A Table Set for One

The rain still falls heavily, its rhythm hitting the large dining room window like a knock on my nerves. The warm scent of osso buco fills the air, mingling with the fragrance of the vanilla candle I've chosen especially for tonight.

I glanced at the wall clock for the umpteenth time—it was twenty minutes past eight.

He's late. But Alvaro always comes home, doesn't he? He always strides in with his cold, unwavering way, making my heart pound even though I know he never sees me.

I check the dining table once more. The small candles were perfectly lit, and the tablecloth was straight without a single crease. I even matched the position of the forks and knives like I'd seen in a fancy restaurant. It may be silly, but I wanted everything to look perfect, though I knew I was far from it myself.

The image of myself in the window, my fat body, was there.

I move closer, looking at my face faintly reflected in the glass. My tangled black hair was now neatly styled and slicked back so as not to look too conspicuous. My face? I tilted slightly, trying to find the best angle, but I knew it was a wasted effort.

My cheeks are too chubby. My lips are too thick. My skin has never looked as smooth as Camille's. I raised my hand, touched my cheek, and sighed softly.

"What can he see in me?" I whispered to myself.

I couldn't forget the image of Camille's face on my wedding day. My younger sister stood by my side with her trademark smile, saying softly, "You're fortunate, Raquel. Alvaro could have chosen anyone, but he still married you."

Her words were simple, but each syllable stuck out like a thorn. I knew what she meant. I knew what people were thinking when they saw us standing together.

The front door opened with a creak.

My heart skipped a beat, making my breath catch in my throat. I scramble to my feet, straightening the old blue dress I've been wearing since the afternoon, trying to make sure everything looks... at least not bad.

Alvaro enters in his long black coat, soaked from the rain. His black hair is slightly tousled, but it adds to the masculine vibe that makes him look like he'd stepped out of a classic movie.

His sturdy jaw and piercing gaze make him seem unreachable.

I wanted to say hello to him, but I felt tongue-tied. My eyes followed his every move as he took off his coat and gracefully hung it up, then walked towards the stairs.

"Alvaro," I finally managed to speak, my voice sounding low even to my ears.

He stopped and turned his head slightly, but his expression remained flat. "What's wrong?" he asked briefly, his tone cold.

"I... I'm preparing dinner," I said with a nervous smile. "Italian cuisine. Your favourite food."

He raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes looking at me as if he were assessing something unimportant. "I already ate at the office," he said finally.

"Oh." The word came out quieter than I would have liked. I tried to smile again, though my face felt stiff. "Maybe you'd like to try some? I've been cooking this all day."

He sighed softly, almost sounding like a complaint. "I'm tired, Raquel. Don't bother me."

And with that, he strode up the stairs without looking back. I stood here, watching his retreating. My body felt heavy like the air around me had suddenly thickened.

But, my eyes were still glued to him. On his sharp jawline, his broad shoulders, the way his suit fit his body. He looked perfect, too perfect.

And me? I don't even deserve to be in the same room as him.

I sat back in the chair, my hand touching the edge of the plate with an empty touch. The table, with its small candles and the dishes I had painstakingly prepared, felt like an empty stage. I stared at the osso buco, trying to hold back the tears in the corners of my eyes.

I remembered my childhood, when I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hearing Camille's voice calling me "the ugly ogre."

I always thought it would stop when I grew up.

But now, here I was, the wife of Alvaro Bernardi, a man who was perfect in every way. I still felt like the ugly little girl no one wanted.

I extinguished the candles on the table with one blow, watching the tiny flames die one by one.

Maybe, I thought, I should stop hoping he'd see me. But even so, I couldn't stop my heart from pounding whenever he was near me.

<<<>>> 

The midday sun shone through the kitchen window, reflecting on the marble table where I was busy making lunch. Two glass lunchboxes were lined up neatly in front of me, each containing a dish that I had carefully prepared.

There's the beef lasagna Alvaro loves, a fresh salad, and a small tiramisu I made myself this morning. Every layer and detail was made with one simple wish: to please my husband.

Anna and Becca sit at the kitchen table, each holding a cup of coffee. Anna, with her blonde hair always in perfect order, smiles excitedly. "This is a great idea, Ky. He'll definitely be surprised. Who knows, this could be your little romantic moment."

Becca, who was more outspoken, added, "Yes, even though he looks like a cold robot, I'm sure he's human too. Good food can melt anyone."

I chuckled, though my heart was still full of doubts. "Are you sure this isn't too much?" I asked, adjusting the small ribbon I'd used to decorate the lunchbox.

Anna rolled her eyes. "Too much? You're his wife. If you can't do this, who can?"

I sighed, trying to get rid of the nervousness curling up in my chest. They were right. I am his wife. I have the right to do this.

After all, it's just lunch. As usual, Alvaro would probably ignore it, but I wanted to try.

Half an hour later, I'm standing in front of Alvaro's office building. The imposing building towers over me with shimmering glass, reflecting the clouds in the clear afternoon sky. My hands are tightly gripping the cloth bag containing the lunchbox, and I can feel my palms beginning to sweat.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the lobby. My low heels clicked softly on the marble floor. Every step felt like a long journey to something I didn't know the end of. However, an image of Alvaro's face flashed through my mind.

I imagined him smiling, even though it was a dream that felt far from reality.

The friendly receptionist pointed me toward the elevator, and I nodded, thanking her in a low voice. When the elevator doors opened on the floor where Alvaro worked, I stepped out, my eyes immediately taking in the busy office atmosphere.

Then, I saw him.

Alvaro was standing by a large window with a view of the city, his well-built back seemingly unfazed by the hustle and bustle around him. But he wasn't alone.

There was Camille. Her long, golden-brown hair fell perfectly over her shoulders, the luxurious dress fitting her body perfectly. She leaned closer to Alvaro, smiling in a way that only Camille could be alluring and confident as if the world revolved just for her.

I stopped in my tracks, my heart beating faster, but not because of excitement. The nervousness and anxiety slowly turned into something darker.

Then, like a nightmare I couldn't stop, Camille touched Alvaro's chest gently before pulling his face closer. I froze, my breath hitching as I watched their lips meet.

The world around me was silent as if the sounds of the office had suddenly been sucked out. All that was left was a chill that travelled from my toes to the rest of my body.

I wanted to run away, but my feet were glued to the floor.

My eyes stayed glued to them, to how Alvaro kissed back and how his arms wrapped around Camille's waist without hesitation.

"Mrs Bernardi?" the voice of the receptionist I'd met earlier called my name from behind. I gasped as if waking up from a nightmare.

I forced a smile and turned around, trying to hide the tears starting to warm up. "Sorry... wrong floor," I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady.

I walked towards the elevator, my steps fast, almost like running. I could no longer hold back the tears when the elevator doors closed. I pressed the ground floor button with trembling hands, feeling the warmth of tears running down my cheeks.

Inside my cloth bag, the lunch box I'd prepared so hopefully felt heavy, like a burden I could no longer carry. I took a deep breath, but it didn't ease the pain tearing through my chest.

I stared at my reflection in the gleaming elevator wall. My large body, my simple hair, my unattractive face—it all seemed like a mockery of what I had just seen.

He chose Camille, I thought.

Of course, he did.

I don't even know why I ever thought I could be enough for him.