Rocco clears his throat, flashes an almost sheepish smile, then gestures toward his older son.“Allow me to introduce Dante Santoro.And you are, I imagine, Sophia Vitali.”
“She is,” Dad tells him in a booming voice that sounds nothing like what I’ve heard around the house over the past year.“My pride and joy.”
What a crock of shit.
That’s not even the worst part.The worst part is definitely the way I have to bite my lip or else risk the laughter that bubbles in my throat bursting out of me in mixed company.His pride and joy?I can’t even bring myself to look at him, because then I would lose the battle and laugh in his face.Let’s try explaining that one.
Instead, then, I offer my hand to my fiancé.I’ve always heard of a meet-cute, but something tells me tonight doesn’t qualify.“Dante.It’s good to meet you.”
“A pleasure.”A ghost of a smile floats over his well-sculpted mouth, but it’s his deep voice that makes my stomach turn a slow flip before he engulfs my hand in his.Big.The man isverybig.
Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.I could do much worse than him, at least when it comes to physical characteristics.I’m all of five-five, so I’ll never be a supermodel, but I’m not exactly ugly.I look a lot like Mom did before she started overdoing it on the Botox, fillers, skin peels, and whatever else she has done on the regular.The way his dark eyes move over me tells me he doesn’t hate what he sees.
“So, Dante.I’ve heard nothing but good things.Please, everyone.”Dad extends an arm, gesturing toward the table now laden with trays of cured meats, cheeses, olives, and bread.We’re really going all out tonight.It will probably take hours.
“Sophia.”Isabella is at least trying to engage me when it’s clear nobody else feels like it after we’ve taken our seats.“Tell me about yourself.”
“Sophia is an open book,” Mom announces while I swallow back my irritation.Am I not allowed to speak for myself anymore, either?“She turned twenty-five in April.I raised her well.She’s a good girl.Never in any trouble.Always a credit to our family.”
I feel like I’m being judged in a dog show.Soon, it will be time for me to run through an obstacle course.“I try,” I murmur.Guilia presses her lips together like she’s trying not to laugh.That tiny gesture sparks hope.Maybe I’ll have an ally in all of this.
I would like to know something about Dante, obviously, but any hope of getting answers tonight is fading rapidly.He’s sitting between Dad and Rocco, and the two of them seem almost to be talking over him at times while he sips cabernet and checks his phone now and then.Only when one of Dad’s associates asks him a question about how he feels about marriage does he snap to attention.
“It sounds like a solid arrangement,” Dante murmurs in response before looking my way across the table.There’s a single moment when our eyes meet, and my heart throbs, along with other parts of my body, parts farther south that suddenly heat up.But instead of offering a grin or some small gesture that lets me know we’re in this together, he smirks before popping an olive into his mouth.
Bored.Disdainful.Judging me?As if he isn’t just as much a part of this charade as I am?Like there isn’t a two-ton elephant in the room that nobody wants to acknowledge?My chest is tightening, making every breath a challenge.
“Excuse me, please,” I murmur, pushing back and leaving my napkin on the chair.I need to get away from this table.Glancing around, I notice a discreet sign labeledRestroomsset over a swinging door, which I stride toward with my clutch tucked under my arm, moving with all the dignity I can muster.I wonder if Dante is looking at my ass, checking to see if he’s getting a good bargain out of this arrangement.
The door leads into a hallway with the men’s room on my left and the ladies’ room on my right.I take that door and enter a fancy room with soft lighting and calming classical music piped in through an overhead speaker.There’s a trio of stalls, but I really need to take a breather, settling myself on a satin-covered stool set in front of a marble vanity.I look like a scared rabbit, all wide aqua-blue eyes and flared nostrils.
I don’t know what I expected tonight.I only know I’m disappointed.Sad.I always knew Dad looked at me like I was nothing more than an accessory, someone he could parade around at charity balls and civic functions, but tonight I know for sure he has never taken me seriously.I might as well not be here.
If I’m surprised or disillusioned, it’s all my fault.This is hardly the first time life-altering decisions have been made for me.Definitely not the first time my desires have been completely overlooked in favor of what Dad wants.I could count on one hand the number of times he’s actually looked at me tonight.I am a means to an end.
Stinging behind my eyes makes me blink hard and fast, willing the tears away.Now isnotthe time.I can cry once I’m home, in my room.A room that won’t be mine much longer, but the only one I’ve known until now, since I wasn’t allowed to live in the dorms during college.Even that wasn’t up to me.Too great a security risk.
Get yourself together.
One slow, deep breath after another brings me back to the present.I can get through this.It’s only a first meeting.I knew I would be under scrutiny, right?It turns out it’s one thing to know something and another thing to actually go through it.
The door opening makes me sit up straight and fix my face so I don’t look quite as heartbroken.I guess I’ve been in here for too long, and Mom decided to fetch me.
It’s not my mother who steps in, glancing back into the hall before letting the door close.My breath catches before Dante turns my way.“It looks like we had the same idea,” he offers with something like rueful laughter running under his words.
“What, you needed to retreat to the ladies’ room too?”Right, because when in doubt, make a joke, using humor to combat awkwardness—one of my go-to methods.
His expression shifts in a way that tells me he doesn’t know how to react.“It’s a lot out there, I know.But at the end of the day, we’ll get through it.It’s what we’re expected to do,” he concludes, lifting a shoulder.
My, oh my.Should I swoon?Good thing I’m sitting down, or I might collapse and hurt myself.“I realize that, but it doesn’t make it easier or less awkward.”I mean, he has to be able to relate, right?
When he sighs, he gives me hope.He’s human, after all.He gets it.We are in this together.At least that’s what I naïvely believe until he proves me wrong.
Adjusting his black necktie, he murmurs, “I hate to break it to you, but this is happening whether you want it to or not.”
And there go my hopes, down the drain.“You should get a job writing greeting cards,” I suggest with a sinking heart before turning to the mirror and reaching into my clutch for lip gloss.
He snorts, then replies, “I’m a little too busy with my family.”
