Chapter 9 - SIX LANGUAGES AND ONE HONEST QUESTION
Z
Luca Romano arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes early.
Sophia arrived exactly on time.
She wore a dark green dress, simple earrings, and her hair loose around her shoulders.
For two years, Luca had seen her in an oversized gray uniform.
Now he seemed briefly unable to speak.
Sophia raised an eyebrow.
“Mr. Romano?”
He blinked.
“Sorry.”
She smiled.
“Are you going to stare all evening?”
“Possibly.”
She laughed.
Then sat.
They ordered dinner.
Luca asked about Budapest.
Sophia told him about her father's study, her mother's piano, and the old bookshops where she'd spent entire afternoons as a child.
She described learning Hungarian proverbs at the dinner table and practicing Italian with family friends.
Luca listened.
Actually listened.
When she spoke about her father, he didn't interrupt.
When she described her years of hiding, he didn't offer easy reassurance.
He asked questions.
And for the first time, Sophia felt she was speaking to someone who wanted to understand her rather than control the answer.
Eventually, Luca asked, “Why did you stay in my house for two years?”
Sophia looked down.
“Because I was frightened.”
“Of Vittorio?”
“Yes.”
“Of me?”
“At first.”
His expression tightened.
She continued.
“Your reputation wasn't exactly comforting.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
Sophia smiled sadly.
“But later, I stayed because I kept finding small connections between your business and my father's records.”
“Did you ever think about confronting me?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you?”
“Because I didn't know whether you were involved.”
Luca looked toward the window.
“I wish I'd been someone you could trust.”
Sophia studied him.
“Then become that person.”
He turned toward her.
The words landed softly.
No accusation.
No threat.
Just a possibility.
Later, they walked beside the river.
The city lights reflected off the water.
Luca placed his hands in his coat pockets.
“Sophia?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask something personal?”
She smiled.
“After two years of working in your house, that would be a novelty.”
He laughed.
Then grew serious.
“Do you ever get tired of being strong?”
The question startled her.
For years, she'd been told she was clever.
Brave.
Resourceful.
A survivor.
Nobody had asked whether she was tired.
She looked toward the river.
“Yes.”
Luca waited.
“Sometimes I wish I'd been allowed to be ordinary.”
His expression softened.
“What would ordinary look like?”
She considered.
“A small apartment. Work I enjoy. Friends I don't have to lie to. Dinner without wondering whether somebody is listening.”
He nodded.
“That sounds good.”
She glanced at him.
“And you?”
Luca looked toward the skyline.
“I want a life where people don't become silent when I enter a room.”
Sophia smiled faintly.
“Then stop giving them reasons to.”
He laughed softly.
“You're relentless.”
“Only in three of my six languages.”
He grinned.
“Which three?”
“Depends how annoying you are.”
They laughed together.
For a moment, the investigation and danger seemed very far away.
At the end of the evening, Luca walked her to her car.
He stopped beside the driver's door.
“Sophia?”
“Yes?”
“Can I see you again?”
She considered.
Then nodded.
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
She looked at him.
“Luca?”
“Yes?”
“Don't mistake this for forgiveness of everything.”
His expression softened.
“I won't.”
She smiled.
“Then good night.”
He stepped back.
“Good night, Sophia.”
May you like
She drove away.
And for the first time in years, her heart was racing for a reason that wasn't fear.
