Chapter 18 Gabriella
Luca hasn’t mentioned the poker game again, not once. Instead of spending the night at the hotel in Milan as planned, we went back to the airport and immediately flew back home without explanation.
His silence is louder than any warning he could have given me. And yet, he’s acting as though nothing happened.
If that’s not enough to fray my nerves, tonight there is a big dinner planned with my father and Luca’s family. The first since our wedding day.
While the party is supposed to be a celebration, it feels more like a test I’m certain to fail. My father knows my sister too well. He’ll see something in me and realize I’m not Sofia.
"You look beautiful as always," Luca says from behind me, his hands settling on my shoulders as he meets my eyes in the mirror.
"Thank you." My voice sounds calm, but my pulse is racing. I lean back against him, trying to anchor myself in the steady weight of his presence. "Are you nervous?" I ask.
"About dinner with our families? Should I be?"
"Well, it’s dinner with Papa and it’s been a while since we’ve all been together," I say carefully. "Since the wedding."
"Right. The wedding."
The way he says it strikes me as odd, but before I can ask what he means, there's a knock at the door.
"That'll be Paolo," Luca says, stepping away from me. "Ready to go see you father?"
Hell no.
I'm absolutely not ready to sit through dinner with my father, who's going to be watching me like a hawk, looking for any sign that his business alliance is secure. I'm not ready to navigate conversation with Luca's family while he's studying my every move.
The restaurant Luca chose is the kind of place where they don't have prices on the menu because if you need to ask, you can't afford to eat there. Private dining rooms with servers who probably sign confidentiality agreements as part of their employment.
Both families are already seated when we arrive.
Luca's father at the head of the table, looking like a Roman emperor in an expensive suit. Luca’s stepmother beside him, dripping diamonds and the kind of satisfaction that comes from orchestrating successful social events.
My father across from them, chest puffed out with pride at this lucrative alliance.
And me, walking into the middle of it all, wearing Sofia's face and hoping no one looks too closely.
"Sofia, darling," Luca's stepmother rises to air-kiss my cheeks. "You look radiant. Marriage suits you."
"Thank you, Elena. You’re stunning as always."
I settle into my chair beside Luca. The conversation flows around topics I can navigate safely, the weather and Milan. I let others carry the discussion while I focus on being Sofia. Soft voice, polite agreement with whatever the men decide to order for us.
But I notice my father watching me. Too closely for comfort.
"Sofia dear, you seem much happier and confident since the wedding," he says during a lull in conversation. "Marriage is treating you well."
“It is,” I reply sweetly.
The conversation moves on, but he’s still studying me closely. Every gesture I make, every word I speak, he's comparing to memories of Sofia. And with each passing minute, I see the recognition growing in his eyes.
Dinner stretches endlessly. Course after course of food I can barely taste and conversation that feels like walking through a minefield. I contribute when spoken to, and try to play the perfect Romano wife.
But then my father figures it out.
"Excuse me," he says, standing abruptly. "I need some air. Sofia, would you walk with me? I'd like to speak with you privately."
"Of course, Papa."
My voice comes out steadier than I feel, but inside I'm screaming. This is it. This is where everything falls apart.
We excuse ourselves from the table and step out onto the restaurant's terrace. It's a beautiful night, warm and clear.
For a moment, we stand in silence. Then my father turns to me, and his expression is pure fury.
"What have you done?" His voice is barely controlled rage mixed with terror. "Where is Sofia?"
I don't try to deny it. There's no point now. "She's safe."
"Safe?" He grabs my arm, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. "Do you have any idea what you've put us all at risk for? What have you done, Gabriella?"
Hearing my real name spoken aloud after weeks of being Sofia is shocking. I pull my arm free and take a step back.
"I saved her," I say quietly. "She was terrified, Papa. She couldn't go through with it."
"You took her place? You let me walk my daughter down the aisle to marry a man who could kill us all when he finds out?" His voice is rising, desperation making him reckless. "How could you be so selfish? So stupid?"
"Selfish?" The word comes out sharper than I intended. "I sacrificed my freedom to save hers. To keep her healthy and alive. How is that selfish?"
"Because you've doomed us all! The Romano family doesn't forgive broken agreements. When they find out, I don’t know what they’re going to do but it won’t be good."
"They won't find out. Not if you don't tell them."
He stares at me like I've lost my mind. "You think you can keep this up forever? You think you can pretend to be Sofia for the rest of your life?"
"I think I can keep it up long enough for everyone to be safe."
"And Sofia? Where is she while you're playing house with her husband?"
"I don't know. That was the point. She needed to disappear completely."
"She could be dead. She could be hurt or lost."
"She's not dead." I cut him off before he can spiral further. "Lower your voice. Sofia is smart. She's capable. She's probably sitting in a café in Paris or anywhere else in the world, finally breathing freely for the first time in her life."
"You don't know that."
"No, I don't. But I know she was dying here. Slowly, quietly, perfectly, but dying all the same."
My father runs his hands through his hair, the careful styling forgotten. "The art gallery depends on this alliance. The Romano connection brings legitimacy and protection. Without it..."
"You’ll find another way."
"There is no other way!" His voice cracks with desperation. "Do you understand what you've cost us? What you've cost me?"
And there it is.
The truth as I knew it.
Not concern for Sofia's safety, not worry about the family's wellbeing. Concern for his carefully constructed empire built on making deals with dangerous men.
"I've cost you nothing," I say coldly. "The alliance still exists. The marriage still happened. The only thing that's changed is which daughter you sacrificed to make it work."
"Sofia was willing to do her part."
"Sofia was terrified and thought she didn’t have a choice. There's a difference."
He stares at me for a long moment, while he wrestles with the reality of what I've done. The impossibility of undoing it, the danger of exposing it.
"You have to fix this," he says finally. "Contact Sofia. Bring her back. Find a way to make this right. The two of you have to switch back before he kills us all."
"I can't contact her. I honestly don’t know where she is."
"Then what do you suggest we do?"
"We continue on as we are. I stay married to Luca, you keep your alliance, Sofia stays free. Everyone gets what they need."
"And when he finds out you're not Sofia?"
"He won't."
But even as I say it, I hear the lie in the words. Luca is already suspicious. Already asking questions I can't answer. How long before his investigation leads him to the truth?
"You're playing with fire," my father warns. "And when you get burned, you'll take all of us straight to hell with you."
Before I can respond, the terrace door opens behind us.
"Is everything all right?" Luca's voice is calm, but when I turn to look at him, his eyes are sharp with suspicion. "You both look upset."
"Just family business," my father says quickly, but his voice is strained. "Nothing that concerns you."
"Everything about my wife concerns me."
The way he says 'my wife' makes me wonder if it’s a challenge. As if he's testing whether my father will contradict him.
"Of course," my father says. "I was expressing my concerns about Sofia adjusting to married life. She's always been my little girl."
"She's not a little girl anymore. She’s married now."
The two men stare at each other across the terrace. My father's desperation, Luca's suspicion, and me caught in the middle with a secret.
"We should get back to dinner," I say, trying to break the moment. "Elena will think we've abandoned her."
"Good idea," Luca agrees, but his eyes never leave my father's face. "Family is so important, don't you think? It’s good that we had this dinner together."
"Yes," my father says weakly. "Family is everything."
We walk back into the restaurant together, but the easy atmosphere from earlier is completely gone.
Elena chatters about dessert and plans for future gatherings while my father can’t stop glancing at me with barely concealed panic.
Luca keeps studying both of us with those calculating eyes that miss nothing while calmly drinking a glass of wine.
By the time we say our goodbyes, my nerves are stretched to the breaking point. Luca hasn't said a word since we left the restaurant, but I notice him watching me when we return to the villa
"That was nice," I say as he closes the door behind us, trying to fill the silence.
"Was it?"
I turn to look at him. “Is something wrong?"
"You tell me, Sofia. Is there something I should know about your conversation with your father?"
The way he says my name - Sofia - makes it sound like a question. Like he's testing how I'll respond to being called by a name that may or may not be mine.
"It was nothing. Normal father-daughter talk."
"He seemed upset."
"He worries about me. It's what fathers do."
"Is it?" Luca moves closer. "Because from where I was standing, it looked more like he was afraid of you."
"My father? Afraid of me? That's ridiculous."
"Is it? Because I could have sworn I heard him say something about fixing this. What exactly needs to be fixed?"
"Nothing needs to be fixed. We're fine. Everything's fine."
"Are we? Because I've been thinking about tonight. About the way your father looked at you. About the things he said." His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "And I'm starting to wonder if my wife is exactly who she claims to be."
The words hang between us.
For a split-second, I consider telling him everything. About Sofia's terror, about the switch, about how I've been living a lie since our wedding day.
Instead, I do what I've been doing for weeks. I lie to my husband again.
"I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you?"
He reaches up and traces the line of my jaw with one finger, the touch gentle but somehow threatening.
"Because I'm very good at reading people. And right now, you look like someone who's hiding something very important from me."
"Everyone has secrets."
"Do they? What secrets are you keeping from your husband?"
The question hangs in the air, loaded with possibility and danger. I could tell him everything. I could confess and throw myself on his mercy and hope that what's growing between us is strong enough to survive the truth.
Or I could keep lying and hope that love built on deception can somehow become real.
"The only secret I'm keeping," I say, reaching up to touch his face, "is how much I've come to care about you."
It's not entirely a lie.
I am falling for him, despite everything. Despite knowing that when the truth comes out - and it will come out - it will probably destroy us both.
"Care about me?" His eyes search my face. "Is that what this is?"
"What else could it be?"
Instead of answering, he kisses me. Hard, desperate, like he's trying to find truth in the contact between us. I kiss him back just as fiercely, pouring all my confusion and fear and growing feelings into the connection.
When we break apart, we're both breathing hard.
"I think," he says against my mouth, "that we both have questions that need answers."
"Then maybe we should stop asking questions for tonight."
"And do what instead?"
I smile, slow and dangerous, and start working on the buttons of his shirt.
"Maybe we should focus on the things we know for sure."
"What would that be?"
"We know we're married. We know we want each other. We know that whatever's happening between us is real, even if everything else is complicated."
He catches my hands, stopping me from undressing him. "Is it real? What's happening between us?"
The way he asks it, like he genuinely doesn't know, breaks something in my heart.
"Yes," I whisper. "It's the most real thing I’ve ever felt."