She was beginning to look forward to his visits. That terrified her.
Three visits later, Matteo made her laugh. It happened in the garden on a rare afternoon when the autumn sun was warm and the jasmine was blooming despite the season. Alessia had been permitted an extra hour outside. She sat on the stone bench near the fountain, her face tilted toward the light, when she heard footsteps on the gravel.
Matteo appeared, his hands in his pockets. He brought nothing this time. No pastries. No gifts. Just himself.
"May I sit?" he asked.
She nodded. He settled on the opposite end of the bench, close enough to talk but not so close that she felt crowded. He always gave her space. That was one of the things she had come to appreciate about him.
"I have been thinking about what you said," Alessia told him. "About cages and doors."
"And?" he prompted.
"I am not sure I believe there is a door. Not for me," she said.
Matteo was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke. "When I was sixteen, a year after my father died, I decided I was going to run away. I packed a bag with a change of clothes and all the money I had saved. About forty euros. I walked to the train station. I was going to go to Rome, disappear, become someone else."
Alessia looked at him. "What happened?" she asked.
"I got to the station and realized I did not know how to buy a ticket. I had never done it myself. My father's men had always handled everything." He laughed, a self-deprecating sound. "I stood in front of the ticket machine for twenty minutes, trying to figure it out. Finally, an old woman took pity on me and showed me which buttons to press. But by then, my father's men had found me. They dragged me home. I did not try to run again."
"That is a sad story," Alessia said.
"It is." He smiled. "But the point is not that I failed. The point is that I stood in front of the machine for twenty minutes. I tried. I did not know how, but I tried anyway."
Alessia absorbed this. She thought about her own attempts to understand the cage. The boundaries she had tested. The notebook she had kept hidden. The observations she had made. She had been trying, even when she did not know what she was trying for.
"I do not know what I am trying for," she said aloud.
Matteo tilted his head. "Then try for something small. A moment of happiness. A reason to laugh." He grinned suddenly, a boyish expression that transformed his face. "I will even help. Do you want to hear about the time I accidentally insulted a very important wine critic by confusing his vintage with a cheaper one?"
Despite herself, Alessia's lips twitched. "Tell me," she said.
He did. The story was ridiculous. A mistaken label. A horrified sommelier. Matteo's desperate attempts to apologize while the critic grew increasingly offended. By the end, Alessia was laughing. A real laugh, surprised out of her, the sound rusty from disuse. He watched her too closely when she laughed, his eyes lingering a beat longer than comfort allowed.
Matteo's eyes were warm. "There. A moment," he said.
She caught herself smiling and looked away. She did not want to like him. She did not want to trust him. But he had made her laugh, and she had not laughed in so long.
He stood. "I should go. Enzo will wonder why I am spending so much time in the garden." He walked away, his hands back in his pockets. The vintage watch on his wrist glinted in the sun. He adjusted it once before he disappeared.
That night, at dinner, Enzo was silent for a long time. Then he set down his fork.
"You laughed today. In the garden. With Rinaldi," Enzo said.
Alessia's hand stilled. Of course he knew. He knew everything.
"He told me a story. It was amusing," she replied.
"I have never heard you laugh."
The words were flat, but beneath them Alessia heard something else. Something that sounded almost like hurt. She did not know what to do with that.
"Would you like me to tell you the story?" she asked.
"No." He rose from his chair and crossed to her. His fingers found her chin, tilting her face up. The same grip as the first night, but different now. Then, it had been a claim. Now, it was a question he was not asking aloud.
"I do not share," Enzo said quietly. "Not your attention. Not your smiles." His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth. "And not this."
She did not pull away. She should have. She did not. Her breath came shallow, her body betraying her before her mind could catch up. A flush of heat spread through her chest.
He released her and stepped back. His eyes were hungry, but he did not close the distance again.
"Eat," he said, and returned to his seat as though nothing had happened.
Alessia's lips burned where his thumb had been. She picked up her fork with trembling fingers. The cage was no longer just around her. It was inside her now. And for the first time, she was not sure she wanted to escape. That should have terrified her. It did not. Because when Enzo said he wanted to be the one who made her laugh, a treacherous part of her had already imagined giving him that, and wanting more. She pressed her fingers to her lips and hated how much she craved the next time he would try to claim it.