9
Mia
As we drive to the Morelli mansion, like one big happy family, we definitely aren”t. My father glances at me through the rearview mirror. His stern look tells me that this won’t be an ordinary family gathering.
Though I anticipated this moment, when he finally breaks the silence, his words still hit me like a sledgehammer. ”Mia,” he begins, his voice cutting through the air with icy precision. “Today is not just any brunch. Don Antonio has expressed a keen interest in you marrying Sebastiano,” he states matter-of-factly, his tone brooking no argument. “If all goes well, you will be married within the next couple of months.”
Surprise flashes across my face, betraying the shock I feel at the sudden revelation.
Bride? In a few months?
The words reverberate in my mind as my father continues, outlining the importance of the alliance and the role I am expected to play. The role I was born and raised to believe was my only future. The reason I am watched every second of the day, the reason I have to continue dancing, to make sure my weight is checked regularly. The reason I had to go to certain schools, join all the popular clubs, and wear expensive clothes.
He must notice the fear flicker in my eyes, as he always does, but still presses on. ”You will do your best to win him over, Mia,” my father commands, his voice unwavering. ”Don Antonio is a powerful ally, and marrying into the family would secure our position. This is an opportunity, and you will not disappoint me. Do you understand me?”
The severity of my father”s tone and the endless expectations settled heavily within me. I wasn”t prepared for this today. I thought this was just brunch and that maybe I could sneak in a donut or croissant. I thought I had a few months until I would be married off.
Maybe it was the lack of sleep or drinks from last night, but I feel like I”m going to be sick. The pressure to win over a man I don”t know at all, and all for the sake of a family name and alliances.
Crap!
I nod, trying to keep my cool despite the knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. The intensity of my father”s words hangs heavy on my shoulders, suffocating me with their expectations. Throughout the rest of the ride, I remain silent, lost in my thoughts. The unfamiliarity of the situation gnaws at me, leaving me feeling small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
As we arrive at the Morelli mansion, I can”t help but be in awe of its luxury. It’s like stepping into a world of elegance that I had only ever seen in movies. The enormity of the home overwhelms me as we are led upstairs into a lavish office.
Who has two separate staircases?
The extravagant surroundings pique my curiosity. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.
I thought our house was impressive, but this place looks like a high-end hotel and is easily double the size of our home.
Don Antonio greets me with a polite smile and a warm handshake. He is not the intimidating figure I had imagined him to be. But I know better than to let his demeanor fool me; behind that smile is a man of power and influence.
Before anything else is said, my father introduces Karen. Usually, I am annoyed with his actions, but at this moment, I am grateful for the diversion. Having him there shifts the focus away from me, if only temporarily.
That is until the conversation shifts again, and he is discussing me with Don Antonio like I”m not even there or, better yet, like I”ve become a mere accessory in the room, a carnival prize to be claimed.
Sinking in my seat, I make a sad attempt to pretend I”m not really here, blending into the background. I silently listen in disgust as the conversation jumps from me to business, then back to me. I wish I could disappear as they negotiate my future. I didn”t actually think I would have to listen in on the terms of my own marriage.
My father goes on to tell him of my stellar upbringing, college degree, and many charity projects. I tune them out until I hear Don Antonio’s last question. “Is she still pure?”
Can the floor please swallow me now?
Without skipping a beat, my father answers him as if it”s the most natural question in the world.
The knot in my stomach only intensifies when my mystery hunk from the dance floor casually strolls in. Panic sets in, and I hope he doesn”t mention it in front of my father. I”ll be in so much trouble if he finds out.
Of all the husbands, he wouldn”t be the worst one to look at every day, and he definitely looks better in the daylight. I”m thrown out of my daze when I hear, “Plastic bitches don”t do it for me. The deal is off,” and then he waltz off with Don Antonio hot on his heels.
Still shell-shocked from this whole situation, I don’t even notice Karen seething back at me before saying, “I told you to wear the red dress, Mia.”
She turns to my father, her lips curling with disdain, her eyes betraying her annoyance. ”She isn”t cut out to be a don’s wife,” she mutters, her voice dripping with contempt. ”I told you not to get your hopes up.”
I feel a flush of embarrassment creeping up my neck as her words hit me like a slap in the face. The sharp edges of her criticism pierce through me, leaving me raw and exposed.
”He would have loved her if she wore the dress I picked out for her,” she continues, her tone laced with bitterness. ”Instead, she wears this ugly frock that makes her look like a nun.”
The urge to retort burns hot within me. I want to tell her that the dress she picked out would make me look like a clown and that her taste is as tacky as her attitude. But I know better than to engage in such a futile battle.
Instead, I clench my fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms as I fight to contain the torrent of emotions swirling inside me. My jaw clenches in an effort to hold back the words that threaten to spill out, sharp and cutting like knives.
I remain silent as a statue, rooted in place by her judgment and the knowledge that any response from me would only fan the flames of her anger. It takes all my willpower to keep my composure, to resist the urge to lash out and defend myself against her unwarranted criticism.
When Dad turns to me, his gaze is piercing, his expression a mix of frustration and disappointment. I brace myself for the onslaught of criticism, knowing that I”m always the one who bears the brunt of his anger. It”s a familiar pattern, one where I”m always the target of his wrath.
I try to maintain my composure as he begins to lay into me, his words like daggers slicing through the air. But my silence only seems to stoke the fire of his anger, fueling his frustration until he”s shaking me for a response that I can”t provide.
”Get your fucking hands off her!” The words slice through the tension like a knife, and suddenly, I”m being pulled out of the office and into another room.
The abrupt change in scenery catches me off guard. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting, and when they do, I realize that we”re in a bathroom. But not just any bathroom—this one is larger than my entire apartment back in New York. And is that a clawfoot tub?
Before I can fully take in the opulence of my surroundings, I find myself face to face with him––the mystery hunk, better known as Sebastiano Morelli. He stands tall and imposing in his perfectly tailored suit, casting a shadow over my more petite frame. His dark gaze holds me captive, and I can”t help but feel breathless as I take in his sculpted features and the way his chocolate locks frame his face with an air of authority. He”s a man who commands attention without saying a word, and he has my full, undivided attention right now.
“Please don”t tell my father about last night,” I blurt before he can get a single word out.
Blue eyes meet brown eyes––so dark they almost look black.
He steps back, and I exhale a breath I didn”t realize I was holding. ”Anything else I shouldn”t say?” His response is laced with sarcasm, and I can feel the tension crackling between us.
The warmth of his breath on my face adds to the charged atmosphere, creating an electrifying energy that seems to have some sort of magnetic pull on me.
”Do you really want to marry me?” he asks, breaking the silence and running a hand through his hair. “I’ll give you an out right now. Just say the word?”
Taking a deep breath, I reply, “I have to. I don”t have a choice.” I shouldn’t have told him that, but I guess he should know the truth.
“You do have a choice. I’m giving you a choice now.”
My shoulders slump, my father”s words echoing in my mind. I have to do this. Not just because I”m afraid of what he”ll do if this marriage falls through, but because this could be my out, my ticket away from them. Sure, I”ll be trading one jailer for the next, but anyone is better than Karen, right? Both because I”m afraid of what will happen if I return to that office with no soon-to-be husband and selfishly because this is my way to get away from my father and Karen. The alliance will be ruined, and I will be punished every day for defying my father. Pressing further, he asks again, “Are you sure you want to marry me? I won”t love you, and I won”t be faithful- you won”t have a fairytale ending. I can only offer you protection and assurance that you”ll be taken care of.”
A loveless marriage or returning to a loveless home and facing my father”s wrath - the mere thought sends shivers down my spine. I”ll choose the former and endure a loveless marriage.
”Are you safe at home?”
My breath catches in my throat. His question catches me off guard, leaving me unsure of how to respond. ”I”ll take the blame for this if that”s what you”re worried about.” he continues.
That was the least of my worries, but I still don”t respond to that question.
His sincerity catches me off guard, and there”s a glimmer of understanding in his gaze before he presents me with the second proposal I wasn”t expecting today.
”We can help each other then. We’ll get married, I”ll take over as Don, and you”ll be free from whatever it is that seems to make you afraid to say no to marrying me because I know you don”t really want to. Once everything settles, we can either coexist or get divorced. If we divorce, you can move anywhere you want, anywhere at all.”
He seems to prefer the idea of divorce over coexisting. Although the notion of a loveless marriage is less than ideal, divorce is not an option for me. Well, maybe it will be with my newfound freedom.
I confess that I, too, was kept in the dark about the wedding plans until today, so this is as much of a shock to me as it is to him. But he doesn”t seem convinced by my confession, and I don”t want to continue pleading my innocence to him.
“You won”t worry about where I am or who I’m with, okay? In front of everyone, including both of our fathers, we”ll be the happiest newlyweds. Nobody can know the truth of our arrangement; it will only screw things up for both of us. I don”t need any more crap from him about settling down, and I really don”t need to hear anything from you when I come home.”
What a jerk!If this proposal weren’t a lifeline to break free from the predetermined path I”ve been raised to follow, I would run. But it beats the alternative of going back in there and facing my father and facing his fury at home. A marriage without love or the possibility of ever being in love is something I never thought of. I always thought that after being around each other long enough, we’d fall in love eventually.
Despite how messed up this whole situation is, I take a few calming breaths to steady my racing heart and put on a brave face. Agreeing to this marriage feels like an escape from my father”s controlling grip. Sebastiano offers the refuge I didn”t realize I needed; he offers us both a way out. This is both terrifying and strangely liberating.
“Just remember what I said. Got it, Wife?”
“Got it, Husband.” This definitely isn”t the fairytale engagement I dreamed of––agreeing to marry a kind of scary but still very handsome man in a bathroom, of all places—a future don, to be exact.
“What happens now?” I ask hesitantly, still unsure of how this day wholly unraveled at the seams so quickly.
“We go announce our engagement,” comes his response, void of all emotion.