"Welcome to the family," he says, kissing Zoe's cheeks formally.
"Thank you," Zoe responds smoothly.
Enzo nods, his eyes darting to mine with a look that clearly sayswe need to talkbefore he steps back.
Alessio approaches last, his dark eyes taking in every detail of my new bride. He takes her hand, bringing it to his lips in an old-world gesture that lingers just a touch too long.
That fucking grin on his face means trouble. He releases her hand finally, only to lean toward me, his lips brushing against my ear.
"I think you might have a problem with this one," he whispers, his voice low and amused.
"Fuck off," I mutter, keeping my smile fixed for the benefit of watching eyes.
Alessio's laugh rumbles as he steps back, eyes dancing with mischief. I've known him long enough to recognize when he thinks he's figured something out. But what exactly does he see that I've missed?
I watch Zoe as she chats with Lucrezia. The way she laughs, the gentle touch of her hand on my sister's arm. For someone who didn't want this marriage, she's throwing herself into the performance with surprising conviction.
"Zoe, come meet our cousins!" Lucrezia tugs at her arm, already pulling her toward another group across the room. "Marco and Sophia came all the way from Milan just for the wedding."
Zoe looks over her shoulder at me, her expression aperfect blend of apology and affection—a look any real bride might give her groom when being whisked away.
"Go," I say with a nod. "I'll find you."
As she disappears into the crowd with my sister, I turn to find Alessio watching me with that knowing expression that makes me want to punch him.
"What?" I demand.
He runs his thumb along his bottom lip, thinking. "She's too good at this."
I raise an eyebrow. "Isn't that the point?"
"People who are genuinely reluctant slip up. Show their true feelings," Alessio says. "She doesn't."
I fix my gaze on Alessio, about to question him further when I notice Byron approaching, weaving through the crowd like a shark circling prey. His smile is too wide, too practiced—the perfect picture of a proud father giving away his daughter.
"Damiano!" Byron extends his hand, grasping mine with excessive enthusiasm. "What a magnificent ceremony. You and my Zoe make such a striking couple."
I take his hand but release it quickly. "Byron."
"I must say, seeing my little girl walk down that aisle—" Byron places his hand over his heart in a theatrical gesture. "—brings a father such pride. She's been the light of my life since the day I took her in."
The fakeness of his performance makes my skin crawl. This man has never given a shit about anyone but himself.
"Cut the act, Byron," I say, keeping my voice low. "We're not on stage, and there are no cameras here right now."
His smile falters for a microsecond before returning full force. "I don't know what you mean. Can't a father be emotional on his daughter's wedding day?"
"Stop acting like you're some happy daddy whose daughter just got married," I say, my words sharp enough to slice through his performance. "We both know this is a business arrangement. Save the theatrics for someone who gives a fuck."
Byron's eyes harden, though his smile stays firmly in place. Alessio shifts beside me, alert to the tension crackling between us.
"You've always been direct, Damiano. It's what I admire about you," Byron says, his tone cooler now. "But today is about appearances, isn't it? For both our sakes."
"Today is about sealing our deal," I correct him. "Nothing more."
Byron glances toward where Zoe stands with Lucrezia, laughing at something my sister has said. "My daughter seems to be adapting well to her new family."
"She's good at playing her part." I say, watching his reaction carefully.
