Chapter 44

Chapter

Forty-Four

"Don't be pushed around by the fears in your mind. Be led by the dreams in your heart."

― Roy T. Bennett

Sofiya

As I stood in line at my favorite Moroccan food truck, my mind was all over the place. The delicious smell of spices filled the air, momentarily taking me away from my thoughts and into the bustling streets of Marrakech.

The conflict inside me was like the mix of flavors in the olive chicken sandwich I was about to devour—spicy, intense, and a little messy.

Seeing Mikha?l in New York after so much time apart caught me completely off guard. I never expected his presence—him showing up in my office, making love to me by the wi ndow, and the breathless moment near my apartment where he professed his desire for me and only me.

For months, I've been fighting to restore some sense of normality to my life. I've poured my heart into trying to erase his memory, to carry on with life's daily grind, and to dive into ambitious dreams that would replace those lingering images of him.

After last night, a part of me just wanted to give in and fall back into his arms because they've become my safe haven. But there's another part of me, insecure and scared, terrified he might lose interest in me again and ask me to leave like before.

I was still annoyed with myself for not holding back and rushing into intimacy without giving us a chance to have the much-needed conversation that had been hanging over us for months.

You are breathtaking.

You look like a fucking Goddess

I'm here for you.

I need you.

You taste so fucking good.

I missed you so much.

I felt my cheeks turn red as I remembered his words.

"Hey there, you alright, Miss?"

I snapped out of my daydream and realized the line in front of me had vanished. I'd been standing there, lost in thought, like a weirdo in the middle of the bustling sidewalk.

The food truck vendor looked at me with a mix of curiosity and concern, waving me closer.

"Everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry about that," I said, still a bit embarrassed. "Just got lost in my thoughts for a moment."

He chuckled, his initial concern turning into a friendly smile. "No worries. Happens to the best of us. What can I get you today?"

Glancing at the familiar menu on the truck, my stomach growled. "I'll stick with my favorite, the olive chicken sandwich."

His grin widened. "Ah, going for the classic. You're in for a treat."

As I waited for my order, my mind drifted back to last night.

The exhibition was a hit, and the feeling of success still buzzed inside me. I couldn't help but smile, replaying the lively scenes, the crowd's energy, and the excitement around the sculptures and Mario's paintings.

Today brought a surprise—my phone was blowing up with calls from four different museums. One from Italy, another from Germany, one from England, and even one from Japan. They all wanted me to curate exhibitions with their art. The best part? These exhibitions would kick off right here in New York City, showcasing these museums on an international stage.

This was a ticket to a whole new creative world.

It meant I wouldn't just work with Greek art and culture; I could dive into artistic treasures from all over the globe. It was a chance to broaden my horizons and create exhibitions that celebrated diversity and the rich tapestry of global creativity.

I couldn't wait.

With my mouth watering from the aroma of the olive chicken sandwich in my hand, I headed back to the office, which was just a short stroll away.

While savoring each flavorful bite, I checked my buzzing phone, which seemed to have a life of its own, demanding my immediate attention .

Jadieee:

Angelo hooked us up with the afternoon off.

Off to the spa!

Catch you later, boo.

My phone buzzed with another notification, and this time, it was a message from Angelo.

Confusion flickered across my face as I read his texts.

Mr. Lazzio:

See you bright and early on Tuesday morning.

We'll discuss the exhibition then.

Wait … What?

What's going on?

Something felt…off.

Angelo never – and I mean never – texts me unless something is seriously wrong, like a busted sculpture or some major crisis. And giving us an afternoon off? That's practically unheard of.

We usually work on Saturdays after a big event to discuss what went right and what needs improvement since our offices are closed on Mondays. But with Angelo's message changing our usual routine, I couldn't help but wonder why. Was this a one-time thing or a new approach?

As I finished the last bite of my delicious olive chicken sandwich, I found myself mentally rearranging my plans. After these grueling weeks, I craved something simple: a tub of Ben each floor passing by felt like an eternity.

Finally, the doors slid open to a corridor cloaked in darkness, illuminated by scattered candles. My breath caught as I followed a trail of rose petals leading to a closed door .

I approached the door cautiously. As I grasped the handle, the soft strains of a violin and piano wafted into the air. My attention was seized by the scene before me, rendering me speechless.

The room was vast, more like a ballroom than an office. Thousands of rose petals adorned the floor, forming a breathtaking carpet with a clear path leading to Mikha?l. He stood there, gaze fixed on me with such intensity that I felt like my legs might give way.

I took a few steps, heart pounding. The whole scene felt like a dream. He reached out for my hand when I was inches away. I hesitated, then allowed him to take it. A jolt of electricity passed between us, and my eyes welled up with tears.

The violin and piano continued their melody, playing "Love" by Lana Del Rey, my favorite song, adding to the surreal atmosphere.

I couldn't believe he remembered that it was my favorite song.

We stood there, locked in a silent exchange of glances that conveyed everything without needing words. It was incredible how much could be conveyed through our eyes alone.

"Hi, Sofiya."

Seeing him there, tall and confident, I couldn't help but admire how beautiful he was.

It almost made me wonder how I'd stayed sane these past few months away from him.

Dressed all in black with a rolled-up sleeve Prada shirt revealing his sleeve tattoo, he wore matching pants and a low-hanging silver necklace.

But what struck me the most was the subtle smile on his face.

"Hey," I breathed .

The music ended, and I turned to see two middle-aged men rising from their seats, giving a slight bow before quietly leaving the room.

Glancing at him again, my surprise deepened as I noticed a sizable envelope gripped in his left hand.

"Tvoye otsutstviye zastavilo moye serdtse drognut', no tvoye prekrasnoye litso vozvrashchayet yego k zhizni. Your absence killed my heart, but the sight of your beautiful face just brought it back to life," he said with a shaky voice.

I tilted my head to the side, confusion evident on my face as I tried to make sense of his words.

The intensity in his eyes, however, left me feeling a bit unsettled. It made me hesitate, second-guessing myself, and I ended up not having the guts to ask him to translate what he had just said.

"What are you doing here, Mikha?l?"

Didn't he have more important things to do on a random Friday afternoon?

I thought he would be on his way to Moscow, up in the sky, by now.

"I am here for you, Sofiya. Always for you."

For me.

The very same thing he said to me last night.

"How did you pull all of this off?" I motioned to the room, where thousands of petals were arranged beautifully, and soft lights cast a gentle dance on the walls. "Angelo is not going to be happy."

He chuckled softly, his eyes intimately tracing my face. "You don't need to worry about him."

I furrowed my brows in concern. "But I do. He's my boss."

His smile grew slightly wider. "I know that."

"Volk," I began tentat ively.

"Volk, again?"

I swallowed. "That's your name."

"Is it, now?"

"Yes," I said, sensing the atmosphere becoming more charged. "I thought you would have made it to Moscow by now."

"I can't return to Moscow."

"Why?"

"Because I can't go back without you."

His words seemed to hang in the air, electric and charged.

My heart raced, a mix of surprise, happiness, and a touch of anxiety flooding over me.

It was as if a storm of emotions had been unleashed, swirling through my veins and leaving me both exhilarated and uncertain about what else he might say.

"Yes, you can," I breathed.

He shook his head. "I don't want to."

"I—" I began, but he gently cut me off.

"I'm not good with words," he confessed, his voice vulnerable. "But I need you to understand how much you mean to me, Sofiya."

With deliberate movements, he opened the envelope he was holding, revealing a folded letter. His fingers trembled slightly as he carefully extracted it.

"I wrote this before I came to New York. Please, let me read it to you."

I nodded, curious.

Taking a deep breath, he started reading. "From the moment our paths crossed, my world shifted. I've never truly understood love until I met you – how it can mend a shattered heart and light up even the darkest corners of life."

His eyes stayed on the letter as he continued. "When I first saw you, a part of me resisted, hated the feelings you stirred within me. Yet, I couldn't deny something was blossoming deep inside."

"You've seen me at my lowest, witnessed things you'd consider wrong, even things that caused you pain. Despite that, you never stopped looking for the good in me," he said, his voice quivering slightly.

"That's what makes you beautiful – not just on the outside, but deep within. I know I don't deserve someone as pure and angelic as you, but I need you to understand that since the day I met you, no other woman has crossed my mind."

He inhaled deeply as I reached for his hand and brushed my thumb against his knuckles.

"I would journey to the depths of the earth just to feel your touch again. I would face death over and over to hear your laughter. I would humble myself to taste your kiss."

He paused, lifting his eyes to meet mine, a vulnerability in his gaze that held me captive.

"I'm so sorry – sorry for how we met, sorry for bringing you into my messed-up world, and sorry for taking away your innocence. But I need you to know that I'm in love with you – a love so deep it defies words and will stay with me until my last breath."

He took a deep breath and gracefully dropped to one knee.

A gasp escaped my lips.

His eyes locked onto mine, full of determination.

"I know the timing feels all wrong and forgiveness seems impossible," he said, his voice heavy. "But what I'm about to ask comes straight from my heart."

He paused, eyes steady, then pulled a small red box from his pocket .

My breath caught as he opened it, revealing a dazzling diamond sparkling in the soft light.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I know it won't be easy, and the road ahead is tough, but I want to face it together – hand in hand, heart to heart. Because you are the love of my life."

I brought a hand to my mouth to stifle the sobs threatening to escape.

"Sofiya," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Will you marry me?"