Episode 2

Chapter 2

The Awakening of a Queen.

The silence of the suite was the first thing that greeted Issabelle when she opened her eyes. An almost voluptuous silence, as if the velvet walls and white damask curtains contained the murmur of the world to leave her alone with her new breath.

The morning came through a Gothic arched window, bathing the room in a golden glow.

Issabelle felt the softness of the silk sheets on her skin.

She took a deep breath and, for an instant, thought she heard the distant echo of that freezing operating room. She felt her pulse in her temples, a knot of contained emotion in her throat.

Then she remembered:

"I am alive."

Her hand traveled instinctively to her belly: there she no longer felt that tiny heartbeat that vibrated with her.

She got up straight to the window. She opened the curtains a little. Under the balcony stretched the hotel terrace: red geraniums, jasmine vines, and beyond the silhouette of the Italian coast bathed in blue. The sea sparkled like a mantle of sapphires.

An aroma of salt and citrus floated with the breeze. Issabelle closed her eyes and inhaled, feeling like the owner of that instant.

But the instant was broken by the sound of the door opening.

Enzo appeared in the doorway, impeccable in his dark suit. The morning sun outlined his profile: a firm jaw, a clear forehead, brown hair combed back.

It was the first time he had spoken to her since that fragmented memory of the wedding.

His voice came soft, but firm:

"Issabelle... we must return to Sicily. The charity dinner starts at eight. Can you get ready in half an hour?"

She turned her face calmly. She observed the perfectly knotted tie, the immaculate shirt, the gold watch peeking out from under the cuff.

She felt the old pinch of disappointment: again, he was treating her like a second-class guest, always in a hurry, with no time for her.

"Of course," Issabelle replied, in a neutral tone. "Half an hour."

Enzo tilted his lips in a grimace that pretended to be a paternal smile, and turned to leave. Before closing the door, he paused for a moment:

"Issabelle," he said, "I trust you will not give me any problems."

She clenched her fists, containing the lash of rage and pride. In her past life, that day had been a dagger: Eva Longo, Enzo's sponsored pupil, the fresh and confident young woman who hinted at a future with her husband. But this time Issabelle was not afraid.

"There will be no problems," she murmured, without looking at him.

The door closed with a click that echoed in the silence. Issabelle remained for a moment in absolute calm, listening to the beating of her own heart. Then, she went to the dressing room.

The closet opened like a sanctuary of fabrics: dresses hung on satin hangers, high heels lined up like crystal soldiers, jewelry boxes with pearls and diamonds.

Issabelle slid her fingers over a white silk dress that reached her ankles, with a subtle neckline and a waist marked by a beaded belt. She took it and held it against her body.

That was the dress of the new Issabelle: elegant, imposing, mistress of her destiny.

At the dressing table, the mirror reflected a familiar, yet transformed, image.

Her face, framed by dark waves that fell like a cascade, showed firm cheekbones and large eyes, now full of determination.

She applied a light base, just a touch of blush to highlight the curve of her cheeks. A subtle eyeliner enhanced her eyelashes, and a mauve tone tinged her lips with a nuance of certainty.

As she dressed, she closed her eyes and remembered the last time she dressed up for her husband at an opening party, hoping to seduce him.

That day Eva approached, smiled smugly, and whispered in his ear, displacing her world.

But now Issabelle was not waiting for his approval. She put on the dress, adjusted the belt, put on her stiletto heels. She took a step forward and evaluated her reflection: her slender figure, her back straight, her presence imposing.

She nodded with satisfaction.

She went down the glass elevator and crossed the lobby without haste.

A hotel employee opened the door of the vehicle: a black sedan was waiting for her.

Enzo was leaning on the hood, next to Alonso, his assistant.

Alonso, a middle-aged man with thin glasses and a servile gesture, bowed when he saw her:

"Mrs. Milani... I must say that today you look... much more beautiful than Miss Eva."

Issabelle felt Enzo's gaze fixed on Alonso. A flash of jealousy crossed her husband's eyes, and Alonso coughed, nervous.

Issabelle flashed a cold, almost glacial smile, which curved her lips with contained elegance.

"Thank you," she replied.

Without another word, she slid into the vehicle. She sat with her back straight, her hands resting on her lap, her chin slightly raised.

Enzo opened the passenger door and got in.

The car started silently, gliding down the avenue.

As the vehicle moved forward, Issabelle rested her hand on the window, feeling the fresh air that came in gusts.

Each building seemed to greet her with complicity. The sea appeared to her left, bright, immense.

Enzo broke the silence:

"This dinner is very important. New entrepreneurs, the construction company's partners... everyone will be there. They want to meet the new Mrs. Milani."

Issabelle looked at him sideways, without dwelling on his masculine beauty or on the hint of concern that peeked out in his eyes.

"I know. I will be up to the task."

Enzo tilted his head, surprised by that serene and confident tone. He wanted to ask more, to scrutinize her gaze, but he restrained himself.

The vehicle turned onto the highway leading to the private airport. The sun was already high, igniting flashes on the metal of the vehicle and on the windows of the buildings.

Issabelle closed her eyes for a moment and repeated the promise in her mind: "No more humiliations. No more submission. This time, I make the rules."

She felt the beating of her heart. She lowered the window a little and inhaled the salty air. In the distance, the hills of Sicily emerged like an ancient promise.

There, on the island bathed in sunshine, she would once again face the history that had condemned her. But she would no longer be the same woman who trembled at Eva's taunts or Enzo's contempt.

Enzo watched her sideways and felt a chill. That Issabelle was a queen awakening from a long captivity.

Her beauty was the same, but now it radiated a fire that he did not know. And, for the first time, he understood that perhaps he had underestimated the woman he was never interested in knowing.

Without exchanging more words, the car advanced towards the horizon. The sea, the hills and the sky formed a setting worthy of a rebirth.

Issabelle, with her chin raised and her gaze fixed on the line where the blue merged with the light, knew that that trip would not be a simple charity dinner. It would be the prelude to her own revolution.

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