I reach for her hand and squeeze it. “You can tell me more about Andreas,” I say quietly. “Everything you know. If I’m going to marry him, I need to know exactly who he is.”
Mom keepsme and Ariana busy all the next day. Her venomous attitude toward me is well hidden now, and she’s outwardly nothing but excited that Ariana and I are going to meet our prospective husbands. She smiles as she asks us if we want to go for manicures and offers to help choose our clothes for dinner. Ariana meekly agrees, and there’s enough sharpness in Mom’s eyes that I know I have no choice but to say yes as well. She may not be holding a literal gun to my head, but I feel the press of the barrel.
I don’t get the chance to be alone with Damiano all day, and I feel sick that he’s going to have to endure me sitting next to another man at dinner. I think I’d tear my own eyes out if I watched him meet his future wife.
Ariana and I are the first ones downstairs just before seven that evening. My sister looks beautiful in a pastel blue dress with a matching band holding back her long, sleek hair. Mom chose a burgundy satin dress for me and told me irritably to do “something” with my curls. She loves Damiano’s curls, but she’s always been annoyed by mine. I finger comb my curls and leave them loose. It’s all I have the energy for.
“I never thought you and I would be meeting our future husbands at the same dinner,” I say as I join my sister’s side.
“Don’t talk to me,” she says, staring straight ahead.
“Excuse me?”
“This is all your fault. If you and Damiano had kept your hands off each other, Mom and Dad wouldn’t be marrying us off.”
“Don’t you want to marry the Montoni don? I thought you’d be all over him,” I mutter.
Ariana’s lower lip trembles, and for a moment, her eyes fill with pain.
“Ariana, what’s wrong?”
Her eyes snap to mine, and they’re suddenly furious. “Wrong? Why would anything be wrong? Just shut up.”
My sister has always seemed eager to do whatever Mom and Dad ask of her, but apparently not this time. I wonder why. Is she afraid of marriage, or does she love someone else?
Damiano comes downstairs and joins us, but as soon as he tries to approach me, Mom and Dad emerge from the living room and step between us.
“Do try to smile, girls,” Mom says, giving me and Ariana a pained look. “This is a happy day. When I was introduced to your father, I was so giddy I think I embarrassed myself.”
Dad says with a chuckle, “Nonsense. You were absolutely perfect.”
Mom beams at him. Neither Ariana nor I smile. Damiano has his eyes fixed on the front door, his jaw tight.
The doorbell rings, and Mom steps forward to open it and welcome our guests. A chill wind seems to sweep through the house as Cristiano Montoni enters, tall and proud and wearing a dark suit.
Cristiano’s eyes sweep the room, cold and assessing, before settling on Ariana. There’s something predatory in his gaze, but also weary. Like a man who doesn’t want to play this game.
Behind him is another blond man, almost as handsome as Cristiano, and he’s introduced to me as Andreas. His body language is tense and uncertain, and I wonder if it’s because he’s in the company of Don Carlucci, Don Cristiano, and Damiano Barone, all of whom are confident, dangerous men. Adora told me that Andreas’s parents aren’t in the mafia, but Andreas wants to be. He wants to prove himself and become one ofCristiano’s made men. I suppose marrying a Barone daughter will make him seem more like one of us. How flattering.
I watch as Andreas seizes my father’s hand with an eagerness that betrays how desperate he is to be accepted.
Meanwhile, Cristiano approaches Ariana with a reserved expression. He’s a good-looking man, with sun-kissed skin and strong features. Plus he’s rich. He’s powerful. He’s already a mafia don. I thought Ariana would be thrilled to meet him. She’s always been so eager to please Mom and Dad, and so desperate to be the perfect daughter.
When she greets him, her smile is forced. She’s performing happiness but barely managing it. I study her face, and beneath the practiced politeness, I see something raw. Heartbreak. Desperation. Fear.
Damiano’s jaw tightens as he watches Cristiano and Ariana. There’s tension between him and Cristiano that’s even more pronounced after the restaurant ambush that nearly killed us all. I think he’s as uncomfortable as I am, watching our sibling being paired off against her will.
I’m so busy observing all of this that I don’t realize Andreas is standing in front of me and saying my name. When I turn to look at him, he gives a little smirk and a roll of his eyes, as though he can’t believe my attention has been on anyone but him. “Finally.”
It’s exactly like at the Corinthian gala. That entitled assumption that I should be focused solely on him.
Andreas stares at my hair, my face, my breasts, and my hips, his gaze lingering in a way that makes me want to step back. “Are you older or younger than your sister?” he asks.
Well, hello to you too. What kind of question is that? “Younger by a year.”
He looks disappointed. Maybe the older sister is the more sought-after one, like the eldest son in a family being the most important one?
Over his shoulder, Mom is smiling as she watches Cristiano and Andreas speak with their proposed brides-to-be.
