"I noticed."
My pulse refuses to slow down. I stare at him, trying to make sense of this. Bruno Sartori. In my bedroom. At—I glance at the clock on the nightstand—two in the morning.
"Get out."
He doesn't move.
"Bruno. Get out of my room."
"My mother is coming tomorrow."
I blink.
"What?"
"My mother." He says it slowly, like I'm the one being unreasonable. "Aria Sartori. She's arriving tomorrow morning."
I wait for more.
Nothing comes.
"And you needed to tell me this at two in the morning? While I was sleeping?"
"I couldn't sleep."
"So you decided I shouldn't either?"
His jaw tightens. "I needed to talk to you."
"There's this thing called waiting until morning. Normal people do it."
"I'm not normal people."
No. He's definitely not.
I push my hair out of my face. Take a breath. Try to calm my racing heart.
Bruno sits there in the darkness, his face half-shadowed. He's wearing a black t-shirt and sweatpants. His hair is disheveled. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.
"Fine," I say. "Your mother is coming. Why does that require breaking into my room?"
"I didn't break in. The door was unlocked."
"That's not the point."
"The point is that my mother will expect certain things."
I wait.
Bruno's hands grip the armrests of his wheelchair. His knuckles go white.
"She knows our marriage is arranged," he says. "She's not stupid. But she's also a woman who prefers to... close her eyes to certain realities."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning she'll want to believe we're in love. Or at least on our way there." His voice drops. "She'll want to see us acting like a real couple. Not like strangers who happen to share a last name."
I think about the past week. Bruno avoiding me at every turn. The silent meals. The way he looks through me like I'm not even there.