I approach Alessandro not with fear, but definitely on guard. When our eyes meet, his gaze slides right through me.
"Here?" I ask, positioning myself beside him.
"Perfect." The planner beams. "Now, after the vows, Alessandro will place the ring on your finger like this..."
I watch her demonstration, refusing to flinch when Alessandro takes my hand. His touch is impersonal now, businesslike. The motions of a man fulfilling an obligation.
My fantasies of a marriage that grows in love are quickly dissipating. It was one thing for him to disengage right after our encounter on the roof. I can see how a man like him would bediscombobulated by losing control. But it’s been a week. Perhaps this is how he wants our marriage to be. Cool. Distant. Aloof.
It’s not what I want, but I’m not going to beg for his love. Oh, I’ll demand respect, but I’ll never beg for love.
Two can play at emotional distance. I've had eighteen years of practice hiding my true feelings from my father.
I match his coldness, keeping my expression neutral even as my insides burn with anger and hurt.
"Tomorrow, you'll walk from here to here," the planner instructs, pulling me from my thoughts.
I nod, playing my part. Perfect Mafia princess. Docile bride. I'd thought Alessandro saw beyond that façade, but maybe I was simply a way to prove to my brother and father that they can’t control him after all, by having sex with me, and served up the ultimate disrespect to my family. And I let him. He got what he wanted and now is done with me.
Well, if Alessandro Dante wants to pretend nothing happened between us, I can play that game better than anyone. If Alessandro wants a wife who's merely window dressing for his empire, I can be that. If he wants me only in his bed but never in his confidence, I can adapt to that too. I've spent my entire life learning to survive in the shadows of powerful men.
"You'll make a beautiful Dante bride," an elder's wife tells me, patting my hand.
I smile, the expression never reaching my eyes. "Thank you. It's an honor to join such a respected family."
Father catches my eye from across the room, his sharp nod reminding me of my duty. Be charming. Be perfect. Secure the alliance.
I straighten my shoulders, disappointed in myself for retreating into my role as a docile Mafia princess used to secure an alliance. My brief moment of rebellion on that rooftop was just that, a moment. My reality is an arranged marriage to a man who looks through me now.
Tomorrow, I'll walk down that aisle with my head held high. I'll speak my vows with conviction. Perhaps in time, Alessandro and I will find some way to coexist without tearing each other apart. Or perhaps we'll remain strangers. What I won’t become is a shadow of a woman like my mother. Whatever comes, I'll endure it. I am Isabella Vitale and I won't break, not even for him.
14
ALESSANDRO
I'm drowning in a room full of people I hate, watching the woman I've claimed handle them all with grace.
Isabella moves through the rehearsal dinner crowd like she was born for this, which, I suppose, she was. If I didn't know better, I'd never suspect the fire that burned beneath her skin just days ago.
But I do know. That's the problem.
She catches me watching her and raises a single eyebrow. I look away first, hating myself for it.
"You two certainly have the 'happily married' act down already," Marco jokes, appearing at my side. "Cold as ice in public. Very traditional."
I take a slow sip of whiskey. "Tradition is important in our world, isn't it?"
"Indeed." His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "Just know that while Vitale women are the epitome of grace and sophistication in public, they know how to behave in private as well."
My grip tightens on the glass as I ponder if he’s talking about family dinner or in bed. “I have no concerns, Marco.” Of course, that’s a lie. I have many concerns about Isabella, but not about whether she’ll behave at dinner or in my bed.
He chuckles. "Of course, of course. Just making conversation."
When he finally leaves, I catch Isabella watching us, curiosity flickering across her face before she masks it.
I force myself to look away. I can’t indulge her curiosity about me, just as I can’t indulge mine about her. I can't have her thinking there's anything real between us beyond the contract we'll sign tomorrow. Distance is the key.
This is business. Politics. Nothing more.
