Chapter 6 Sophia
SOPHIA
I feel like Cinderella.
If Cinderella had to pay ten thousand dollars for a seat at the ball.
“Charity isn’t cheap,” Dante murmurs as we enter the grand ballroom arm in arm.
The children’s foundation went all out tonight, turning the room into an enchanted garden filled with flowers and small trees strung with tiny, twinkling lights.
Yes, I could be a fairy-tale princess sailing in on the arm of her handsome husband while wearing a strapless Prada, its cream-colored silk gleaming like a pearl in the candlelight.
If fairy tales were real.
I’ve been to a hundred events like this one, ever since Mom decided I was old enough to go out in public with her and not be an embarrassment.
By the time I was sixteen, she figured out I was much better at playing the game than her.
It helps that I know how to talk to people without embarrassing myself.
Just because it’s familiar, doesn’t mean there’s not a tiny thrill when I first set eyes on the room and the glittering people inside it. “It’s beautiful in here,” I breathe out.
Dante clicks his tongue quietly as we wait in line to exchange words with a few of the foundation’s board members before continuing to our table. “The foundation could’ve used this money for the kids instead of blowing it on one night.”
A romantic? He is not.
I need to stop trying to be real with him if all he’s going to do is say something snide. Snide, yet annoyingly accurate. At least the line moves fast, and I take advantage of Dante’s strong personality as an excuse to stay quiet.
What if I’m not a good enough actress to pull this off?
Faking being real newlyweds?
The less I say, the safer.
One thing helps—I don’t have to pretend to be physically attracted to him.
It’s easy to cozy up to somebody who wears a tuxedo the way he does.
I know I’m not imagining things as heads turn when we make our way through the room, heading for the bar.
I wonder if he was born with this commanding presence or if he had to develop it because he was born before Luca.
All I know is, I can’t believe how charming he can be when he’s usually so bland. It’s easy to endure endless conversations when he’s the one doing almost all the talking.
Another couple of board members approach before we can reach the bar.
“David, Victor.” Dante nods toward me, smiling. I can almost believe he means it when his dark eyes glow. “My wife of exactly one week, Sophia Santoro.”
“Lucky man.” One of them decides with a wink at me. He’s got to be around Dad’s age, which only makes my skin crawl.
“Watch out, Victor,” Dante warns with a light chuckle. “I was always taught to respect my elders, but a man has his limits.”
Note to self—stay away from Victor.
Nearby, a banner printed with the foundation’s name hangs overhead. People are taking turns having their pictures taken under the banner.
“You’ll want to get pictures of these two,” David announces to the photographer. “Newlyweds, and they took the time to be here tonight. Mr. and Mrs. Santoro.”
There I go, feeling like a zoo animal all over again.
“In a minute.” Victor gives me one last look before prying his gaze away. “Dante, we were hoping to talk over an initiative with you. Do you have time?” Glancing at me again, he adds, “I’m sure you’re beautiful bride will be safe without you for a few minutes.”
Lay it on a little thicker, prick.
I silently wave Dante on but secretly wish the timing was better as the men walk away together, talking about things too important for a woman to hear. Meanwhile, I’m standing here like a pitiful fool and haven’t even found my table yet.
A deep voice catches my attention over my right shoulder. “How did they know I was hoping for an excuse to get you alone for a minute?” A nice voice. Warm, friendly, playful. Also, a voice I haven’t heard in four years. Disbelief makes it tough to move, but I manage to turn slowly. Am I dreaming?
“Enzo?” I can’t believe my eyes. I have to be imagining this.
The man in front of me looks like the boy I loved, but sharper.
Harder. Like marble that’s been chiseled until nothing but the most essential parts remain.
Even his eyes, the same shade of twilight blue, are harder than they used to be. Actually, they are sort of mean.
But they soften when I speak his name, and the change that comes over him is like a miracle.
It’s as if he were wearing a mask that had slipped off to reveal the boy I used to know.
He sweeps dark blond hair away from his forehead in a gesture that’s painfully familiar before nodding. “Sophia. You look exquisite.”
“I can’t believe it’s you.” I still can’t wrap my head around this, and I have to laugh at myself for being so awkward. “Where have you been? Where did you go?”
“That’s a story much too long to get into here and now, but I would like to,” he adds with something close to the boyish grin I fell in love with years ago.
I can’t help looking him up and down with admiration, then whistling softly and giving him a thumbs-up that makes him chuckle. “Whatever you’ve been doing, it’s working. Look at you!”
He finally lets go of my hand, holding his arms out to the sides and smirking. “I clean up well.”
“Very well.” Well enough to make my heart flutter, but that has a lot to do with the joy of seeing him again when it was the last thing I ever expected. The rush of desire that used to follow on the heels of my joy isn’t there. It’s more like warmth now. I want to hug him, but that’s all.
“Mrs. Santoro?” I hear the name being called out nearby, but it doesn’t register. Once, twice, until I realize I’m the person the photographer is talking to.
And just like that, reality kicks in.
I’m not the girl I used to be.
I’m another man’s wife.
A man who will probably wonder who I’m talking to if he’s even noticed, not that I care all that much when I look up at Enzo.
A moment like this doesn’t happen every day.
But I promised myself I’d be a good girl tonight for the sake of playing along, which means putting on my most grown-up, pleasant smile before nodding to the photographer. “I’ll be right with you.”
“Mrs. Santoro.” Enzo’s voice deepens and takes on an edge that makes me shiver. “I forgot to congratulate you on the happy occasion.”
“Thank you. It was sudden.” There I was, so happy to see him, but I didn’t think about what it would mean to know I’m married to another man who’s considered good enough for me this time. He has to feel insulted, right? Or maybe I’m flattering myself. I hope I am.
“Don’t leave without saying goodbye,” I whisper, catching sight of Dante as he approaches from across the room. “I really would love to talk to you and find out everything I’ve missed.”
Enzo turns away and lets the crowd swallow him, leaving me standing alone by the time Dante reaches me.
“Everything all right?” he asks with a frown. “Your cheeks are flushed.”
“It’s warm in here,” I almost snap before reining myself in.
Too late.
His head snaps back, and his mouth twists into a scowl, and I’m probably acting suspicious, aren’t I? “You look like you saw a ghost. Remind me not to care next time.”
“Wait. I’m sorry.” It’s awkward, and I’m not sure I should do it, but I reach out anyway to touch his arm. “I’m a little jumpy. I just ran into someone I hadn’t seen in a long time, and I didn’t expect to.”
“Well, try to get over it,” he murmurs, not unkindly. “These pictures are going to be published all over the place, and you don’t want to look shell-shocked in them.”
“How do you know?” I ask. “Maybe I like looking shell-shocked.” Nobody could be more surprised than me when he snickers before leading me over to the display where the photographer waits.
Dante drapes an arm around my waist, pulling me close, the way newlyweds are supposed to stand together.
We’re supposed to be in love. We need to act that way.
I tilt my head toward his chest, widening my smile, dipping into my memory to remind myself how it used to be, and how I used to feel when Enzo and I were together.
Any hope of living in the moment tonight faded away as soon as I saw him. All I can do now is go through the motions, nodding politely, chuckling softly at jokes told by strangers, making mindless small talk, and trying like hell to keep names and faces straight.
Because he is here.
Because until tonight, until hearing him say my name, I didn’t really feel dirty about all of this.
I mean, I’m not exactly proud of myself for going along with this wedding, but it wasn’t until I stood in front of Enzo and bore the weight of his judgment that I wished I could crawl into a hole and not come back out.
And he’s watching.
He’s still here somewhere.
Because I feel his gaze on me, even if I can’t see him.
Granted, I don’t feel comfortable doing more than glancing around occasionally, since I don’t need Dante noticing my distraction. This isn’t something I want to get into. We don’t even know each other. Why would I open up about my past?
“What are you hiding?” Dante murmurs, his breath tickling my ear.
We’ve just wandered away from an older couple who can’t stop gushing over the fact that we aren’t on a honeymoon so soon after the wedding, when he gently takes the half-empty champagne flute from my hand and sets it down on a random table, then leads me onto the dance floor.
I’m too busy feeling like a deer in headlights to do more than laugh softly. “What do you mean?” I ask as he pulls me along.
“Come on. You’ve been on edge. Looking around like you’re waiting for a bomb to explode.
” We find a space, and he comes to a stop, drawing me near with an arm around my waist, his hand pressed against my lower back.
Boy, I wish it didn’t feel so good to be touched.
It’s been way too long, and my body likes it way too much, going warm and soft like a marshmallow.