The days that followed felt different.
Not drastically. Not like a switch had flipped. But like someone had opened a window in a room that had been locked for too long.
Sofia still woke up in the same cold estate. Alessandro still spent most of his time behind closed doors or out handling business. But when they crossed paths now, there were words.
Small ones. Simple.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Are you eating enough?"
"Let me know if you need anything."
Sometimes he asked if she'd gone out for a walk. Once, he told her there was a storm coming and that she might want to stay in. Just little things. But they mattered.
And sometimes—rarely—she caught him watching her with a kind of distant curiosity. As if he were still trying to figure her out.
She didn't mind.
She was doing the same to him.
---
One morning, she was reading in the library when he stepped in, startling her.
"Do you always flinch when I walk into a room?" he asked, not unkindly.
Sofia lowered her book. "Only when you don't knock."
He raised an eyebrow. "Touché."
He walked to the bar cart in the corner and poured himself a glass of water. Then, without asking, poured one for her too and set it on the table beside her.
She blinked. "Thank you."
He shrugged. "Seems like you're always dehydrated."
"You're noticing things," she murmured.
He didn't respond right away. Then: "I'm trying."
She glanced at him—really looked.
He wasn't always made of sharp edges. Sometimes, in quiet moments, he looked almost... young. Tired. Like the weight he carried had aged him before his time.
"What did you do before all this?" she asked.
"All this?"
"Before being the heir. The future Don."
He gave her a crooked smile. "Played football. Dated the wrong girls. Pretended I had time."
Sofia nodded. "What changed?"
"My uncle died. Suddenly. My father got paranoid. Started grooming me for succession like a soldier heading to war."
She didn't know what to say to that.
But he didn't seem to expect anything.
---
That night, she found a book left outside her door. One she had admired days ago in the library but hadn't borrowed.
There was no note.
But she didn't need one to know who left it.
---
The next afternoon, Daisy came by.
Alessandro had allowed her access to the estate grounds after Sofia asked—and though he hadn't said much, he hadn't objected either.
Sofia and Daisy sat in the garden with lemonade and chocolate pastries, watching birds hop between the trees.
"So," Daisy teased. "Is your dark prince still brooding and emotionally constipated, or has he started to evolve?"
Sofia smiled, brushing a crumb from her dress. "He... said I looked better when I smiled."
"Oh my God." Daisy mock-fanned herself. "Was that a compliment or a threat?"
"I don't even know anymore."
They both laughed.
But inside, Sofia's chest felt strangely full.
She wasn't in love.
Not yet.
But for the first time, she was starting to wonder if it might not be impossible.