“Good. Now, go get cleaned up and ready to make a good first impression. Your betrothed will be arriving for dinner in…” He glances down at his Rolex. “Just over an hour.”
My pulse quickens at the unexpected news. I don’t even knowwhichof the five Chiaroscuro brothers I’m supposed to be marrying, let alone how I’m supposed to impress him, and I have very little time to prepare myself. “May I ask who I’m supposed to marry?” I ventured, glancing up from beneath my lashes.
“Considering all three of the older Chiaroscuros have recently been taken off the market,” my father grumbles, no small amount of resentment in his tone, “it’ll be one of the twins. Hopefully, therighttwin.”
“The… right twin?” I ask hesitantly, knowing full well that he could decide the detail isn’t critical knowledge to my role and, therefore, something I don’t need to know.
“I’ve tried for years to ensure you became the wife of the new Don, but that title has been getting tossed between the brothers like a hot potato lately, and the clock is ticking now that you’ve turned eighteen, so we’ll take what we can get while the opportunity is available. Sandro has agreed to marry you in exchange for our assistance with theirYakuzaproblem.”
“Yes, Father,” I murmur. Unlike the oldest Chiaroscuro brother, Leo, who was a notorious playboy before he got married, I know next to nothing about the twins, and a nervous anticipation unfurls in my stomach.
“You may go,” my father says dismissively as he waves me away.
With a nod, I turn and depart, heading straight for my room to get ready.
It doesn’t take long to touch up my natural-glow makeup and change into an appropriate tea-length cocktail dress—a soft yellow A-line dress that I pick because the cheery color will lend me confidence and the heart-shaped neckline will subtly accentuate my curves.
I was taught from a young age that a woman should be prepared to host at a moment’s notice—and my father has strict expectations that I present myself as the ideal wife at all times.
So, after years of training for this moment, it doesn’t take me long to regain my footing—despite my quaking knees.
Slipping into a pair of nude patent-leather pumps, I give my reflection a quick once-over to ensure everything is in place.
Then I head to the drawing room to soak up a few lingering rays of sunshine that spill through the wide picture window, warming my skin and calming my nerves.
Taking slow breaths in through my nose and out through my mouth, I try to steady my racing heart, and I place a hand on the windowsill as I stare out at the sprawling green acreage of my family’s land.
We’re not a poor family by any means, and having a property this size in Chicago would certainly put us in the upper class, butnone of that matters when your family name is what determines your worth to the Don.
A shiver races down my spine as I feel the weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders.
I have to make this alliance happen—for the sake of my brothers. Because I love them all.
I love their children, the families they’ve made for themselves, and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing one because I failed them.
My heart skips a beat as I catch the distant sound of wheels crunching down the gravel driveway, then the front doors opening.
“Rafael. It’s good to see you.” My father’s deep voice booms from the entryway, a note of false warmth lacing his words.
I don’t quite catch the low response, but the calm poise in the man’s voice makes my pulse flutter.
“And you must be Sandro,” my mother says, her voice smooth and welcoming.
“Signora.”
The rough response contrasts with the first voice, confirming that two distinctly different people are here for dinner, and as I run the names my parents said through my memory, I realize that both the Chiaroscuro twins must have come tonight.
Oh, God. What if I can’t tell them apart?
From what I’ve heard, they’re identical, and a wave of nerves rushes through me as I imagine making a complete fool ofmyself by proving incapable of properly distinguishing my husband-to-be.
My mortification would be agonizing if they decided to call off the wedding because of it.
Evi, you need to calm down,I coach myself.
At the rate I’m going, I’ll drive myself to hysterics before I even meet my betrothed.
Soft voices mingle with sharp footsteps that echo off the marble floor of the entryway, announcing their approach, and I nervously smooth my dress down before forcing my shoulders to relax.
