Chapter 21: Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Author's Pov

Rico looked up at the cloud before cursing a little under his breath. He couldn't believe he was stuck here with an obnoxious human being.

Why was it so cloudy today? he thought, looking up through the huge glass window placed in the room into the sky.

It was actually unusually cloudy today; it looks like a heavy storm was about to hit them, and it just had to happen when he and Picasso were both stuck inside a house together.

The cozy house nestled on a quiet street, which seemed to amplify the tension that had been building up between them for hours now.

He stormed back to the bed, slumping down on it with the sheets against his back, his mind drifting to different thoughts and possibilities.

Only if, he thought out loud, before the loud sound of thunder echoed into the room, shaking the room a little.

He turned to look out the window to see raindrops splashing against the windowpanes, mirroring the storm brewing inside his heart at the moment.

He knew they needed to find a way to salvage out the intense hatred he left towards Picasso since he was now working for someone who was the best friend to his enemy and ex-lover.

But he would prefer if they both acted like they knew nothing about each other.

The argument had originated from a minor disagreement over household chores, but as frustration mounted, it escalated into something far more profound. Words as sharp as knives were flung across the room, each leaving a deeper wound than the last. The house, once filled with laughter and joy, now echoed with the bitter echoes of their fight.

Picasso, in a fit of anger, stormed towards the front door, intent on leaving the house to cool himself down. But as he reached for the doorknob, his heart sank.

He knew they both had to settle their problems, and leaving just like always while keeping him locked up wasn't even going to solve a hint of their problem right now.

Reluctantly, Picasso turned away from the door, his anger slowly dissipating. He glanced towards the stairs, tears threatening to stream down his face from the frustration he was feeling inside his heart.

He knew he had no excuse and no right to be frustrated. He started this, and he caused it all. But his head kept refusing to take all the blame, blaming his past on the ignorance of the teenage mind.

The realization of his predicament began to sink in—the walls of both the confined house and their past relationship simultaneously closing in on him—could anything really be done to get Rico back? He asked himself.

He made his way up the stairs into the room he had locked Rico inside after recusing him from the plantation.

Their eyes locked immediately he stepped into the room, poignant silence sweeping peacefully inside the room.

Their disagreement a few hours ago exposed deep-seated insecurities, hatred, and unspoken fears, unraveling the vulnerable layers of Rico's mind.

They were both aware of how painfully they had taken each other for granted, especially Picasso.

Picasso took a deep breath before slowly reaching out to Rico, who instantly moved back.

He kept moving back before his back hit the wall, trapping him between the hard surface and the fool in front of him.

Picasso immediately moved forward, making their fingertips gently touch each other, sending fragile promises of a brighter future into his heart.

Rico whined instantly as he felt a jolt of buttery sensation spreading around his body.

Fuck! He was still in love with this idiot, he thought.

He immediately slammed his fist into his heart, escaping and dashing towards the door.

He pulled the doorknob nervously, hoping that he would magically unlock it, but who was he kidding? Picasso was smart enough to lock it back immediately after he stepped into the room.

Turning back, he looked at Picasso, who was looking at him with emotion dancing around his eyes.

Looking around the room for a way to escape and gather his thoughts and emotions, he dashed into the bathroom, locking the door from inside.

He sat on the closed toilet seat, ruffling his hair a bit.

Fuck! He thought

Over the years, they both kept to themselves, ignoring each other.

Their confinement prevents them both from continuing their journey of emotional discovery and exploring their own vulnerabilities.

They delved into the depths of their love at a young age, which caused nothing but a broken heart to crack.

Hours pass by with Rico still in the toilet, his thoughts all over the place. Picasso had taken his leave, he knew, but he just wanted to gather his thoughts a little before leaving.

He wouldn't lie; he missed the late-night conversations and small moments of tenderness of their love from the past, but the longing wasn't enough for him to go back to his vomit. He thought before getting up from the seat and entering the bathroom with a made-up mind and plan.

--------------------

Meanwhile, Mrs. Tommaso sat on a soft white couch in her bedroom, her mind drifting to her son's sudden relationship.

Despite the positive encounter with Rose, She couldn't shake off her initial suspicions entirely. She wanted to ensure her son was truly happy and not hiding anything.

Determined to uncover the whole truth, she picked up her phone, deciding to do some discreet investigation.

Over the following days, while Alfonso was out or busy with work, she had come to visit Rose and, in a pretendance, subtly snooped around Alfonso's room, searching for any evidence that could confirm her suspicions.

She checked his home office phone when Rose wasn't looking and scrolled through his messages, searching for any hint of secret conversations.

Rose had noticed her strange visitation and behavior, knowing she still had a little suspicion about them.

One day, while the maids were sorting through Alfonso's laundry, Mrs. Tommaso entered the room to check if she could find anything again.

She looked around for a moment until her eyes caught an unfamiliar piece of clothing hidden at the bottom of the wardrobe. It had little stains of blood on it. It was a delicate lace camisole that she was definitely sure didn't belong to her son.

Panic surged through her as different thoughts raced through her mind, but she still knew she couldn't confront it without substantial evidence.

She began to pay close attention to her son's actions, keeping an eye out for any odd behavior or secretive meetings. She started noticing that he would receive frequent calls and messages from an unknown number whenever he was around.

Determined to put an end to the mystery, she decided to take matters into her own hands.

Mrs. Tommaso couldn't contain her curiosity any longer; she had to find out what mystery was going on in her son's life.

One afternoon, as Alfonso stepped out for a meeting, leaving her alone in his office, she saw her chance to investigate.

Seizing the opportunity, she picked up his phone and dialed the most recent unknown number.

To her astonishment, a familiar voice answered on the other end of the line. It was Rose.

"Hello, hello, helllllooo." The voice kept calling out.

Her heart skipped a beat as she realized the magnitude of her discovery. She quickly composed herself and engaged Rose in a friendly conversation with her.

As she hung up the phone, a kaleidoscope of emotions washed over her.

Why was Rose's number not saved on her son's phone, she thought?

What exactly was going on? She asked herself

-------------

Mrs. Tommaso strategized her approach, choosing her words carefully as she prepared to confront Alfonso about what she had discovered.

She wanted to respect his privacy, definitely, but financial things were still eating up her mind.

One afternoon, when they were alone together at the office, she mustered her courage and approached the subject delicately.

"Alfonso I need to talk to you about something. She began, her voice soft and gentle.

"I know about Rose, and I've spoken to her." She continued

Alfonso's face turned pale as he processed his mother's words. He felt a mix of shock, embarrassment, and uncertainty about what exactly she knew.

"How did you find out, Mom?" He stammered, trying to gauge her reaction to see if he might know exactly what she was talking about.

Alfonso took a deep breath and sighed. "I had my suspicions, and I took it upon myself to investigate. I want you to know that I did it out of concern for your happiness, Alfonso."

"I wanted to know how you really came to know her and what made you attracted to her to the point of marriage. That's all, son. " She touched his hands gently in an understanding manner.

Alfonso was torn between being angry about the invasion of his privacy and grateful for his mother's genuine concern, but he was still not sure, so he hesitated for a moment before responding.

"Mom I'm sorry you felt the need to snoop around, but I understand why you did it. So what exactly did you find, mom? I hope it's good. " He said he was forcing a smile on his lips to hide his nervousness.

Emily's heart leaped with relief, grateful that her intuition hadn't steered her wrong. "I just want you to be happy, Alfonso. I hope you understand that I don't care about what happened to her in the past or what relationship she has with her relatives; as long as you are happy, I am good." She said

"And please do tell me if you need help, and don't go bursting into a warehouse like that," she added.

They sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation sinking in. Alfonso was still confused.

"So you are okay with me getting married to her, even though she's missing and has a lot of enemies." He asked just to be sure they were on the same page.

"Yes, I can see the love you have for her radiating from your eyes, son. But do promise me something—that he would also take care of yourself; you know all I have left is you." She said it with a smile on her face.

Alfonso nodded his head, grateful she only knew half of the story.