The orchestra begins playing our wedding waltz. Alessandro leads me to the center of the dance floor, one hand clasping mine, the other settling at my waist.
"Everyone's watching," he says, guiding me into the first steps.
"They always are." My voice is flat. Like all life has gone out of me. I've been married for less than an hour, and I’m already losing myself.
I think back to our first dance at the gala. How his eyes had locked with mine, how the electricity crackled between us. But it wasn’t real.
We move across the floor in perfect synchronization. We're a beautiful illusion. The perfect match.
"You seem unhappy, Wife," he says, his voice low enough that only I can hear.
I meet his gaze, allowing him to see, for just a moment, the hurt beneath my mask. "I have a name, and what did you expect?"
His rhythm falters slightly. "I expected?—"
"It doesn't matter what you expected," I cut him off. "The contract is signed. We've said our vows. I’ll do my duty for show."
The music swells around us, and Alessandro pulls me closer than propriety demands. For a heartbeat, I allow myself to remember how it felt to be in his arms on that rooftop. How it felt to be wanted, desired.
But that woman was a fool. I won't be her again. I fight against the warmth and the hope.
The reception drags on for what feels like an eternity. By the time we're rushed through a tunnel of sparklers and into the waiting Bentley, I’m exhausted from faking happiness.
Alessandro slides in beside me, his thigh pressed against mine. The car pulls away, leaving behind the pretense of our wedding celebration.
"Well, that's over," I say, scooting away from him.
He loosens his bowtie with one hand. "Indeed. Our families seem pleased."
"My father got what he wanted. I'm sure he's ecstatic." I turn to look out the window without really seeing what’s passing by. “I just want to go home and?—”
"We're heading to the airport," Alessandro says. "The jet is ready for Capri."
I whip my head around. "Capri? We're actually going on a honeymoon?" I’d thought he’d just said that the other night to make our union sound like it was real.
His expression remains neutral. "It would look suspicious if we didn't."
"Right. Appearances." I laugh bitterly. "Capri. Lovers' paradise. How ironic."
“We could be lovers.”
My jaw drops. “Ah… no… we can’t.”
He smirks. “It’s a little late, don’t you think? I’ve already fucked you so by definition, we are already lovers.”
For a moment I just stare at him, wondering who he really is. It’s clear I’ve never met the real Alessandro, and I suspect that a lifetime of marriage won’t change that.
At the private airfield, Alessandro's men handle our luggage while we board the luxurious Gulfstream.
I sink into one of the plush seats, suddenly aware of how exhausted I am.
Alessandro pours himself a whiskey and sits opposite me. "It's a nine-hour flight. You should rest."
"I'm fine here."
"Isabella." He gestures toward the rear of the plane. "There's a bed?—"
"I said I'm fine."
