The dinnerwith Marco and my family is exactly as awful as I expected. Luca isn’t there tonight. It’s just me, my father, Romeo, Savannah, and Marco. Savannah looks entirely unimpressed by the proceedings, but she’s quiet. I’m sure Romeo has told her that this is how things are, and not to antagonize my father by saying anything to give away that she doubtless has many thoughts about all of this. They’re still on thin ice, and I can’t begrudge them being careful, even if our father is coming down on me all the harder because of it.
Marco spends two hours talking about his properties, his investments, his plans for expansion. He asks me perfunctory questions about my education and my interests, but he doesn'treally listen to the answers. He's already decided who I am and what I'll be to him—a trophy. A well-bred wife who'll look good on his arm and give him legitimate heirs.
I smile and nod and say all the right things, and the whole time I'm thinking about Luca's face when I asked him why he won't look at me. The way his jaw tightened. The way his hands curled into fists.
But maybe I'm just seeing what I want to see. Maybe he really is that indifferent, and I'm pathetic for hoping otherwise.
The next day, I try again, despite the fact that I know this is foolish. I should be thinking about who I’m going to try to convince my father to choose from the array of suitors and which would make me the least miserable, not how to dig into that small crack I saw in Luca’s facade and uncover what’s happening here. But I can’t seem to stop myself, like a compulsion I can’t control.
I wander the house until I find him. I put on a nice silk shift dress today and a lemon bergamot perfume from Paris, one that I hope he might notice and like. Maybe he’ll even ask me about it. When I see him walking down a hallway toward me, finally, my heart leaps a little at the sight of him.
"Luca.” I pause and turn when he reaches me so that we’re walking side by side. "Can I ask you something about your work?"
He stiffens almost imperceptibly. "What about it?"
"Romeo mentioned you've been handling some new territory acquisitions. I was curious about what you do with that. Do you help with the business side, or are you the threat while Romeo and my father handle it?”
It's not entirely a lie. I am curious about the business, even if my father has made it clear that's not my concern. But mostly, I just want an excuse to talk to him. To be near him.
"That's not really an appropriate conversation," Luca says, his eyes fixed on some point ahead of us.
"I'm asking because I'm interested."
"Your father wouldn't want me discussing business with you."
"My father isn't here."
Finally,finally, his eyes meet mine. They look dark in the dim light of the hallway, and I see his jaw tighten for the briefest moment, his gaze locking for an instant with mine.
But then he looks away, and the moment is gone. "I have work to do," he says, and walks past me without another word.
I stand there in the empty hallway, feeling like I've been slapped. This isn't the Luca I remember. The Luca I remember would have answered my questions, would have treated me like I had a brain in my head instead of just a pretty face. He would havetalkedto me. This Luca treats me like I'm made of glass. Like if he gets too close, I'll shatter.
Or maybe likehe'llshatter. I don't understand what changed. I don't understand why he's built these walls between us, why he can barely stand to be in the same room as me. Does he hate me for going along with my father’s wishes, for some reason? Does he think less of me for not being as brave as Romeo and refusing to bend?
The next day, I find Luca in the library. He's sitting in one of the leather chairs, reading something on his tablet. The late afternoon light slants through the windows, catching in his dark hair, and for a moment I just stand there watching him—memorizing him the way I used to that last summer.
"I need your advice," I say, and he looks up with that carefully neutral expression that's becoming painfully familiar.
"About what?"
"Enzo." I move closer, perching on the arm of the chair across from him. "He makes me uncomfortable. The way helooks at me, the things he says. But my father seems to think he's a viable option, and I don't know how to... navigate that."
It's the most honest I've been with him since I came home, the most vulnerable. But maybe that will get under his shell, I think. And for just a second, I see something fierce flash in Luca's eyes. Something protective and almost violent. But then it's gone, replaced by that professional distance again.
"Tell your father how you feel," he says. "If Enzo makes you uncomfortable, Dante should know."
"And if he doesn't care? If he thinks I'm being too sensitive, too picky?"
Luca's jaw tightens. "Then you'll have to endure it. Like you're enduring all of this."
The words are harsh, but there's something underneath them that sounds almost like anger, though I can't tell if it's directed at me, the situation, or himself.
"Is that what you think I should do?" I ask softly. "Just endure it?"
"I think you should do what's expected of you." His voice is flat and emotionless. "That's what we all do in this life."
"Even if it makes us miserable?" I stare at him, trying to understand, to find some trace of the man who used to look at me like I mattered, like my happiness was something worth considering. But he won't meet my eyes. He's looking at his tablet again, dismissing me without words.
