It seems like he means it. I can see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice. He's genuinely trying to be kind, to make this easier for me.
And I feel nothing.
"That's very thoughtful of you," I say, because it is. Because he deserves credit for trying to be decent in a world that doesn't require it, if he’s being honest.
"I know I'm not the only one your father is considering," he continues. "And I know you probably have your own preferences. But I hope you'll give me a chance. I think we could be good together."
He stops walking and turns to face me, and there's something earnest in his expression that makes me feel guilty for not being able to return his interest. "I'm not like Marco or Enzo," he says. "I don't just see you as a business transaction or a prize to be won. I see you as a person, Giulia. A beautiful, intelligent woman who deserves to be treated with respect and kindness."
It's exactly what I should want to hear. It's everything a woman in my position could hope for—a husband who will treat her well, who sees her as more than just a means to an end. But it's not enough. Because respect and kindness are wonderful, but they aren't love. They aren't passion. They aren't the desperate, consuming need I feel when I look at Luca.
"I appreciate that, Alessandro. Truly." I try to put warmth into my voice, to give him something even if it's not what he wants. "You've been very kind tonight."
"I'd like to see you again. Outside of these formal dinners, if you're willing. Maybe that gallery opening I mentioned? Or we could just have coffee, talk more. Whatever you're comfortable with."
He's asking for permission. Asking if I'm interested. And the kind thing to do, the right thing to do, would be to tell him the truth—that I'm not interested, that I'll never be interested, that he's wasting his time.
But I can't do that. Because if I eliminate Alessandro, I'm left with Marco or Enzo, or one of the others, and that's not an option.
So instead, I smile and say, "I'd like that."
The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but he doesn't seem to notice. He smiles back, relieved, and we continue our walk. He talks about his family, his work, his plans for the future, asking me more questions about our family’s businesses, which I answer as much as I can… which is to say, not much at all. He's intelligent and articulate, and under different circumstances, I might have enjoyed the conversation.
But all I can think about is Luca, and the distance between us that I can't seem to bridge, no matter how hard I try.
When we finally return to the house, the other guests are preparing to leave. I say my goodbyes, accepting Marco's kisson my hand and dodging Enzo's attempt to kiss my cheek. Alessandro is the last to leave, and he takes my hand gently.
"Thank you for a lovely evening, Giulia. I hope we can do this again soon."
"I'd like that."
Another lie. I'm getting good at them.
After they're gone, my father calls me into his study. Romeo is there, but Luca is nowhere to be seen. The absence feels like a wound.
"You did well tonight,piccola," my father says, and there's approval in his voice. "Alessandro seems quite taken with you. I think he'll make an excellent match. Marco and Enzo are both possibilities as well. Marco is settled and has substantial wealth of his own, and Enzo is poised to become a well-connected heir. I’d like you to spend more time with all of them. More dinners and such will be arranged, of course."
I force myself to smile and nod. "Thank you, Papa. Of course."
"I'm pleased with how you handled yourself tonight," my father continues. "You were gracious, charming, exactly what a Ciresa daughter should be. You've made me proud."
The words should make me happy. They should fill me with warmth and satisfaction. But instead, they just make me feel empty.
"Thank you, Papa," I say, because that's what's expected.
"You're dismissed. Get some rest. We have a busy week ahead."
I leave the study and make my way upstairs, my legs feeling like lead. My room feels like a cage when I close the door behind me, and I lean against it, trying to catch my breath.
This is my life. This is my future. I'm going to marry one of these men, and I'm going to spend the rest of my life pretendingto be happy about it. I'm going to let him touch me, let him into my bed, let him use my body to produce heirs for his family.
And I'm never going to know what it's like to be with someone I actually want.
2
LUCA
Earlier that day
