Dio.
She reaches for the coffee cup. Wraps both hands around it.
Her hands.
Long fingers. Short nails. No polish. No rings except the simple gold band I put on her finger yesterday.
I watch her lift the cup to her lips. Watch her throat move as she swallows.
I'm not attracted to her.
I'm just... observing. The way I would any new variable in my environment.
Her blouse is modest. Buttoned to the collar. But the fabric pulls slightly across her chest when she moves. Hints at curves underneath.
I remember last night. The wedding dress half-unzipped. The bare skin of her back. The way she clutched that pillow to her chest.
My hands tighten on the armrests.
Antonella
Bruno keeps staring at me.
I feel his gaze like a physical weight. Every time I lift my coffee cup. Every time I shift in my seat. Every time I breathe.
He's angry.
Of course he's angry. He had to marry me. Some stranger his family forced on him to settle a debt. No man would want that. No man would choose to be shackled to a woman he's never met, especially not a man like Bruno Sartori.
I keep my eyes on my coffee. Easier to look at that than at him.
Pietro asks me something about breakfast preferences. I answer automatically. Toast. Fruit. Whatever is easiest.
Bruno's stare doesn't waver.
What did I do wrong? Hanging up on him last night? Refusing his rules? Existing in his space?
All of the above, probably.
I take another sip of coffee. It's good. Rich and dark, nothing like the instant stuff we had at home. Another reminder that I don't belong here.
Footsteps in the hallway.
Nico enters first. A woman walking behind him.
"Good morning." His voice is flat. Assessing.
"Morning." Pietro gestures toward me. "Antonella, you remember Nico."
I nod. "Yes."
The woman steps forward. Her smile is warm, genuine.
"I'm Kristen." She takes the seat next to Pietro, across from me. "We met briefly yesterday, but everything was so rushed. How did you sleep?"
The question is simple. Normal. The kind of thing a friend might ask.
I don't know how to respond to normal.
