Before I can respond, Mrs. Rossi returns with a seamstress. "We'll need to take in the waist slightly," she says, all business. "And perhaps lower the neckline a touch?"
I nod numbly as the seamstress starts pinning and adjusting. My mother steps back, watching with a pained expression. I hate that she's feeling this as much as I am, but there's nothing either of us can do. The situation is fucked. In less than three weeks, I'll be married to a man I barely know.
A man who sees me as property.
As Mam and I prepare to leave, Cesare appears in the doorway. His presence immediately fills the room, demanding attention without him saying a word.
"Ah, Vittoria," he says, eyes raking over me like I'm livestock. "I trust everything is proceeding smoothly?"
"Yes, Cesare," I reply, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "We've made good progress."
He nods, seemingly satisfied. Then his eyes land on my mother, and his expression shifts to cool politeness. "Mrs. Costa, I hope you've found everything to your satisfaction?"
My mother straightens her spine, meeting Cesare's gaze with a strength I've always admired. "The arrangements are lovely," she says, her voice steady. "Though I admit, I'm still getting used to the idea of my daughter marrying so young."
Cesare's smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I assure you, Mrs. Costa, Vittoria will want for nothing as my wife. She'll be well cared for."
The implication hangs heavy: I'm a possession to be cared for, not a person with desires and dreams. I feel my mother tense beside me, but before she can respond, I step in.
"It's been a long day," I say, forcing another fake smile. "We should go. Thank you for your hospitality, Cesare."
He nods, eyes never leaving mine. "Of course. I'll have a car take you back. We'll speak again soon, Vittoria."
As we walk out, I feel his gaze burning into my back. Mam's hand finds mine, squeezing tight like she's reassuring herself I'm still here, still hers—at least for now.
In the car, silence weighs heavily between us. I want to comfort her, tell her everything will be alright, but the words stick in my throat. We both know it'd be a lie.
"Vittoria," my mother finally says, voice barely above a whisper. "I need you to promise me something."
I turn to her, seeing the tears she's been holding back all day finally spill over. "Anything, Mam."
She takes a shaky breath. "Promise me that no matter what happens, no matter how hard things get, you'll never lose yourself. That fire inside you, that spirit, don't let them extinguish it."
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I think of Cesare's cold eyes, of the life stretching ahead of me, and for a momentI'm not sure I can make that promise. But looking at my mother's pleading face, I know I have to try.
"I promise, Mam," I say, my voice stronger than I feel. "I won't let them break me."
She pulls me into a fierce hug, and I breathe in her familiar scent, trying to memorize this moment. Soon, these embraces will be rare luxuries I can't afford.
The car stops at our house, and I see my father standing in the doorway, his eyes dark with rage.
Shit. He's in a foul mood. What could have possibly gone wrong now?
As we approach the front door, tension radiates from my father like heat. His jaw is clenched; fists balled at his sides. Whatever happened, it's bad.
"Inside. Now," he growls.
Mam and I exchange worried glances before hurrying into the house. The moment the door closes behind us, my father explodes.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he roars, face red with fury. "Talking back to Cesare Mariano? Challenging him? Are you trying to ruin everything?"
My heart pounds. What is he talking about?
"Commenting on your age gap? Surely you can't be that fucking dense, Vittoria?"
I glance at Mam. Someone told him what she said to Cesare.
"Domenico, please," Mam starts, but he cuts her off with a look that could kill.
