Chapter 15 #2
In the past, I'd never seen the future as something to hope for. Kid me just survived the day; adult me, the month. But now, picking crib colors for an unborn baby, I pictured life three months out, six, a year.
Enzo said he'd marry me. I'd get a diamond I liked, a kid. This house would turn into a real home.
It felt too good—good enough to scare me sometimes.
I flopped on the rug, buried my face in the catalog, and breathed deep, telling myself not to be that person who waited for the shoe to drop.
Around three that afternoon, the doorbell rang.
I sat up from the rug, watching Anna set down her rag and head to the door. I figured it was a delivery—Anna had ordered stuff for me. But when she opened it, I heard heels clicking on the porch.
Anna's voice came from the doorway, tight in a way I'd never heard. "Come in."
Then a woman stepped into the living room.
Golden hair pinned back, polished like a magazine cutout. Cream cashmere coat, a slim platinum necklace peeking out. Sharp features—high cheekbones, thin lips, eyes a pale, almost see-through blue.
I'd never seen anyone like her. Cold, haughty, commanding.
She planted herself in the middle of the room, eyes sweeping left to right, frowning. Then they landed on me.
"You're Chloe Bennett." Her voice matched her—cool elegance.
I stood. I had on a baggy tee and lounge pants, hair in a messy ponytail, no makeup. I rarely felt insecure about looks; this was an exception.
"Who are you?" Her tone wasn't friendly, so neither was mine.
"Valentina Lombardi." She lifted her chin, lips curving in something that wasn't a smile. "Enzo's fiancée."
Fiancée?
"Hi." My chest thudded like it'd been hit. I clenched my fists, steadying my voice. "But Enzo told me the engagement's off. You're done."
Valentina eyed me with pity mixed with amusement. She didn't rush to argue, just sauntered to the couch, shrugged off her coat, draped it over the back, and sat gracefully.
"Darling. If you believed Enzo, you're more naive than I thought."
She pulled a folder from her bag, tossed it lightly on the coffee table.
"Take a look."
My hands shook, but I sat and opened it.
An interview transcript. Subject: Martha Bennett. First thing, bold red text.
"She knew how to use her looks from a young age. Richard was just seduced by her."
The folder slipped from my hands, thudding loud on the floor. My fingers froze like ice.
Valentina picked it up, nail tracing the marked line.
"Your mom's straightforward." Her tone teased. "Looks like your talent with men runs in the family. Stepdad wasn't enough; now a mafia heir with a fiancée. Miss Bennett, you've got quite the appetite."
My temples pounded. Shame and rage from childhood flooded my chest, thick enough to choke me.
"Why'd you interview her?" My voice trembled; I hated that. "I didn't seduce anyone. Richard tried to assault me."
Saying his name made me want to puke.
"Oh?" Valentina arched a brow, zero sympathy. "Maybe. But are you innocent? What're you doing now? Sleeping in a taken man's bed, living in his house, carrying his kid. What do you call that?"
I opened my mouth, but nothing came.
Because she was right. On the surface, from outside, that's what it looked like.
"Enzo said the engagement's off." I clung to it like a lifeline. "He'll marry me."
"You've got it wrong."
Valentina slowly pulled two things from her bag. A gold-embossed invitation. Photos.
The invite had two names: Enzo Falcone and Valentina Lombardi. Date next month. St. Patrick's Cathedral in Manhattan.
Photos showed Enzo in a black tailored suit, the kind I'd seen him in a million times. Stone-faced, staring ahead. Valentina beside him in a floor-length white gown, arm linked with his.
They looked like a power couple straight out of a glossy mag. Perfect match. I stared hard, hunting for fakes.
Next month—he'd said it was off. But really, wedding next month.
My stomach twisted, pain sharpening as truth sank in.
The ring in his pocket, the "wait to marry me"—all lies.
My hands shook violently. The invite slipped, landing silent on the rug.
"You're lying. This is fake. Enzo wouldn't." My voice was dry, hollow—even I didn't buy it.
Valentina stood, slipping back into her coat.
"Darling Miss Bennett." She leaned in, voice low for us alone. "Enzo's not your idiot stepdad. He's the coldest, most rational man I know. He won't toss his throne for a stripper."
"You're just a toy. Accept it and leave. It's better for you."
She straightened, fixed her collar.
"Next month, fifteenth, St. Patrick's." Her heels clicked sharp across the floor to the door. She paused, glancing back with a smirk. "You're welcome at our wedding."
The door shut.
I sat on the couch, baby catalog open on my lap to "A Cozy Home for Baby."
I stared at the words; they blurred into a dark smear. Felt like they mocked me.
Anna came from the kitchen, setting a glass of water beside me.
"Miss Bennett, you okay?"
I looked up. Anna's face was worried, guilty. But I knew she wasn't tied to Valentina like that; she'd been waiting for someone, though.
I had no energy for it now. My head was mush, thoughts a tangled mess like overcooked soup.
"I'm fine. Need to be alone."
Anna gave me a complicated look for seconds, then nodded and slipped away quiet.
I collapsed on the couch, arm over my eyes, letting darkness swallow me. My mind spun—trust Enzo or her? No answer. By evening, I'd quit thinking.
Enzo would be back soon anyway.
An hour later, his footsteps echoed from the entry. He entered the dark living room, pausing at my outline.
"Why no lights?" He hit the switch. Warm glow lit my face; I squinted.
Enzo saw my expression, brows furrowing. He came over, crouched in front of me, hands bracing the couch, caging me in.
"What's wrong?"
I studied his face. Worry, concern—but maybe he'd shown the same to another woman.
I almost blurted about Valentina, almost threw the invite and photos at him. But I held back at the last second.
If he was lying, confronting would just get more bullshit to shut me up. He was a hundred times smarter; I'd never win head-on.
I needed to probe another way.
"Enzo." My voice stayed calm. "Is the engagement really off?"
No flicker in his expression. "I told you. It's off."
"And Valentina? She okay with it? Her family?"
His brow twitched. "Why ask now?"
"Just confirming." I looked down, dodging his eyes. "Been thinking about it. You said wait, but no details on the plan. Don't know how long or how you'll handle it. Makes me uneasy."
Every word was true. But I said them to watch him, not for comfort.
Enzo's hand covered my knee, thumb rubbing through the fabric.
"Chloe." His tone was certain. "You're pregnant; mood swings are normal. Don't overthink. I said I'd handle it—you just trust me."
I gazed at his close face; worries melted. Maybe Valentina was bluffing. Maybe Enzo was still untangling the engagement, lying to spare my feelings.
"Okay." I said. "I trust you."
Whatever the truth, I just needed him to love me—and not show at any woman's wedding next month.