And Santino sits directly across from me, his eyes tracking my every movement. He's been watching me since I arrived.
I keep my gaze down, focused on anything except him. On my plate with its artfully arranged food. On my wine glass with its deep red contents. On the pristine white tablecloth. Anywhere but on him.
"Liana."
I force myself to look up. He's leaning forward slightly, his expression concerned in a way that makes my chest ache."Are you alright?" The question is simple, but there's genuine worry in his voice.
"I'm fine." The lie comes easily after so much practice.
"You're unusually quiet tonight."
"I'm just tired." I take a sip of wine, using it as an excuse to break eye contact. "It's been a long day."
"Doing what?" He's still watching me too carefully.
Working at the port, managing the shipping schedules and coordinating with suppliers. Running operations that you'll inherit the moment we say our vows. Managing the business I'll never be allowed to keep no matter how competent I am.
"Just busy with various things," I say instead, keeping my voice light and noncommittal.
He studies me for a long moment, and I can see him trying to figure out what's changed. "You took your things from my apartment."
"Yes, I did."
"Why?"
"You weren't comfortable with them there. It seemed like the right thing to do." I set down my wine glass carefully, focusing on the movement to avoid his eyes.
"I never said I wasn't comfortable with your things there."
"You didn't have to say it explicitly." I finally meet his gaze, keeping my expression neutral and polite. "I could tell from your reaction. I overstepped boundaries."
"Liana—"
"It's fine. Really, it's perfectly fine." I give him a small smile, the kind that's polite and distant and says nothingreal. "I shouldn't have assumed I could just move my things into your space without asking properly first. I apologize for overstepping."
He frowns at me. "You didn't overstep."
"Clearly I did, or you wouldn't have reacted the way you did."
"You didn't." He's getting frustrated now, I can hear it creeping into his voice. "I was just surprised by how much you'd brought over. I wasn't expecting—"
"It's fine," I repeat, cutting him off. "We don't need to discuss it any further."
Mama calls my name from down the table, her voice cutting through the tension like a knife. I turn away from Santino gratefully, relieved to have an excuse to break the conversation.
"Yes, Mama?"
"Giovanna and I were discussing the ceremony flowers. We can't decide between white roses or calla lilies. What do you think?"
I look between the two mothers, both watching me expectantly, waiting for me to have an opinion about flowers for a wedding I don’t want.
"Whatever you think is best," I say simply.
"But it's your wedding, darling," Mama says, her tone gently chiding. "You should have an opinion about these things."
Should I? Why? Does my opinion matter for anything else in this arrangement? Will anyone care what I think once I'm officially Mrs. Marcello?
"Both are beautiful flowers," I say diplomatically. "I'm happy with either choice."
