I winced as the touch sent another jolt through me.

“I can’t go to Spain when you’re like this,” he said firmly, grabbing his phone again. “Nathan, can you put Ma on the phone?” His tone was calm, but I could see the weariness in his eyes.

“Babe…” I whispered, wanting to tell him to go. I didn’t want his family to think I was the reason he couldn’t make the trip. He met my gaze, his expression unreadable, before returning to the phone.

“Ma, can you please tell Papa that I won’t be able to make it to the trip?” His voice softened a hint of his native Italian accent slipping through. “Mi fa male la testa.” He gave a tired smile, thanking her before hanging up. “Okay, la mia dolce metà, let’s go inside,” he said, reaching out his hand for me.

I looked up at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the redness that marked how little sleep he’d had. His face was worn, yet he somehow managed a gentle smile just for me and is still the most gorgeous man I have seen. And in that moment, I felt the full weight of what he’d been carrying for us, for me. I squeezed his hand, hoping he could feel the silent gratitude in that small touch, even if I couldn’t find the words.

"Whose house is this?" I asked, my eyes wide as I took in the elegant details. In front of me was a crib I recognized—the famous Alcott crib that had once flooded the news channels. No one knew much about the Alcott grandchildren, but everyone knew they existed. Their parents kept them out of the public eye, yet they couldn’t quite hide from the world. “Wait, where are we?”

“My home,” he replied as if it were obvious. “Did you really think I’d put you in a hotel when you’re in my city? Don’t worry, I’ll stay at the house —it’s only a five-minute drive.” He looked at me, amused.

“No, it’s not that. This house is yours?” I asked, still in disbelief. “You’re the Alcott grandson who spent nearly a ‘million dollars’ on a place right next to your family’s?”

He rolled his eyes, frowning. “It wasn’t close to a million. Plus, they really know how to get on my nerves over there, so one day, after one push too many, I bought this house and moved out. It wasn’t my brightest idea; somehow, the media got ahold of it, and it became this whole thing. But it’s been six years, and Nonno eventually let me keep it.”

I looked at him, still stunned. “Who are you, Noah Alcott?” I finally asked, realizing it was the question I should have asked the day we met.

He gave me a soft smile, lifting my hand to his lips. “Reni’s man,” he murmured before kissing it. “Come on, love.”

His voice was low and steady, and I felt his gentle but reassuring grip as he helped me out of the car. We walked inside, Noah’s hand lightly on my back, guiding me through the dimly lit hallway into a cozy, warm entryway. He led me to the living room, settling us on the couch. He sat beside me, his eyes studying my face, and then he brushed a stray strand of hair from my cheek. "Alright," he whispered. "Something's up. Let me in.”

He got up to get me a glass of water as Raj and some others brought in my luggage. I waited in silence until he came back, offering me the water and sitting beside me again, his eyes soft with concern.

“Is there a reason why you’re not speaking to me?” I asked. My emotions were a mess at this point.

“I am speaking to you, Mia Amata. Tell me how you’re feeling. Where are the antidepressants?” He was again going doctor mode on me without listening to me.

“Noah, no. Stop. I don’t understand what Italian you’re saying. You’re not speaking to me.” I said, frustration bubbling up. “I don’t want to hear about meds when you’re the reason I’m like this in the first place! If you want to break up, just say so!” The words left my lips before I could stop them, and they stung. I could see Noah’s face tighten, his expression withdrawing, as if my words had physically struck him.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he placed the glass of water down. He couldn’t meet my eyes. “Woah... Baby, see, I’m sorry for dragging you into this mess,” he murmured, his voice low, almost broken. His hands were visibly shaking now, as though he could barely keep them together.

“I’m exhausted, Reni,” he continued, his voice quiet but strained. “You don’t know how hard this is for me. I’m spent. My entire body aches... my head hurts so badly, I feel like I’ll start bleeding from my eyes.” He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself. When he looked back at me, there was something raw in his eyes, something that made my anger falter for just a second. “But I know today isn’t easy for you either. And I’m trying. I promise you, I am trying so hard to make this better.”

Noah paused, taking a deep breath, and for a moment, I thought maybe he wasn’t going to say anything more. But then his words came again, more measured but still full of emotion. “We’ve been over this so many times. Every time, we keep circling back to the same thing. So tell me, Reni… do YOU want to break up?” He let out a frustrated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because I don’t. I understand we’ve not had a great time since we made it official, and I hate everything that’s happening, too. But you know what you don’t see me doing? Running away from you or asking for a breakup every five minutes.”

“All I’m saying is that if you’re tired of me, You don’t have to put up with me. Nobody has to.” I said, raising my voice at him again.

“Clearly, you’re the one tired of this relationship. I won’t have another word with you about it. I have to make food for you,” he said, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

“I won’t eat the food you cook.”

“Well, too bad for you,” he said, turning on the stove without a hint of concern, “because you have to take your meds before sleeping this attitude off.” His words came out with calm indifference like my frustration didn’t faze him. He focused on the stove, moving with a relaxed precision, unfazed by my glare. I sat there, fuming, exhausted, my eyes fixed on the wall as anger simmered inside.

After a few moments, I felt his gaze on me, and then his footsteps approached the couch. He picked up the remote, flipped through channels, then settled on Rush Hour. “You said your comfort show is Gilmore Girls; this is mine,” his voice was playful, placing the remote down before disappearing into the kitchen. Seconds later, he returned with a throw blanket, gently draping it over me.

“You know… I had a really long morning, and it’s only a few minutes past 8,” he started, filling the silence in a strange way. He was usually the listener, but today, he kept talking. “Ryan’s furious with me. He even punched me in the shoulder,” he added, rubbing his arm, almost as if he was asking for sympathy. It was unlike him to admit pain, to share any vulnerability. “But hey, on the bright side, Dad was relieved to see me. And I think you made a good impression on him and Nonno. I’m sure they’ll be surprised to see you tomorrow.”

“What do you mean, see me tomorrow?” I asked, surprised he’d even suggest it.

“Are you serious right now?” He studied my face.

“I am. I’m not going anywhere with you,” I replied, the stubbornness flaring up again. Maybe I was being petty, but I wasn’t going to give in. He treats me like a kid. Why is he going on, making decisions on my behalf?

“It’s fine. Have you seen Rush Hour before?” he asked, glancing over with a faint smile. “I’ve watched it about five hundred times—not exaggerating. Best movie ever made,” he declared as he got up to check on the food simmering on the stove. “I’m making you almost-authentic Italian pasta. Almost, because there’s no time to make the pasta from scratch, but this one’s good. Our food company made it, and I personally approved it.” His back was turned, but I could hear the pride in his voice.

“I’m going to shower,” I muttered, ignoring him.

“Not until you’re fed and have taken your meds,” he called back, his tone firm.

“Do you need a reminder that I am not a child?” I stood up and made my way to the kitchen. “Where’s the bathroom?” I asked though I could easily have found it myself.

“Have a seat, Reni.” He carefully plated the pasta, setting it down before me with an almost gentle authority. Then he came over to my side and guided me into a chair. “Here, fork. Eat it, and let me know what you think. It’s not every day you get to try food your man approved for the market.” He winked at me, a playful spark in his eye. 

Though he seemed calm, I could see his exhaustion beneath the surface, a look that said he was close to crashing. So I decided to let it go. I took the fork from him, twirled the pasta, and took a bite. The taste was incredible, rich, and flavorful—better than any Italian food I’d had before.

“Thank you. It’s so good,” I said softly, glancing up at him before taking another bite. “My meds are in my handbag on the couch.”

He nodded, moving immediately to fetch them as if it was second nature to take care of me.

 After what felt like forever, I finished eating, and he carefully popped my meds out of their blister pack, placing them in my hand. “Are you not eating?” I asked, swallowing the pills.

“I’ll eat now that you’re fed,” he replied. True to his word, he took my plate, loaded it into the dishwasher, then served himself a plate of pasta.

“Can I shower now?” I asked, a bit exasperated by his constant monitoring of my every move in his house.

“Sure. Just don’t lock the door, though.” He glanced at his phone, which had started buzzing.

“What does that even mean?” I shot him a confused look, feeling my frustration creep back.

He was already on the phone. “Yeah, maybe later in the day. Evening, maybe?” he said into the phone.

“Are you bringing people over?” I pressed, despite knowing he was still on the call.

He wrapped up with a quick “Bye, man” before looking up at me, his eyes soft and weary. “Reni, I’m just looking out for you. You can lock the door if you want; just don’t stay in there too long. I’m not about to be blamed for breaking it down.” He took another forkful of pasta, and I let it go, heading off to shower. But my mind lingered, wondering why he hadn’t mentioned who might be coming by.

After showering, I took a moment to take a look at the room. It was luxurious yet minimalist, exactly my style. The walls were a soft gray, and touches of black, white, and just a hint of yellow gave the space a refined edge. Sleek furniture with clean lines, a plush gray rug that stretched across the floor, and soft recessed lighting added a subtle glow. The room exuded comfort without sacrificing elegance—like the design in my home in Miami. I wondered if he had redecorated it just for me, to make me feel at home here. Knowing Noah, he probably did.

I quickly got dressed, slipping into my black satin loungewear, which had double feathers trimming the pant legs and sleeves. I pulled my sew-in into a messy bun and used an under-eye patch. I felt rejuvenated, though a pleasant drowsiness started to settle in. All I wanted was to curl up and watch Rush Hour with Noah.

When I made my way back to the living room, he was nowhere to be seen. “Noah…” I called out softly. The TV was still on, Rush Hour was playing in the background, and the kitchen was spotless, but it looked like he had gone. My heart skipped, and a wave of anxiety washed over me. Suddenly, I felt like I was back in that lonely house in California.

I hadn’t realized until now how much I had relied on his presence. I thought I was prepared to stay here alone, but the quiet of this big, empty house felt overwhelming without him saying goodbye. I sat on the couch, hoping he’d left a note or texted, but my phone was silent—no messages, no calls from him.

Curling up on the couch, I closed my eyes, trying to shake off the emptiness that seemed to press in from all sides. I hugged the throw blanket closer, willing myself to drift off, letting the sounds of the TV fill the silence, even though his absence still lingered heavily in the air.

“Baby, are you asleep?” His voice cut through my sleepy haze, and I felt his warm hand on my shoulder as he settled beside me. I opened my eyes and, without thinking, threw myself into his arms.

“I thought you left!” I said, clutching him tightly.

“Well, you did kinda tell me to leave…” he smirked, raising an eyebrow.

“You know I didn’t mean that!” I groaned, rolling my eyes. “Where were you?”

He grinned, his eyes twinkling. “I don’t know what you mean or don’t mean anymore, Principessa. Shower, prayers... but I’m here now.” He leaned in close, and the scent of his cologne—a warm blend that was so distinctly him—filled my senses, making my heart race. Noah looked effortlessly good in a baby-blue ribbed polo and wide-legged white pants. It was all casual but classic. Meanwhile, I was dressed in a comfy black set, feeling like a shadow next to his brightness.

“I like the outfit,” he said with a smirk that sent a shiver through me.

“Yeah, thanks,” I replied, awkwardly looking away, trying to play it cool.

“Oh, yeah, thanks,” he mimicked, deepening his voice dramatically, which had me laughing out loud. “That’s it? Just a thanks? No ‘You look nice, baby’?” He pouted, giving me the sweetest look.

“Stop, babe! I can’t stop laughing. Who even talks like that?” I asked, still giggling.

“You, when you’re mad at me,” he said, leaning back with a satisfied smile. Then, with a softness in his eyes, he whispered, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I replied, my heart swelling. “Now, come on, let’s watch your Rush Hour together.”

“Of course. Come here,” he said, pulling me close into a cozy cuddle, wrapping the blanket around us both. After a few minutes, filled with shared laughter at the movie, he said, “Oh, by the way, Nathan and Carl are coming over tonight. If you don’t feel like seeing them, I’ll tell them you’re asleep. No biggie.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” I replied casually, then realized I wasn’t sure who Carl was. “Wait... who’s Carl again?”

“My cousin. He’s also my best friend,” he explained. “He’s a bit wild, but I think you’ll like him.”

“Think he’ll like me?” I teased, even though I was secretly curious.

“Reni, that’s not even up to him. You get to decide if you like them,” he replied, looking at me confidently. “They’d better be on their best behavior, trying to impress you. Good luck to them if they don’t.”

I giggled, feeling warm as I leaned deeper into his embrace. We might not be the perfect couple, but knowing Noah, he’d do anything to make things right between us. A while later, I felt his breathing slow and glanced up to see he’d slept off, his face soft and relaxed. Smiling, I closed my eyes, feeling at home as I let sleep take over.

The next sound I heard was the sudden ring of the doorbell. My eyes fluttered open, and I glanced at Noah’s phone, which had been resting next to us. It was 6:15 PM. I blinked, realizing we had been asleep for over six hours. The house was quiet except for the faint sound of the doorbell ringing again. I looked over at Noah, who was still sound asleep, looking so peaceful. He must have been so tired. He didn't even stir when I shifted to stand up from beside him.

I stretched, my body groaning as I rubbed the last traces of sleep from my eyes. Was Nathan and Carl here? I padded toward the door, still half in a daze, wondering if it was someone from Noah’s family or... someone else.

I reached for the door, unlocking it without a second thought. As I pulled it open, I found myself face-to-face with a woman standing in the doorway. She held two large brown paper bags, her face partially shadowed in the soft evening light, and her features had only a hint of familiarity. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, making me acutely aware of my slightly rumpled outfit and tousled hair.

“Who are you?” she asked, her tone curious but direct, her gaze holding steady on me.

I blinked, caught off guard. “What?”