1
GIULIA
The Ciresa house smells like roses tonight.
There are white ones everywhere, scattered through the entryway and hall leading to the dining room in crystal vases. I could smell them earlier, mingling with the scent of expensive wine being decanted in the kitchen, and the rich smell of the osso buco our chef has been preparing since this morning. I swear I can even smell it up here, in my bedroom, while I get ready for the party that’s being held in my honor tonight.
Tonight, I'm being prepared to be sold.
It’s never been said in those words, of course. My father would never be so crude. But that's what this dinner party is, stripped of all the elegant pretense and expensive trappings. Tonight’s event is going to be full of eligible men of varying ages, all suitors for me, coming to our home to look at me and evaluate me, then decide if I'm worth the investment. And I'm expected to smile and be gracious and show them exactly why Dante Ciresa’s daughter would make an excellent addition to their lives.
I smooth down the fabric of my dress for the third time in as many minutes, trying to smooth away my nerves at the sametime. I picked the dress out myself, at least—a rich emerald green silk gown that slides over my curves like water and is elegant without being flashy. The neckline is a modest V, the straps just wide enough to show off my toned shoulders and sharp collarbones, and I’ve kept my jewelry simple, too. I picked out a pair of emerald and yellow gold drop earrings and a thin gold chain to go around my neck, which right now, as I clasp it, feels more like a potential collar.
Carefully, I pin back the front waves of my long, black hair, and take one more look at my reflection. A muted smoky eye, a nude lip, and nude Louboutin heels to finish it all off. I look exactly like what I am—an Italian-American heiress, the prize of the Ciresa family, polished until every bit of me gives off a smooth, expensive sheen.
The girl in the mirror looks calm and composed, accepting of her fate. But inwardly, it feels like a lie. I don’t feel calm at all. And a part of me wonders if I can ever fully accept that this is just… what my life will be now.
I belonged to my father, and soon I’ll belong to some other man. I’ve never really belonged to myself. Not even when I was at boarding school, hundreds of miles away. If I’d ever stepped out of line, someone would have found out. I’ve never been free.
A knock on my door makes me turn away from my reflection. "Giulia?" My father's voice carries through the heavy wood. "I need to speak with you before our guests arrive."
My stomach tightens, but I keep my voice steady. "Of course,Papa. I'll be right there."
I take one last look at myself, checking that everything is in place, that there's nothing out of order that might disappoint him. Then I open the door and follow my father down the hallway toward his office.
The walk feels longer than it should. Our house is massive, a testament to the Ciresa family's power and wealth, but I'velived here my entire life and I know every inch of it. I know which floorboards creak, which paintings hide something, which rooms are used for business that I'm not supposed to know about. I know the history soaked into its walls and the blood that's been spilled to maintain it, generation after generation.
My father's office is downstairs, at the end of a long hall. It smells like leather and cigars, and I feel a hint of familiar nostalgia at the scent. It smells like him, and even if my father has never been a warm man, he’s still the only one I have. Deep down, I’ve always wanted to please him, and I missed the familiarity of home while I was away… almost as much as I appreciated the chance to get even a fraction of space from it.
He holds the door open for me, and I step inside, my heels clicking against the gleaming hardwood. The room is exactly as it always was—dark wood furniture, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a massive desk that dominates the space. Behind the desk hangs a painting of my grandfather, his eyes seeming to follow me as I move to stand in front of my father's chair.
Dante Ciresa doesn't sit immediately. He closes the door, and the soft click of the latch makes me flinch slightly, a real sign that my nerves are on edge. Then he moves to the bar cart in the corner and pours himself two fingers of whiskey. He doesn't offer me any. I'm nineteen, but more than that, I'm his daughter, and daughters don't drink whiskey in their father's office before dinner parties where they're being presented to potential husbands.
"Sit," he says, and I do, perching on the edge of one of the leather chairs facing his desk.
He takes his time, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, and I wait. I've learned patience in this family. I've learned to be still, to be quiet, to wait for the men to speak first. It's one of manylessons that have been drilled into me since I was old enough to understand what it means to be a Ciresa.
Finally, he sits, setting his glass down with a softthunk. His eyes meet mine, and I see the calculation there, the assessment. He's looking at me the same way he looks at business deals, weighing costs and benefits, risks and rewards. "You understand what tonight is about," he says. It's not a question.
I nod, forcing myself not to chew on my lip and ruin my lipstick. "Yes,Papa."
"Good." He leans back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Then you understand how important it is that you make a good impression. That you show these men exactly why an alliance with our family would be beneficial."
I nod, keeping my face neutral and my hands folded neatly in my lap. The perfect picture of obedience.
"Your brother's situation with Savannah has caused some... complications," he continues, and I hear the edge in his voice when he says her name. Savannah is Romeo's wife, the woman he chose for himself instead of accepting whatever future our father might have planned for him. The woman who caused chaos and nearly got Romeo killed, because her family had long feuded with ours, and because she was already engaged. It had been a situation with so many complications that my head still aches when I think about it… but I’ve never thought it was less than worth it, because of how happy my brother is now.
My father, as accepting as he finally was, does not feel the same way. He looks at me evenly as he continues, his voice hard. "Some of the other families are questioning whether I have control over my own household. Whether the Ciresa name still commands the respect it once did."
The words land hard, pelting against me like stones, but I don't let my expression change.
"It's your job to fix that," he says, and now his voice is harder, colder. "You will marry well, Giulia. You will choose one of these men, or I will choose for you, and you will do it with grace and gratitude. You will show the other families that the Ciresas are still strong, still united, still worthy of their respect and fear. Do you understand?"
I give him a small nod. "Yes,Papa."
"This isn't a request." He picks up his glass again and takes a slow sip. "This is your duty. This is what you were raised for. Your education, everything we've given you—it was all for this moment, to make a match that strengthens our family and that secures our position. Romeo's chaos ends with you. You will be the daughter who does what's expected of her."
The weight of it, the finality in his voice, presses down on me, suffocating and absolute. Suddenly, for the first time in my life, faced with his absolute orders, I want to scream. I want to tell him that I'm not a chess piece to be moved around his board, that I'm a person with my own wants and needs and desires. I want to ask him if he's ever considered what I might want, if it's ever occurred to him that I might have dreams that don't involve being sold off to the highest bidder. The ferocity with which my mind reacts to the coldness in his voice startles me, and I have to grip the edge of the chair not to visibly flinch. It’s as if, suddenly, this has all become very real, and my body is reacting viscerally to that reality.
