— OPHELIA —
By the time night falls, I've answered ninety-seven emails, rewritten Dante's itinerary twice, and drunk enough espresso to give a horse a heart attack.
I feel wrung out, like my bones are hollow.
I'm staring blankly at a spreadsheet when someone knocks once and pushes the door open before I can answer. I'm instantly worried that it could be Sofia, but when I look up, relief washes over me.
Rocco.
Of course.
He steps inside, carrying two takeout boxes in one hand and a bottle of sparkling water in the other.
"Dinner," he says, not asking. "Eat."
I roll my eyes, but my stomach growls at the smell.
Fuck, I'm starving.
He pushes a container toward me. I take it with a scoff, trying not to show how grateful I actually am.
We eat in silence for a minute, a sense of peace settling—until Rocco ruins it.
"What happened to you after the summit?" he asks.
My fork pauses mid-air. "…Nothing happened."
