Amapola

Since we arrived in Palermo, Salvatore seems like a different person; it's as if the environment brings him peace. I can't quite explain it, but I don’t feel all the weight he carries on his shoulders.
I was impressed when he even bowed for me to enter his castle because yes, this place is nothing less than that. I noticed he doesn't boast about what he has; owning it is just a consequence of his family and who he is, but he definitely doesn't flaunt his financial power.
Salvatore is the kind of man who prefers to show his strength and power through his actions. He speaks little, but it's his attitudes that make it clear who is in charge and who obeys, and of course, he is always the one in the lead in that equation.
I had never flown in an airplane before, but he made the experience lighter. I was surprised when he allowed me to hold his hand and, especially, by his attempts to distract me. We had lunch during the flight, and during the descent, he repeated the gesture to reassure me.
Again, I was taken aback when he said we would go out to explore Palermo. How could he be my tour guide? I started to doubt his intentions; I wasn't used to this. After taking so many hits, we learn to stay alert.
This whole place is magical; stepping into it feels like entering a fairy tale. But I need to keep my feet on the ground to avoid a big fall.
I opened my suitcase and didn't know what to wear. I looked at myself in the mirror and felt anger at myself. How could I not know what to wear? Until that morning, I had only one change of clothes, but now, thinking about all the options Angela had given me, I was unsure what I should wear to accompany him.
Should I have asked him where we were going? Or better yet, should I have asked what to bring? I didn’t know his plans, so what I packed should be enough, and I can’t feel bad about it. I know what it’s like to have nothing, and the pieces I brought are more than sufficient.
I decided to wear dark jeans with a soft gray t-shirt that fits snugly on my body. I grabbed a wide cashmere scarf, so if it gets cold, I can drape it over my shoulders, while I slipped on my black over-the-knee heeled boots. I heard a knock at the door and knew it was Salvatore. I allowed him to enter while I finished putting on my shoes.
“Come in,” I said when I saw him standing at the door, holding a first aid kit, wearing only jeans and sneakers. We both stood frozen, looking at each other, or rather, it seemed we were admiring one another. Did he admire me?
“Oh, yes,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I brought it.” He showed the box in his hands. “The bandage.”
“Of course, you can sit here.” I indicated an armchair, and he sat down.
I couldn’t help but notice when he placed both hands on the sides of my hips. I almost sighed at the weight of his hands on my body; we were so close. We had been like this before when I tended to his wounds, but this time felt different, as if this closeness went beyond our physical bodies; it was as if our souls were conversing.
“Done,” I said, finishing the bandage on his stomach. “The stitches bled; did you exert yourself?”
“Not more than I could handle.”
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to be intrusive.”
“No, I was the one who was rude to you; I’m sorry.”
“Are you apologizing to me?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
“Don’t get used to this, Amapola. This isn’t a benefit you’ll always have from me,” he said rather harshly, and I wished I could swallow the words I just said.
“It’s easy to get used to what makes us feel good, Salvatore; what’s hard is getting used to the worst side of people, and I think I’m an expert in that, after all, it’s what I’ve encountered up until now.”
“I’ll put on a shirt and call you so we can go out.” He didn’t comment on what I said and left, leaving me alone.
I can’t understand this man; sometimes, he seems so different from what he wants to show. I wish I could read him, know who Salvatore is at his core, but like this castle, he has impenetrable walls built around himself.
“Are you not going to grab your bag?” he asked when he left the room and found me in the hallway, admiring one of the paintings while I waited for him.
“I don’t have money, a phone, or any documents, so I don’t think it’s necessary.” I wanted to add that I was his prisoner, but I thought better of it; my response had already been insolent.
“We’ll sort this out,” he warned, then placed his hand on the base of my spine, guiding me down the stairs and then outside the castle.