I sat there for a moment longer, staring at the top of his head. The silver threading through his dark hair. The liver spots beginning to show on his scalp. The way his jaw moved slightly as he read, chewing on thoughts the way he chewed on his enemies' weaknesses.
This was my father. The man who'd promised me away before I could read. The man who'd watched Enzo humiliate me at sixteen and calculated the damage to his reputation instead of the damage to his daughter. The man who saw me as a bloodline and a bridge and nothing more.
Something inside me calcified.
It wasn't new—this hardening, this turning to stone. I'd been doing it in pieces since I was old enough to understand what I was to this family. But sitting here, dismissed from my own future, told to be a good wife without being given any information about what that meant or who I'd be married to, I felt the last soft edges crystallize into something cold and sharp.
I stood.
"Thank you for the update." My voice came out smooth. Polite. The voice of a good daughter accepting her father's wisdom. "I'll be ready for the fitting at three."
Iescapedtothehotellobby with the excuse of needing air, though what I really needed was to be somewhere my father's expectations couldn't find me.
The Peninsula's lobby was all marble floors and muted elegance, the kind of space designed to make wealthy people feel like they belonged while subtly reminding everyone else that they didn't. I found an armchair in a quiet corner—high-backed, angled away from the main flow of traffic—and settled into it with a magazine I had no intention of reading.
The pages were glossy. The articles promised insights into fall fashion and Chicago's best new restaurants. I stared at photographs of women in expensive clothes and saw nothing.
I turned a page without registering what was on it.
My phone buzzed in my lap.
I glanced at the screen automatically—expecting Sofia confirming the dress fitting, or my father with another directive disguised as information—and felt my brow furrow at the unfamiliar number.
A Chicago area code. No contact name.
For one terrible second, I thought: Enzo.
I opened it anyway, my thumb hovering over the screen.
"Hi Gemma - this is Donatella Caruso. I got your number from my brother (don't worry, I threatened him until he handed it over). I know this is weird and you probably have a million things to do, but you're about to become my sister-in-law and you don't know anyone in Chicago and that seems like it sucks. Coffee tomorrow? I know a place that makes these ridiculous lavender lattes that will either change your life or make you question my taste completely. No pressure. But also yes pressure because I'm annoying and I'll just keep texting until you say yes.??"
I read it three times.
The first time, I was looking for the threat. The subtle dig disguised as friendliness. The agenda hidden under the warmth.
The second time, I just read. Letting the words sink in without my defenses dissecting them.
You don't know anyone in Chicago and that seems like it sucks.
It did suck. It sucked enormously.
But here was this woman—this stranger who happened to share a last name with my future husband—reaching out because she'd noticed. Because she'd thought about what it might feel like to be me, in this place, at this moment. Because she'd decided, for no apparent reason, that I shouldn't have to face it alone.
I waited for the suspicion to crystallize into certainty. For my instincts to flag the danger, the manipulation, the angle she was playing.
Nothing came.
Just warmth. Just chaos. Just a purple heart emoji and a promise to be annoying until I said yes.
Every instinct I'd built over ten years of self-protection screamed at me to decline politely. To keep my distance. To trust no one in this new world, least of all someone who was literally part of the family I was marrying into. The Carusos could want a hundred things from me—information about my family, leverage over the alliance, a way to manipulate the new bride before she learned the landscape.
I should protect myself.
I should stay small and careful and alone.
My thumb moved over the keyboard.
"Lavender lattes sound frankly terrifying. I'm in. When and where?"
