My fingers twist in my lap, and I force myself to meet his eyes.
"Earlier, in your room..." I swallow hard. "I came to tell you I was scared. About tonight. About all of this. But then I saw youand I—" Heat floods my cheeks. "I never told you what I meant to say."
Lorenzo's expression softens, just slightly. The hard line of his jaw relaxes.
"You don't have to be scared." His hand covers mine, warm and steady. "I'll be right there with you. Every second."
Through the windshield, I watch a reporter adjust her microphone, practicing her opening. They're all waiting for the Torrino woman who managed to get engaged to the Sartori prince.
"What if I mess this up?" The words come out small. "What if I say the wrong thing or?—"
"You won't." His thumb strokes across my knuckles. "You're stronger than you think, Sophia."
I want to believe him. But those cameras, those people who'll judge every word, every gesture, looking for cracks in our story...
A knock on the window makes us both tense. Dante's face appears, and Lorenzo nods.
This is it.
"Ready?" Lorenzo asks.
I'm not. I'll never be ready for this. But I nod anyway because what choice do I have?
Lorenzo steps out first, and immediately the cameras explode in a frenzy of flashes.
He rounds the car with that lethal grace he has, ignoring the questions being screamed at him. Then he's at my door, opening it, his hand extended.
I place my trembling fingers in his and let him help me out. The moment my heels hit the pavement, the crowd surges forward.
"Sophia! How long have you been together?"
"Are you pregnant? Is that why the rushed engagement?"
The questions assault us from every direction. Lorenzo's arm slides around my waist, pulling me against his side. His body shields me from the worst of the crowd as we move toward the hotel entrance.
"Smile," he murmurs in my ear, his breath warm against my skin. "Show them you want to be here."
Enough girl. You need to play along.
I tilt my head toward Lorenzo and let out a laugh, bright and genuine-sounding, as if he's just whispered the most wonderful secret. My hand finds his chest. The cameras go wild.
"That's my girl," Lorenzo murmurs, and this time when I smile, it reaches my eyes.
We glide through the crowd like we own them, because in this moment, we do. Every photographer wants this shot. I give them exactly what they're hungry for. Another laugh, a look of adoration up at Lorenzo that would convince anyone we're madly in love.
The hotel doors loom ahead, security guards flanking them. The second we cross that threshold, the cameras can't follow. One more performance for the vultures outside.
I pause at the entrance, turning back slightly, my hand still in Lorenzo's. The perfect picture of a woman who belongs here, who chose this. Then we're through, and the doors close behind us, cutting off the chaos.
The silence brings me a moment of joy.
But it doesn't last.
The ballroom stretches before us, and suddenly I understand that the real performance is just beginning. Women in designer gowns turn to stare, their eyes sliding over me like I'm something they stepped in. Their expressions range from disgust to disbelief—how dare I land Lorenzo Sartori?
The men are worse. They look at me like I'm a trophy, something to be won or stolen. Their gazes linger too long,calculating what it would take to pry me away from Lorenzo's protection.
My skin crawls.
