Three

TWO, YES, TWO.

Two things hit me as soon as it became clear someone had jumped and dived right after me, and my unknown savior had now wrapped his fingers around my wrist in a grip so secure I could practically hear him commanding me to live.

And that's the first thing I realized.

All these years, I hadn't even known I had lost my will to live. Or that I was only going through the motions because I didn't care about anything.

I had even convinced myself that I had no dreams, no gloriously burning ambitions for the future because I was a girl with simple needs and that I was content.

Oh, Cat, you liar.

It was only when the water had swallowed me whole that I realized to my shock I had absolutely no desire to save myself.

How could you not know?

I was lying to myself all this time.

And if I weren't so sure that suicide was a sin, and Hell was real, I would have probably killed myself way, way back.

Why, God, why?

I hadn't realized that I was being passive-aggressive with God, and I had been blaming Him all these years.

Why didn't You just let me die with my parents so we can be together in Heaven?

Why force me to live in a world where I'm invisible?

Why make me live when I have nothing and no one to live for?

And the answer to all of these questions is suddenly clear, just so painstakingly clear as a strong pair of arms wrap around me, and I'm carried all the way to the surface.

I'm sorry, God.

I still don't understand why You've let me live, but I get it now.

To live is a gift that You alone can give, and so thank You.

Thank You, God.

If I weren't the way You made me—-

If I weren't invisible, and I wasn't the type people couldn't see or hear even when I was right in front of them—-

I'd be dead by now.

I'd be dead, and I would never know why my parents wanted me to live.

I would never know why You wanted me to live.

And I would never know him.

A STRANGER'S MOUTH covers mine in a kiss that pours life back into my body.

My lips melt under his, and his air becomes my air.

Every breath he helps me draw pulls me away from death's door, and he seems to sense the exact moment when my lungs finally make up their mind not to give up on me.

The stranger's mouth leaves mine, and he leans back just as I scramble up and start coughing out water.

My eyes flutter open, but I close them again when everything starts spinning.

I'm s-so c-cold.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

That's my heart, I think.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

My mind seems only capable of processing one thing at a time.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Is it my heart that's frantically pounding?

Or my head that's hurting?

"Cattleya?"

A man's voice, deep and honey-smooth in its elusiveness, and whose accent is the only thing I find familiar . Definitely Italian . I've heard it spoken my whole life. I can't be mistaken about this.

"Can you hear me?"

Yes, I do, but I don't have the energy to answer him, and all I can do is pray.

Please don't spin, please don't spin, please don't spin.

I slowly open my eyes.

Everything is vividly clear and absolutely still.

Thank You, God.

My brain starts functioning like it's supposed to but at a much slower rate.

Familiar wood paneling.

Familiar paintings.

Even the luxuriously thick and so obviously wet carpet under my body feels familiar.

But it still takes another moment before I reach the inevitable conclusion.

I'm in one of the yacht's private suites.

The kind that only the Marchettis and their VIPs have access to.

And that's why I know I'm not supposed to be here, causing trouble!

The realization has me sitting up in shock, and a punishing jolt of pain instantly strikes my temples.

"Don't make any sudden moves."

It's that voice again. But the tone this time is firm and commanding.

A Marchetti , I think right away.

But which one?

It doesn't sound like Giancarlo, Cesare, or Massimo.

That only leaves the one member of the famiglia I've yet to meet.

"I'm so sorry... signore ." My voice turns small as I open my eyes and find my gaze immediately captured by Ezio Marchetti's.

He's the youngest of La Strega 's grandsons.

And I get it now.

Why everyone says he's the hottest—-

Because he is, I think dazedly.

He's let his hair grow longer compared to the other Marchettis; it reminds me of Timothée Chalamet in Little Women, and the loose, unruly waves make me realize that I've been quite unfair towards romance authors.

I honestly thought they were also lying about a woman's fingers itching in their desire to run their hands through a man's locks. But I know now it's the truth, with myself as the mortifying proof of this.

"Stai bene?" Are you alright?

I know I'm supposed to say 'yes', but my mind is too preoccupied with how impossibly beautiful he is, and my eyes can't stop gobbling up every detail about him. Why are his lashes so long? Why are his cheeks so perfectly sculpted and his lips so kissable, and aaaaargh .

What's happening to me?

Horror and confusion make my head pound harder. I almost drowned, so why am I spending so much time obsessing over this man? Is this because I'm in shock?

My mind scrambles for an explanation, but I don't know how to explain it. Ezio Marchetti mesmerizes me in a way I can't articulate, and worse is how my eyes are still not done perusing every inch of him.

He really is the most beautiful of them all, I can't help thinking dumbly.

Even when he has the same height, the same build, the same dark hair, and bronze skin as his brothers, it's as if Ezio has that elusive X factor, a ' je ne sais quoi ' kind of appeal that everyone desires to have, but only the rare few are born with.

If this were a fairytale, Ezio would no doubt play 'Beauty' while I'm...neither Beast nor Gaston. You probably won't even hear my name mentioned since I'd likely be cast as one of the background pieces of furniture that also talks but never earns any screentime.

There's just something about how every inch of this man has been sculpted and chiseled together that makes him different...and the most mysterious .

And that's another thing I can't explain.

He just feels so enigmatic , for some reason.

Maybe it's those dark, dark eyes of his, with how he's been observing me all this time without giving anything away.

A secret I've never told anyone is how terrifyingly easy I find it to read people's eyes. It's a gift that comes with being invisible, but it's a gift that's not without costs. Because there's no turning back, no way to unsee what I see.

And sometimes, what I see breaks my heart.

Eyes are supposed to be the windows to one's soul, but sometimes...

A person's eyes...

It's what reveals when they have no soul to begin with.

Even when I wish it wasn't so, a person's eyes can never lie, and no matter how much I wish that this friend in school or that person from work is someone I can trust—-

Their eyes always give them away.

It always has been so...until him.

And I just don't get it.

I stare into Ezio's eyes, and it's the epitome of soulfulness.

His soul exists, and it's the real him who's underneath all the urban legends and blood-stained legacy that comes with being a Marchetti.

Please make me understand, God.

Is this supposed to mean something?

Is there a reason why it's this man's eyes alone that I can't read?

And is it the same reason why he's able to save me?

"How are you feeling?"

He sounds concerned, but is he really?

"How many fingers do you see?"

I almost sigh in relief. Now that, I can answer. "Four."

He relaxes, but seeing this has the opposite effect on me.

Oh no.

The truth hits me all of a sudden, and a wave of nausea has me jerking to my feet. I

"Careful!"

He's on his feet as well, only he's not swaying like I am.

Ezio reaches for me, and I automatically jump back.

He frowns.

"I think you should see a doctor."

I start shaking my head but stop when the sides of my temple throb anew.

"You are clearly not okay."

He's suddenly in front of me, and I catch a whiff of his aftershave.

Mm, that smells like—-no, stop, Cat!

This is absolutely not the time to be distracted!

Not when—-oh!

His fingers have cupped my elbow, and a strong sense of déjà vu hits me. Wasn't I just doing this for Mr. Drunk earlier? But my world has turned upside-down in a blink, and now I'm the one who's a complete mess.

"I'll have one of the staff come in to help you change."

I automatically open my mouth to say I don't need to cause more trouble than I already have, but he easily cuts me off with a look.

"No arguments."

Aye, aye, captain.

Another strong sense of déjà vu strikes me, and I bite my lip hard to keep the words from tumbling past my lips.

Am I losing my mind?

Am I just overreacting to things?

Or maybe this is me still lacking oxygen in my brain after almost drowning?

I vaguely hear him speaking on the phone, and the bits and pieces I manage to catch from his fast-and-furious Italian tell me he's serious about getting a doctor to check on me.

Great, just great.

I hate having to cause anyone trouble, but the moment my gaze strays to him, I...I can't remember what I was so upset about, and all I can think of at this moment is how unfairly beautiful he still seems, even with his back turned to me.

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.