And Matteo? He looked far too pleased with himself, like he’d just won something.
The worst part was how fast it caught on. One lunch break later, someone called me Princess in passing. By the end of the day, it was Paddock Princess on half the crew’s lips, said with that teasing affection reserved for someone not to be taken seriously.
All my effort, every polished smile, every calculated step to prove I wasn’t just a name was reduced to a punchline made by the golden boy.
I told myself I didn’t care. That people would see through it eventually. That I’d make myself indispensable, the way I always did.
But when I caught Matteo across the garage that afternoon, still grinning, still golden, I knew it wasn’t going away anytime soon.
And I hated that some small, stupid part of me envied how easy he made it look. Like he wasn’t scared of anything at all.
I couldn’t admit it at the time, but I was the one scared. I was scared to prove myself in this world that had always felt reserved for my brother and father, and seeing a driver with too much charm and not enough care made me angry. Made me hate him for treating my family legacy like it was just a paycheck, just something fun. That’s where it had all started.And sure, months had passed, and I had tried my best to endure his sarcasm and jabs here and there. But Matteo DeLuca fucking annoyed me.
So when he looked at me with his pompous smirk and raised an eyebrow and said, “Weird that you would bring up dreams, Moretti. You dreaming about me?” I wanted to throttle him.
“Fuck right off,” I spat out, staring out the window, feeling too hot and too trapped in this car.
“Hey—” Matteo started, a finger reached out and brushed my arm. I jolted away from him in response. “Okay, okay I’m sorry.” A moment of silence passed between us.
I huffed, narrowed my eyes and let out a groaned, “Fine.”
“Sorry I didn’t hear that.”
“I said fine.”
“Why yes I will have a drink with the most handsome driver on the circuit,” he mocked in a high-pitched voice. I rolled my eyes.
“Never mind, keep the damn phone.” My voice was harsh. I got up from the cramped seat and sat down next to Lucia. Everyone shuffled around, Alexander coughing a little to cover up a laugh. I shot him a glare for good measure, and he held up his hands in surrender, then immediately started chatting with his best friend. Once seated next to Lucia, I let out a sigh.
“Planning my brother’s murder?” she asked me.
“It’s become quite elaborate at this point.”
2
NICOLA
Cameras flashed as I exited the car. I plastered on a rehearsed smile as I walked, head held high and shoulders back. My father was at the doors, his own team surrounding him, when his eyes met mine. His usual stoic and cold facade melted, and he let out a smile. The cameras and shouting from the paparazzi became frantic as Alexander and Lucia exited the car behind me. The media was obsessed with them, just as they had expected with the fake dating scheme they cooked up to help Alexander repair his image and for them to control the narrative of the media. It was a rather difficult task, but they seemed to be succeeding at it. I had never seen any two people denying obvious feelings more than the two of them. They’d figure it out eventually.
I walked ahead to my father.
“Ciao, Bella.” He greeted me with a kiss to each cheek. I smiled. Gianfranco Moretti was a force. He was nearing his seventies, but nothing could slow the man down. He was dressed and polished, no doubt overseen by my mother’s own expert eye. His eyes softened as he took me in.
“Thank you,” I replied. He gave my arm a gentle squeeze and motioned for me to enter the large hotel doors. The event was better than I could have imagined. Amid the last few months, I’d found a bit of a sweet spot with the events team, so when the opportunity to help with one of our biggest charity galas of the year, I had jumped right in. I found myself drawn to the Moretti Foundation side of the business more and more.
“You did good.” My father leaned down, and I looked up to him, pride filling me. I hadn’t realized he knew I had a hand in the event, but nothing really got by him. Even when I thought he was too busy to notice things, he always did.
“The events team is really remarkable,” I nodded. He hummed a noncommittal agreement and looked at his watch then to me. I smiled and bumped his shoulder gently.
“Go be important,” I whispered, knowing he had many people to speak with during the event. Morettis never rested.
“Youare important, my darling. Remember to have fun tonight.” With that, he walked away to a set of older men greeting him. I looked around, taking in the moment: the clinking of glasses, a live band playing in the back on a decked-out stage. Tables lined the room, a dance floor in the middle, and ahead of me, a rather extravagant golden glittering bar. Just where I wanted to go.
“Looking for me?” a cocky voice spoke from behind me. I turned on my heel, those dimples on full display.
“No,” I glared, “I was looking for alcohol.”
“Me too,” he said and walked ahead of me toward the bar. I let out a huff and followed him after a moment.
