Page 24 of Unworthy Ties
Gabriella
I perched at the edge of the chair, laptop open, Photoshop humming softly as I zoomed into the photos I had taken recently. And by recently, I meant within the past few months. I loved taking them, but I was a bit (a lot) of a procrastinator when it came to editing.
The photos of Rocco at the bay were vibrant, capturing the way the sunlight danced on the water’s surface, illuminating his playful spirit.
Each image told a story, a fleeting moment of joy that I was determined to preserve.
I cackled when I saw the image of him cleaning the bird poop off his jacket—I forgot I had taken that one.
I kept scrolling further back, to random photos I had taken.
There were images of the autumn leaves, burnt oranges and deep reds colliding in a chaotic yet beautiful tapestry.
The crunch of those leaves underfoot echoed in my memory, a reminder of lazy afternoons spent wandering through the park.
Each click of the shutter was a testament to the world’s fleeting beauty, and I felt a pang of longing as I reflected on the past.
I paused, scrolling past snapshots of cafe lattes, street murals, and stray cats, when one image made me stop cold. It was taken when I was waiting in Rocco’s car, that day outside the Salvaggio’s mansion. My finger hovered over the zoom tool as I leaned closer, heart rate quickening.
I hadn’t noticed the details when I snapped it—too busy pretending to be invisible—but now the crates stood out, mysterious and foreboding. A chill ran down my spine as I realized I might have captured something… significant.
I blinked rapidly, willing my imagination to calm down. Maybe I was reading too much into shadows and shapes, letting paranoia creep in where there was none. I shook my head, trying to banish the cold thrill crawling up my spine. It had to be nothing… right?
I let out a slow, shaky breath and closed the image, pushing it to the back of my mind.
There were too many “what ifs” swirling in my head already—this was just another one I didn’t need.
I told myself it was nothing, a trick of light and shadow, and forced my focus back to the mundane edits waiting on my screen.
The backlog of photos loomed as a daunting mountain, each image demanding my attention like an impatient child.
I let out a long, resigned sigh, shoulders slumping.
Fine. I’d just sit down and do it. No excuses.
No distractions. Just me, the screen, and the endless parade of images waiting to be edited.
Just as I settled on which image of Rocco I wanted to edit, none other than the man himself walked in.
He leaned against the doorframe, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Looks like someone finally tackled the mountain,” he said, voice low and teasing.
His presence filled the room with warmth, and I felt my cheeks heat under his gaze. “Oh, you know me,” I replied, feigning nonchalance while my heart raced. “Just the quintessential procrastinator.”
Rocco pushed himself off the doorframe and strolled towards me, his casual stride deceptively confident. He crouched slightly beside me, eyes scanning the photo on my screen.
“Huh,” he said quietly, voice calm, though the slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed his focus. “Didn’t expect to see myself like this.”
I tilted my head, curious. “You like it?”
He gave a stiff shrug, his jaw tight. “Flattered… and maybe a little embarrassed.”
I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Different good or different bad?”
“Good,” he said simply, tone clipped, but his eyes lingered on the screen a moment longer than necessary before he looked away, as if the admission cost him something.
“Good, huh?” I echoed, trying to mask the fluttering in my chest. “Well, I think you’ve mastered the art of being photogenic without even trying.”
He arched an eyebrow, lips quirking just slightly. “Careful. Flattery like that might make me expect something in return.”
“Why don’t you help me edit these photos, then?”
He blinked, eyes narrowing. “Help you with Photoshop?” His tone was flat, but the faint edge of disbelief was obvious. “You do know I’ve never opened that program in my life, right?”
“Well, I could use a handsome assistant to offer moral support while I navigate through these.”
“Handsome assistant, huh?” Rocco chuckled, leaning closer, his playful gaze never leaving my face. “I might be able to manage that. What’s my first task, then?”
I tapped the screen, pointing to a photo I’d just adjusted. “Okay, tell me if this looks right. I know my way around Photoshop, but a second opinion never hurts—especially when it comes from someone who can’t tell a layer from a folder.”
He arched an eyebrow, expression deadpan. “So my job is purely aesthetic judgment?”
“Exactly,” I said with a grin. “Your job is to nod at the right moments and tell me if it looks good.”
Rocco leaned back in his chair, a playful grin stretching across his face as he crossed his arms. “I think I can manage that. Just point to the pictures of me first, and I’ll spare no praise.”
I let out a cackle. “And I thought Felix was the self-absorbed twin.”
Rocco’s expression remained nearly unreadable, but for the briefest moment, his gaze lingered a second longer than usual. No words came, just a slight tightening of his jaw before he looked away, as if letting it slide.
I felt a flicker of guilt and unease twist in my chest. I had long gotten over my feelings for Felix, but seeing Rocco’s subtle reaction reminded me how the past still clung to me, like shadows that refused to fade.
I shook off the lingering tension, forcing my attention back to the screen. The photos didn’t care about the past, about old crushes or unspoken feelings—they only wanted to be perfected.
“Alright,” I said, taking a deep breath, “let’s see if my ‘handsome assistant’ can help me make these look even better.”
As I continued editing the image, Rocco leaned in closer, his shoulder brushing against mine. The warmth of his presence sent a shiver down my spine, and I fought the urge to lean into him. I could smell the faint hint of his cologne—earthy and warm—an intoxicating blend that made my heart race.
As I adjusted the brightness, Rocco’s hand moved, his finger hovering just above the trackpad. “There,” he murmured, pointing at the subtle detail I had been fussing over. His hand was so close that the warmth of it seemed to seep into mine, though he never actually touched me.
His finger hovered near the screen, his voice low. “There. You see that? You almost missed it.”
I smiled, shaking my head. “You’ve got an eye for this. Maybe I should hire you as my permanent assistant.”
Rocco gave a faint huff of amusement, but then he went quiet. His gaze lingered on the photo, then drifted to me—steady, unflinching.
“You make things look different,” he said after a pause. “Better. Cleaner. Like they’ve got a chance to be… remembered the right way.”
The unexpected sincerity caught me off guard; the stoicism in his tone softened by something raw beneath. My chest tightened. “That’s… kind of the point,” I murmured. “I guess I just want people to see the beauty in things they’d overlook.”
His jaw worked, as if he was fighting words he rarely let slip. Finally, quietly: “That’s what you do to people, too.”
The air between us shifted, thickening with unspoken words. I felt my heart stumble, caught in the gravity of his gaze. “What do you mean?” I asked, though I feared the answer.
Rocco’s jaw tightened, and for a beat he looked away, as if debating whether to let the words out. When his eyes returned to mine, they were sharper, vulnerable in a way I rarely saw.
“That you see me in ways I don’t expect,” he said at last, his voice low, almost rough.
I held my breath, the weight of his confession pressing upon me, and for a moment, the world outside blurred into nothingness. Just us. The quiet intimacy hummed in the air, pulsing with uncharted emotions that stretched between us like an invisible thread.
I held my breath, the weight of his confession pressing on me, and for a moment the world outside blurred into nothing. Just us. The quiet stretched, charged with something fragile and unspoken, like the stillness before a storm.
My hands stilled on the keyboard, nerves buzzing under my skin. I wanted to laugh it off, to shift the moment back into safer territory, but the look in his eyes rooted me in place.
“Rocco…” His name slipped out, softer than I intended, almost a plea.
His jaw worked, the muscle tightening as if he was holding back more than he dared reveal. “You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, voice low but steady. “Just… don’t forget I said it.”
As the weight of Rocco’s words settled between us, I could feel the unspoken tension threading through the air, binding us together in a fragile moment of shared vulnerability. His gaze held mine, searching for a response, a connection that could bridge the gap between us.
I swallowed past the lump in my throat, the words I wanted to say caught in the swirl of emotions that danced within me. In the charged silence, I reached out tentatively, a gesture as uncertain as my feelings.
My hand trembled as it brushed against his, a silent offering of understanding, of acceptance. Rocco’s eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and gratitude, his hand closing around mine in a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond that had formed between us.
The tension ebbed away, replaced by a quiet understanding that transcended words.
Rocco’s grip on my hand tightened ever so slightly, a silent reassurance that lingered in the space between us.
And as the world outside slowly came back into focus, I felt a sense of peace settle within me, knowing that in that moment, we had both found a kind of solace in the fragile intimacy we had dared to share.
No more words were needed as we sat in the quiet of that moment, letting the unspoken linger between us like a promise of understanding and acceptance that transcended the confines of language.
And as the gentle hum of the room wrapped around us, I knew that whatever lay ahead, we would face it together, bound by the invisible thread of shared vulnerability and unspoken truths.