Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105679 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Enzo nodded, seemingly satisfied with my show of submissiveness, but when I glanced up, I caught Adrian watching me with newfound curiosity. As though he’d just discovered something unexpected. His scrutiny made my skin crawl, as if he were peeling back layers I’d carefully constructed. Whatever fascination I’d sparked in him, could stay firmly on his side of the table. I wanted no part of it.
“The wedding preparations are progressing well. Right mother?” Giulia interjected smoothly, redirecting the conversation.
“Ah, yes. The cathedral has been secured, and the guest list is nearly finalized,” Beatrice finally spoke.
As the discussion turned to wedding details, I felt Adrian's gaze lingering on me. I refused to look at him again, focusing instead on Matteo beside me. His hand found mine under the table, squeezing once—in warning or approval, I couldn’t tell.
“I think you’ll be pleased with the arrangements, Serafina,” Matteo said. “The reception will be at The Plaza. Nothing but the best for this union.”
“That sounds lovely,” I replied with practiced enthusiasm.
The servers returned with the next course, and the conversation shifted completely to wedding preparations. I participated politely, offering opinions when asked, only when asked. Otherwise I was perfectly demure.
The fire in my veins had cooled down, even though I was acutely aware of Adrian’s gaze. But I refused to let it cause any more disturbance in my character.
“How many guests are we expecting?” my father asked, his tone purely business.
“Four hundred, at least. Every family from both coasts will be represented,” Enzo replied, equally formal. “It is, after all, a wedding of a lifetime.”
“A proper spectacle, you mean,” Adrian muttered under his breath, not loud enough for the whole table to hear.
Of course Adrian had to voice his opinion. His stupid, childish opinion. Why wouldn’t he just shove his foot in his mouth and shut up?
I took a small sip of my wine and focused on my breathing. The rest of the dinner proceeded with remarkable civility. Matteo even made a pointed effort to engage me in topics about history and the arts.
By the time dessert arrived, I was almost able to believe this arrangement might be bearable. Almost.
My last bite of the delicate tiramisu melted on my tongue and I savored the taste. I enjoyed all kinds of sweets, but I was limited to what I could eat. Maintaining my figure for my husband was important to me. One of the lessons I learned about being a future bride. Since I came back home, my diet has been closely monitored. I only ate what the chef prepared for me. No more, no less.
“If you’ll excuse me,” I said softly, placing my napkin beside my plate after swallowing my last bite. If only I could sneak into the kitchen for another slice. But I knew that would absolutely be frowned upon by my father. “I need to refresh myself.”
Matteo stood as I rose, a practiced courtesy that felt hollow yet necessary. I smiled demurely at the table before making my way from the dining room with careful, measured steps. No snarky remarks were followed by my exit. Of course because Adrian had left the table before dessert was served. Maybe that was why I actually enjoyed my only treat of the day. It tasted especially sweet in his absence.
When I was finally beyond everyone’s sight, I allowed my shoulders to slump slightly. The pressure to perform was exhausting, and I needed just a moment to collect myself before returning to the charade.
I walked down the large corridor, my heels echoing softly against the marble tiles as I passed by the library and toward the easy wing where the powder room was. There was something about the rhythmic clicking of heels that soothed my frayed nerves.
Something about tonight’s dinner made my future feel more real. More definite.
I really was getting married. To a man who was still a stranger to me.
What did I really know about Matteo? And what could I possibly learn about him in six weeks’ time that would make him feel less than a stranger and more like a lover?
The sound of my heels seemed to resonate through my ears before a different noise caught my attention. Something strange that sounded akin to a muffled groan.
I slowed my pace, straining to listen. It was somewhere between a moan and a hushed whisper, and it came from the corridor leading to the wine cellar.
Curiosity pulled me forward before caution could intervene.
I approached the heavy oak door that was slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling onto the hallway floor. My hand hesitated on the ornate handle when the muffling sound grew louder, more insistent, more desperate, before I pushed the door open. I peered into the dimly lit space and—
Thud.
My breath caught in my throat.
Thud. Thud.
Blood roared between my ears and my heart crashed against my rib cage.