Chapter 263
KATYA POV
By the ti Chiara finished, I barely recognized myself. She’d dried my hair slowly, carefully, like it was sothing fragile instead of just... .
Her fingers were gentle as she worked, guiding the warm air through the strands until my hair fell loose and soft down my back, not perfectly just natural.
When she leaned in to swipe a bit of lip gloss across my mouth, I’d stiffened at first out of instinct, my hands curling into the hem of the dress.
"Relax," she murmured, amused. "I’m not poisoning you."
"I know," I said quickly, then softer, "I just—" She smiled at in the mirror. "You don’t have to explain."
The dress felt strange on my body. It barely brushed my thighs when I moved, the skirt flowing freely instead of clinging or weighing down.
The straps tied softly at my shoulders, leaving my arms bare, my skin exposed in a way I wasn’t used to. Almost sleeveless. Almost daring.
Yellow.
Not loud. Not blinding. Just warm. Like sumr had decided to sit on my skin. Chiara stepped back once she was done and she froze before screaming "Oh my God,"
My stomach dropped instantly.
"What?" I asked, panic rising too fast. "Is it bad? Is sothing wrong?" She blinked, then broke into the widest grin. "Are you kidding ?"
I shifted on my feet, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—the length of the dress, my bare shoulders, my legs. "Chiara—"
"You look incredible," she cut in, already circling . "No. Scratch that. You look unfair."
I laughed nervously, the sound coming out too thin. "You don’t have to say that."
"I absolutely do," she said, stopping in front of . "Look at you. The way it sits on your waist? The way the color just—works on your skin and eye color?"
I stared at the floor, my face heating. "Th-thank you," I managed, the words tripping over themselves. "I just... it’s not a big deal."
She snorted. "Katya, if you don’t stop lying to yourself, I’m gonna start charging you for emotional labor."
That earned a small, embarrassed smile from , but I still couldn’t et her eyes. Complints always felt like traps—like if I accepted them, sothing bad would follow, just like how nonna’s sundress.
Chiara noticed my dropping mood and she softened imdiately. "Hey. You don’t have to believe yet. Just... let believe it for you."
"Okay," I whispered.
"Good," she said brightly, clapping her hands once. "Because we’re going out."
My heart skipped. "Now?"
"Now," she confird. "Before you start overthinking and change into a potato sack."
"I wouldn’t—"
"You absolutely would." She grabbed my hand before I could protest, her grip warm and grounding. "Co on."
We stepped out of my room together, the hallway quiet and sunlit, and for a mont, everything felt... light.
Then the door across the hall opened.
Nonna erged slowly from her bedroom, her wheelchair rolling forward with a soft hum. She was already dressed for the day, hair neatly done, expression calm—until her eyes landed on us.
On . She stopped. Her gaze swept over my body in one slow, assessing glance—from my bare shoulders, to the short, flowing skirt, to my legs and my foot in a sandal.
She frowned.
The world tilted.
My hand slipped from Chiara’s grip as I curled inward without aning to, my shoulders folding in on themselves like I could make myself smaller, less visible. Sha hit first. Then panic.
She hates it. The thought slamd into so hard it stole my breath. My mind raced, cruel and fast.
It’s too short. Too exposed. Too much. I should have known better. I should have changed. I should have....
My fingers twisted into the fabric of the dress, suddenly desperate to hide what couldn’t be hidden. Heat flooded my face, my chest tight and aching.
I didn’t dare look at Nonna again. I waited for the disappointnt. For the reprimand. For the quiet, devastating confirmation that I’d done sothing wrong just by existing like this.
"Mia cara, where are you headed to?" I stiffened instantly, my shoulders drawing in further, my fingers tightening around the fabric at my thighs.
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Was I not allowed to leave? Did I misinterpret that I would be free to go anywhere I wanted here too.
"We’re going out, Nonna," Chiara beat in answering so easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I want to show her Italy."
Nonna’s brows lifted just a fraction as she shifted her gaze from to Chiara. "Is that so?" Her tone was curious now, thoughtful. Not displeased. Still, my heart was racing too fast to trust it.
"Yes, Nonna," I said quickly, forcing the words out before fear could swallow them. My voice ca out softer than I intended. "If... if that’s okay."
Nonna studied for a long mont. Then she wheeled closer. The quiet hum of the chair felt impossibly loud as she stopped directly in front of .
I froze, despite knowing how loving nonna is I still braced myself for the rejection, my pulse thudding in my ears. Her eyes softened as they t mine, and put of habit, I looked down again.
She reached out and adjusted one of the straps at my shoulder, not fixing it—just touching it, as if to reassure herself it was real.
"Are you comfortable?" she asked gently. The question caught off guard. Not appropriate? Not decent? Comfortable.
I swallowed. "Yes," I said, and this ti it was the truth. The cloths was short yes but I was indeed comfortable.
Nonna nodded satisfied at my answer. "Then I have no problem." Her lips curved into a small smile. "And you look very lovely, Katya. Like sunshine."
Sothing warm blood painfully behind my ribs. "Th-thank you," I whispered, blinking fast.
Chiara let out an exaggerated breath. "Okay, wow. Emotional mont, love it. But Nonna, you’re going to make us late."
Nonna huffed. "Late for what? Wandering around aimlessly like a pair of stray cats?"
"Exactly," Chiara shot back cheerfully. Nonna rolled her eyes, then paused. "Have you eaten breakfast?"
I shook my head without thinking. "Nonna—" Chiara groaned.
"We’ll eat at a café," she added quickly. "I swear. Cappuccino. Pastries. I’ll even let her choose."
Nonna’s eyes narrowed as she looked at Chiara, clearly unconvinced. Chiara t her gaze without flinching, a familiar, cheeky smile tugging at her mouth.
The two of them just stared at each other—Nonna sharp and assessing, Chiara relaxed and unapologetic.
I watched them quietly, a small smile slipping onto my lips before I could stop it. This unconsciously reminded of Roo and Nonna—those rare monts when they’d circled each other like this, mutual respect wrapped in stubbornness.
Though the thought faded quickly. Roo had never been this soft with her. Respectful, yes. Careful. But never... playful.
Nonna sighed and reached into the side pocket of her wheelchair, pulling out a phone. She held it out to . I blinked. "You forgot this in the car yesterday. I ant to give it to you earlier."
I took it slowly, my stomach tightening the second I saw the screen light up.
Missed calls. Several of them. All from the sa na. "And that Michael boy," Nonna added, casually, like she wasn’t dropping a bomb, "has been calling nonstop."
My chest constricted. My thoughts scattered all at once, Why was he calling? What did he want? Had sothing happened? Had I—
Chiara didn’t give my panic ti to bloom. "Okay, okay," she said quickly, sliding an arm around my shoulders and gently steering away.
"We’re leaving now before Katya short-circuits."
"Chiara," Nonna warned.
"She’ll call back later," Chiara promised, already pulling down the hallway. "I’ll feed her, hydrate her, and return her in one piece."
Nonna shook her head but smiled faintly. "Don’t get lost."
"No promises!"
The door closed behind us.
But the weight of the phone in my hand lingered, heavy and unsettling, my unease following down the hall like a shadow I couldn’t quite shake.
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