Unwritten

Grief doesn't come all at once. It seeps in, quiet and patient, settling into the cracks of your life until one day, you wake up and realize you don't recognize yourself anymore.

I used to think I knew who I was. Before the funeral. Before the moving trucks. Before my world was packed into suitcases and shipped across the ocean to a place that wasn't mine.

Italy is beautiful. Everyone says so. The sky stretches wide and endless, the air is thick with the scent of citrus and old stone, and the language drips from tongues like poetry. But to me, it feels like a place I don't belong.

"We're almost there," my mother says beside me. There's an excitement in her voice that makes my stomach twist.

She looks happier than I've seen her in years. Hair perfectly styled, wearing one of those effortless dresses that rich European women seem to pull off so easily. She belongs here. Unlike me.

I tighten my grip on my bag. "Great," I murmur, not bothering to match her enthusiasm.

She exhales softly like she's preparing for another one of her talks. The ones where she tells me to try, to be open-minded, to give Alessandro a chance. I beat her to it.

"I know, Mom. Be nice. Be polite. Smile." I force a tight-lipped grin. "See? I've got it covered."

Georgia sighs, shaking her head. "That's not what I was going to say."

But we both know it is.

The car slows as we pass through massive wrought-iron gates, rolling up a long driveway lined with towering cypress trees. And then, there it is. The Buster estate.

It looks like something out of a movie-too much of everything. Too many windows, too much stone, too much space for a family of three. A place built for people who know they'll never need to struggle.

The driver stops in front of the grand entrance, and before I can even reach for the door handle, a uniformed man steps forward and opens it for me. Right. Because people like Alessandro Buster don't just own mansions. They own staff.

I step out, the Italian air warmer than I expected, carrying the scent of cypress and something floral.

And then I hear his voice.

"Finalmente."

I turn to see him. Luca Buster.

Luca Buster was the kind of breathtaking that made you forget how to breathe. Tall and lean, his frame was sculpted with the kind of effortless strength that hinted at years of dedication, his broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist. Every movement was smooth and unhurried like he had the world at his feet and time at his command.

His dark hair was thick and tousled just enough to look effortlessly stylish, the rich, ebony strands brushing over his forehead and curling slightly at the nape of his neck. The kind of hair that made you want to run your fingers through it, just to feel its softness.

Sharp, chiseled features framed his face-high cheekbones, a strong, angular jaw, and a slight, perpetual smirk that teased at his full lips. His nose was straight and aristocratic, lending an air of regal defiance to his already commanding presence.

But it was his eyes that left you spellbound-deep, piercing gray, like the stormy sky before a downpour, framed by thick, dark lashes. They held a quiet intensity that could freeze you in place with a single glance, equal parts captivating and intimidating. There was a darkness in them, a guarded depth that warned you not to look too closely unless you were willing to drown.

His skin was sun-kissed, warm olive with a subtle golden undertone that made the cool gray of his eyes even more striking. A few faint freckles dusted his nose, so faint they seemed like secrets, like imperfections he didn't bother to hide.

Dressed in well-fitted shirts that hinted at the lean muscle underneath and dark jeans that clung just right, Luca looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine-untouchable, unattainable, and yet irresistibly magnetic.

He carried himself with a relaxed confidence, his gait smooth and purposeful. There was something almost lethal about his allure-like a warning wrapped in temptation.

He stands on the wide stone steps, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. He's too perfect, in that rich, careless way.

And the way he's looking at me? Like I'm nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

My mother rushes forward with a smile. "Luca! It's so good to see you again."

Again? Right. Because while she was busy playing house with her new husband, she was probably bonding with his son.

Luca steps forward, but not toward me. He kisses Georgia lightly on both cheeks. "You look well," he says in smooth, accented English. When he spoke, his voice was deep, and controlled, like he never has to raise it to get what he wants. At the same time, it was low and rich-smooth as velvet with a rasp that sent shivers down your spine, especially when he dropped it to a whisper.

Finally, his eyes flick to me. He doesn't extend a hand. Doesn't even offer a smile.

"This is Elena," Georgia introduces.

Luca studies me, gaze unreadable. Then, just as quickly, he looks away. "Sure."

That's it. No greeting, no fake politeness. Just sure, like my presence here barely registers.

Before I can decide if I'm annoyed or relieved by that, another voice breaks the silence.

"Elena."

I turn just as Alessandro Buster steps onto the terrace. His presence is immediate-not just because he's tall and sharply dressed, but because he carries himself with the effortless authority of a man who is used to being in control. But when his eyes meet mine, something softens.

"I've waited a long time to finally meet you," he says, stepping forward.

His smile is warm. Genuine. Not the forced kind of politeness I was expecting.

And then, to my complete surprise, he pulls me into a firm, fatherly embrace.

For a moment, I don't know what to do. I'm stiff in his arms, caught off guard by how easy, how natural this feels for him. Like I belong here.

Like I belong to him.

When he pulls back, there's something almost wistful in his expression. "Georgia has told me so much about you. It's good to finally have you here."

I nod, swallowing against the unexpected tightness in my throat. "Thanks."

From the corner of my eye, I see Luca shift slightly. Not a big movement, but enough. He's still looking away, his jaw tight.

I don't know why, but something tells me this isn't just about me being here.

It's about Alessandro wanting me here.

And Luca?

He already hates it.

_______________

The house-no, the estate-was overwhelming.

Elena had expected grandeur, but nothing quite like this. Marble floors gleamed under the soft golden lights, walls stretched high, adorned with intricate moldings, and chandeliers hung like frozen constellations above her. It smelled expensive, like polished wood, fresh flowers, and something faintly citrusy.

The house staff, polite and efficient, guided her through the maze of corridors until they stopped in front of a door. One of them-an older woman with kind eyes-smiled as she pushed it open.

"This is your room, Miss Branson. If you need anything, just ring the bell."

Elena stepped inside and barely held back a gasp.

The room was breathtaking. A four-poster bed with delicate white drapes stood in the center, its plush bedding pristine and inviting. A vanity with an ornate mirror sat near the window, reflecting the dimming Italian sky. The entire space felt untouched, like something out of a magazine.

For a moment, she just stood there, taking it all in.

So this is my life now.

She wasn't sure if she was supposed to be grateful or suffocated.

With a quiet sigh, she set down her bag and made her way to the en-suite bathroom. The warm water helped wash away some of the exhaustion clinging to her, but it couldn't rinse out the hollow feeling in her chest.

Her father should be here. He should be calling to check on her, teasing her about how she'd probably get lost in a house this big.

But he wasn't.

He never would again.

Elena gripped the edge of the sink, forcing herself to breathe. She couldn't let herself unravel-not here, not in this place that didn't yet feel like hers.

By the time she finished getting ready, she looked... presentable. Black jeans, a fitted sweater, hair brushed out. She looked fine. Normal. Like a girl who wasn't falling apart.

Dinner.

She squared her shoulders and stepped out of her room.

The hallway was quiet as she made her way downstairs, following the faint clatter of silverware and muffled conversation. The dining room was just as extravagant as everything else, a long polished table set with more dishes than she could count.

Georgia smiled warmly as she saw her. "There you are. Come, sit."

Alessandro stood, pulling out a chair for her. "Elena, I hope your room is to your liking."

There was something so genuine in his tone, so effortlessly warm, that it took her by surprise.

"It's beautiful," she said, sitting down. "Thank you."

Alessandro smiled, pleased. "Good. You should feel at home here."

She nodded, unsure how to respond.

It wasn't until she picked up her fork that she realized-

Her phone.

Her stomach dropped. She had left it upstairs.

Trying not to make a scene, she quietly excused herself. "I just forgot something in my room. I'll be right back."

She hurried up the stairs, retracing her steps. When she reached her hallway, she pushed open the door without thinking-

And walked straight into the wrong room.

The air inside was different. Dimmer, cooler, with a faint scent she didn't recognize.

And then she saw him.

Luca.

Standing near the window, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone.

Her stomach dropped.

The room was silent, charged in a way that made the air feel heavier. Luca turned his head, his gaze landing on her.

For a second, he said nothing. Just looked at her with that same unreadable expression.

"Elena," he said at last.

His voice was smooth and neutral, but something about the way he said her name sent an odd shiver down her spine.

She straightened. "I-"

"Wrong room," he noted, tilting his head slightly.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. "I forgot my phone," she muttered.

Luca exhaled slowly as if this entire moment was nothing but an inconvenience. Then, his gaze flicked over her-quick, unreadable, like he was seeing her for the first time but was unimpressed by the view.

Her pulse did something weird at that.

"Well," he said after a pause. "You found something else instead."

The words were lazy, and indifferent, but something about them made her breath catch.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then, she scowled. "Not on purpose."

A flicker of something-amusement?-tugged at the corner of his mouth. But it was gone before she could be sure.

Elena didn't wait for another word. She turned on her heel, shutting the door behind her.

What the hell was that?

Her heart was still racing by the time she grabbed her phone from her actual room and made her way back to the dining table.

She sat down, hoping no one had noticed how long she'd been gone.

"Everything okay?" Georgia asked.

Elena forced a smile. "Yeah. Just couldn't remember where I put it."

And then, just as she was picking up her fork-

Footsteps.

Slow, unhurried.

Luca walked into the dining room like nothing had happened. His expression was blank, his posture relaxed as he moved to take the seat across from her.

He didn't look at her. Not once.

Elena forced herself to focus on her plate, pretending her pulse wasn't still slightly erratic.

If he could act like nothing happened, then so could she.

Elena forced herself to focus on her plate, but every bite felt mechanical. Across from her, Luca sat with the same quiet indifference, as if nothing had happened.

It was unnerving how good he was at it.

Georgia, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, smiled warmly. "Elena, I know everything must feel new and overwhelming right now, but I promise you'll love it here."

Alessandro nodded, pouring himself a glass of wine. "Italy has a way of growing on you," he added with a small smile.

Elena swallowed a bite of pasta that suddenly felt too heavy. Italy growing on me isn't the problem. It's whether I'll ever feel like I belong here.

Georgia reached for her hand across the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. "And school will be great. I already spoke to the headmistress-she said your new classmates are lovely. You'll make friends in no time."

Elena managed a polite nod, but deep down, she wasn't convinced.

Back home, she had roots-a life she built for herself, friendships that took years to form. Here, she was starting from nothing.

Alessandro, noticing her hesitation, leaned forward slightly. "I have an idea."

Elena glanced up.

"What if we threw you a small party?" he suggested. "Something simple. Just an opportunity for you to meet some of your schoolmates in a more relaxed setting."

Elena blinked. "A party?"

Georgia's eyes lit up. "That's a wonderful idea! It doesn't have to be anything extravagant, just a gathering so you can get to know people before school gets too busy."

Elena hesitated. The thought of being the center of attention, forced into small talk with strangers, made her stomach twist. But Alessandro looked so genuinely enthusiastic about the idea that she didn't have the heart to dismiss it outright.

"I-" she started, then glanced at Luca instinctively.

He was still eating, but there was something slightly different about the way he twirled his fork through his pasta-slower, more deliberate. Like he was listening, even if he wasn't looking at her.

She quickly looked away.

"I guess that could be nice," she finally said.

Alessandro grinned. "Then it's settled."

Elena forced a small smile, but beneath the surface, her mind was already racing.

A party. New people. A whole new life that she wasn't sure she was ready for.

And across from her, Luca finally glanced up.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for her to wonder whether he had been waiting to hear her answer.

Elena's agreement to the party seemed to satisfy Alessandro, and Georgia was already talking about potential decorations. But as she tried to settle back into her meal, she barely had time to process it before Alessandro spoke again.

"There's one more thing," he said, setting his glass down. "Since we'll be busy making arrangements, I think it would be best if Luca took you shopping after school tomorrow. You'll need something nice to wear for the party."

The air around the table shifted.

Elena stiffened. Across from her, Luca's fork paused mid-air.

Then, without even looking up, he said, "No."

The response was immediate, flat, and entirely unapologetic.

Elena wasn't sure why, but the sharp rejection stung a little.

Alessandro, however, barely reacted. If anything, he looked expectant, like he had anticipated the resistance. "You'll be out anyway. You might as well take her."

Luca finally met his father's gaze. His expression didn't change, but there was a hardness in his eyes that hadn't been there a second ago. "She can go with Georgia," he said.

Georgia sighed, ever patient. "I'll be busy helping with the arrangements."

Luca shifted his gaze to Elena then, and she suddenly felt like a problem to be solved-something inconvenient being forced into his plans.

"I don't have time," he said simply.

Alessandro exhaled, leaning back in his chair. "Make time."

Silence.

Elena glanced between them, unsure if she should intervene. This was an ongoing battle-one that had nothing to do with her.

Luca's jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing.

Alessandro didn't look away. "You'll take her," he said, finality lacing his voice.

A beat passed.

Then, with a slow exhale, Luca set his fork down and leaned back, his fingers drumming against the table.

"Fine."

The single word felt anything but agreeable.

Alessandro, satisfied, resumed eating.

Elena, on the other hand, was still reeling from the tension that had just unfolded before her.

Georgia, ever the peacekeeper, smiled at her reassuringly. "You'll have fun. Milan has some of the best shopping in the world."

Elena tried to return the smile, but the only thing she could think about was how unfun it was going to be spending the afternoon with someone who wanted nothing to do with her.

Across the table, Luca picked up his fork again, resuming his meal like the conversation had never happened.

Elena did the same.

But the food suddenly tasted different.

______

Dinner ended with a quiet that felt heavier than the clinking of silverware. Elena excused herself first, murmuring something about needing rest. Georgia smiled, Alessandro gave her a reassuring nod and Luca-Luca didn't even glance up.

Not that she expected him to.

She made her way upstairs, each step echoing in the vast hallway. This house was beautiful, and grand in ways she never imagined calling home, yet it still felt foreign.

As she reached her room, footsteps sounded behind her. She knew who it was before she turned.

Luca.

He didn't acknowledge her at first, just walked past with the same cool indifference, but then-just as he reached his door-he stopped.

"Elena."

She swallowed, unsure whether to brace herself or ignore him.

She turned. "What?"

He met her gaze, expression unreadable. "Don't expect me to be friendly tomorrow."

Her grip tightened on the doorknob. "I wasn't planning on it."

For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Not surprise. Not amusement. Just something she couldn't place. Then, without another word, he disappeared into his room, the door clicking shut behind him.

Elena exhaled.

She stepped into her room, closing the door as she leaned against it, her heart still unsteady.

She stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. This is my life now.

No father. No familiarity. Just strangers with the same last name.

She lay down, staring at the ceiling, knowing sleep wouldn't come easily tonight.

Tomorrow, everything changes.