20. Chiara
20
CHIARA
W ait, what am I doing?!
Horror grips me as I seemingly wake up from a trance, realizing that Pyotr’s not just talking about wanting to kiss me. He’s actually going for it.
My mind races. This is so forward, so unexpected. In our world, in Italian arranged marriages, the first kiss is supposed to be at the altar, when we’re announced as man and wife.
It’s tradition, it’s proper, it’s…
But before I can fully process what’s happening, his lips are on mine. I’m so stunned, I half expect one of Papa’s men to appear out of nowhere, to stop this impropriety. But no one comes. It’s just Pyotr and me, alone on this balcony, and he’s kissing me.
The feeling is disturbingly foreign. Pyotr’s lips are soft, even inviting, but they’re not… they’re not Dante’s. The wrongness of it crashes over me like a wave.
I stand there, frozen, as Pyotr’s lips move against mine. My body refuses to respond, caught between the shock of the movement and the ingrained politeness that prevents me from pushing him away.
Every second feels like an eternity. My mind is screaming at me to stop this, to pull away, to explain that this isn’t how things are done. But my body remains immobile, paralyzed by the unexpected turn of events.
As the kiss continues, all I can think about is Dante. The way his lips feel against mine, familiar and perfect. The passion and love I feel when we kiss. The rightness of it all.
This… this is all wrong. Pyotr’s kiss is gentle, almost tentative, but it feels like a betrayal. A betrayal to Dante, to our love, to everything we’ve shared.
I promised myself to Dante, and here I am, accepting a kiss from another man.
I’m betraying Dante.
That thought causes me to jerk back abruptly, breaking the kiss mere moments after it’s begun, even though it feels like hours have passed. My heart is racing, and I feel a flush of embarrassment and guilt creeping up my neck.
“I–I’m so sorry,” I stammer, taking another step back. “I wasn’t prepared for such an… intimate gesture.”
Pyotr looks surprised, his brow furrowing in confusion. I rush to explain, my words tumbling out in a nervous jumble.
“In Italian culture, for arranged marriages, we usually wait until the wedding for the first kiss,” I say, wringing my hands. “It’s tradition, you see.”
Understanding dawns on Pyotr’s face, followed quickly by a look of contrition. “Oh, Chiara,” he says, his voice soft. “I’m the one who should apologize. I had no idea. In Russia, we’re not quite so… traditional.”
I nod, still feeling off-balance. But then I notice something in Pyotr’s expression that makes me uneasy. There’s a glint in his eye, almost… appreciative?
“That’s actually quite adorable,” he says, a small smile playing on his lips. “I like how innocent you are, Chiara. Don’t worry, we’ll take things slow.”
His words make me feel uncomfortable, but I force a smile, not wanting to offend him.
Pyotr continues, his voice taking on a tone that sends a shiver down my spine—and not in a good way. “You know, it’s not always so with young ladies these days. But I put great value on the idea of being the only man you’ve ever been with.”
I feel a surge of indignation at Pyotr’s words, mixed with a deep sense of mortification. His assumption about my “innocence” couldn’t be further from the truth, and a nasty part of me wants to tell him exactly how wrong he is. I imagine the shock on his face if I were to describe the things Dante and I have done together—things that would likely make Pyotr’s ears turn red.
But that vindictive thought quickly fades, replaced by a cold fear that settles in the pit of my stomach. What if this becomes a larger problem? What if Pyotr were to find out that I’m not the virgin he clearly believes me to be?
My mind races with possibilities. How would he ever know? Would he expect me to bleed on our wedding night if we end up getting married? The thought makes me feel sick. Would I need to fake it somehow? Would I somehow need to smuggle a knife to bed and prick my skin to sell the lie?
I feel my stomach twist with anxiety and disgust at the very idea. The fact that I’m even considering such deception makes me feel dirty, ashamed. This isn’t who I am. This isn’t the life I want.
But I also know how important virginity is in our circles. How fathers lord how ‘innocent’ their daughters are, promising whatever man they’ve sold their daughter to that the girl will come to the marriage bed undefiled.
Sofia was lucky the man she lost her virginity to ended up being her husband. Bianca… well, I know she had a thing for James Ambrosio at one point, but I doubt it ever led to sex. And even if it did, Rork doesn’t seem like the type of man who cares.
As Pyotr continues to smile at me, clearly pleased with his own assumptions about my virtue, I feel more trapped than ever. The weight of my secret—of my relationship with Dante, of my true self—presses down on me, threatening to suffocate me.
How did I end up here, caught between the man I love and a fiancé who values me for something I’m not?
The guilt, the fear, the anger at being reduced to nothing more than my perceived “innocence”… it all swirls together into a toxic mixture that leaves me feeling more lost than ever.
I quickly compose myself, forcing a strained smile. “I’m so sorry, Pyotr, but I suddenly have a terrible headache. I think I should retire for the night.”
Before he can respond or, God forbid, try to comfort me, I turn and hurry back into the house. My steps are quick, almost frantic, as I make my way out of the ballroom and to my bedroom. I can feel the emotion building inside me, threatening to spill over, and I’m desperate to reach the sanctuary of my room before I completely fall apart.
As soon as I close my bedroom door behind me, the tears I’ve been holding back start to fall. I lean against the door, sliding down until I’m sitting on the floor, my knees pulled up to my chest.
The guilt is overwhelming. Pyotr kissed me. Even though I pulled back as soon as my stunned body could react, it still happened. I let it happen. And now I feel like I’ve betrayed Dante in the worst possible way.
I bury my face in my hands, my body shaking with silent sobs. All I want right now is Dante. I want to feel his arms around me, to hear his voice telling me everything will be okay. The ache of missing him is almost physical, a pain in my chest that won’t go away.
How did everything get so complicated? Just hours ago, I was in Dante’s arms, feeling safe and loved. Now I’m here, crying on my bedroom floor, feeling more lost and alone than ever.
The memory of Pyotr’s kiss lingers, making me feel dirty, tainted. It wasn’t passionate or loving like Dante’s kisses. It was foreign, wrong . And yet, I let it happen. I didn’t push him away immediately. The guilt of that moment of inaction eats at me.
What would Dante think if he knew? The thought sends a fresh wave of pain through me. Would he understand that I was just too shocked to react? Or would he see it as a betrayal?
I want to run to him, to explain everything, to beg for his forgiveness. But I can’t. I'm trapped here in this gilded cage, playing a role that feels more and more like a lie with each passing moment.
As the tears continue to fall, I find myself whispering Dante’s name into the darkness of my room. It’s a prayer, a plea, a promise. Somehow, some way, I have to find a way out of this mess. Because a life without Dante, a life pretending to be someone I’m not, isn’t a life I want to live.
A sudden knock at the door makes me gasp. My heart races as I realize my face must be blotchy and red from crying.
The knocking becomes more insistent, and I hear Sofia’s voice calling out, “Chiara? Are you in there? Can I come in?”
Horror engulfs me. I can’t let Sofia see me like this. She’s always been too perceptive, too good at extracting the truth.
“Go away, Sof,” I manage to croak out.
There’s a pause, then Sofia’s determined voice replies, “I will not. I’m coming in anyway.”
Before I can protest further, the door opens, and Sofia gasps as she takes in my tearful state. She quickly shuts the door behind her and rushes to my side.
“Chiara, what's wrong?” she asks, her voice filled with concern.
I shake my head, unable to speak, terrified that if I open my mouth, everything will come spilling out.
Sofia studies me for a moment, then asks gently, “Are you scared about your upcoming marriage?”
Relieved at the easy explanation, I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
Sofia sits down beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Oh, sorellina ,” she says softly. “I understand. It’s okay to be scared.”
I lean into her embrace, grateful for her presence even if she doesn’t know the whole truth.
“Listen, Chiara,” Sofia continues, her voice gentle but firm. “In times like these, when everything seems overwhelming, you need to follow your heart.”
My breath catches. Is she telling me to choose Dante?
Sofia, unaware of the impact of her words, goes on. “Papa has chosen a path for you, and it might seem daunting now. But if you listen to your heart, truly listen, it will guide you to happiness.”
To my ears, it sounds like she’s encouraging me to fight for my love with Dante. My heart races as she continues.
“Sometimes, the right choice isn’t the easy one. It might mean facing challenges, maybe even disappointing people. But in the end, you have to be true to yourself.”
I nod, hanging onto every word. Sofia thinks she’s telling me to embrace the arranged marriage, but to me, it feels like permission to follow my heart to Dante.
“You’re stronger than you know, Chiara,” Sofia says, squeezing my shoulder. “Trust in that strength. Trust in your heart. It won’t lead you astray.”
I nod.
“Sometimes, Chiara, we have to be brave enough to risk short-term pain for long-term happiness. For ourselves and for those we love,” Sofia finishes softly, nudging me gently. “Now, let’s get you ready for bed. Tomorrow is a new day, right?”
As Sofia helps me to my feet and guides me to bed, I feel a mix of gratitude and renewed determination. Her advice, though given blindly, has struck a chord deep within me.
Sofia gives me one last hug before leaving. “Remember, I’m always here if you need to talk. About anything,” she says meaningfully.
As the door closes behind her, I’m left alone with my thoughts once more. Sofia’s words echo in my mind, challenging me to be brave, to follow my heart. I close my eyes, exhausted but with a new sense of resolve forming.
As the hours tick by and the house finally falls silent, I lie in bed, my mind racing with thoughts of Dante and the weight of Sofia’s unintentional advice. Sleep feels impossible after everything that’s happened. The kiss with Pyotr, the guilt, the longing for Dante—it all swirls in my head, refusing to let me rest.
I glance at the clock. It’s well past midnight. By now, everyone should be asleep.
Making a split-second decision, I slip out of bed, my heart pounding. I can’t stay here, not with these thoughts consuming me. I need to see Dante, to explain, to make things right.