24. Chiara
24
CHIARA
I wake up feeling refreshed, a newfound strength coursing through me. The memories of last night with Dante flood my mind, bringing a blush to my cheeks. It’s not like I haven’t sucked Dante’s cock before, but the look on his face when I let him finish in my mouth? Ugh. So good.
As I get dressed, I make a decision. I can’t keep living this lie. I need to tell Papa the truth—about my feelings for Dante, about my desire to break off the engagement with Pyotr. It won’t be easy, but after last night, I know it’s necessary.
Papa will just have to accept that I love someone else and want to be with Dante. He’ll have to understand.
With determination in my steps, I head toward Papa’s office before breakfast. My heart is pounding, but I feel ready. This is the right thing to do.
Without thinking, I burst into the office, the words already forming on my lips. But I stop short, startled to find not just Papa, but Pyotr and his father, Mykola, already there.
“Chiara!” Papa exclaims, his voice filled with unexpected excitement. “Perfect timing, Tesoro . We were just finalizing the wedding plans!”
My heart drops to my stomach. Wedding plans? Finalized? No, this can’t be happening.
“I… what?” I stammer, trying to process this sudden turn of events. I feel like I’m in a nightmare. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to tell Papa about Dante, to explain my true feelings. Instead, I’m standing here, watching as my future is being decided without me.
I’m frozen as Papa turns to me with an expectant smile. “What do you think, Chiara? We were just discussing the possibility of moving up the wedding date. Since it will be here at the estate anyway, we could have everything ready much sooner.”
I sputter, completely caught off guard. My mind races, trying to find the right words, but nothing comes.
Pyotr steps forward, his voice smooth and understanding. “I think we may have surprised her, Don Marino. Perhaps Chiara and I could take a walk and discuss this further?”
Papa nods approvingly. “Excellent idea, Pyotr. Chiara, why don’t you show your fiancé the gardens? You two can talk things over.”
Before I can protest, Pyotr’s hand is on my elbow, gently guiding me toward the door. “Shall we, my dear?”
I manage a weak nod, my throat tight with unshed tears and unspoken words. As we step out into the hallway, I hear Papa and Mykola resume their conversation, their voices fading as Pyotr leads me toward the garden exit.
The fresh morning air hits my face as we step outside, and I take a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. Pyotr’s hand is still on my elbow, a polite but possessive touch that makes my skin crawl.
As we walk through the lush gardens, my eyes are drawn to the ornate fountain in the center. My heart clenches at the sight. It was there, a year ago, that Dante confessed his feelings for me. Our first kiss, the beginning of our love story, happened right by that fountain. Now, as I stand here with Pyotr, it feels like that chapter of my life is about to be forcibly closed.
The roses are in full bloom, their sweet scent filling the air. Normally, I’d find it comforting, but today it feels cloying, overwhelming. Everything about this beautiful garden, once a source of joy, now seems to mock me with memories of a love I might have to give up.
Pyotr’s voice breaks through my panicked thoughts. “Chiara, I wanted to apologize for last night. I was too forward, and I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”
I blink, trying to focus on his words. “It’s… it’s fine,” I manage to say, though my mind is still reeling from the idea of having even less time to convince Papa to break off this engagement.
Pyotr must sense my distraction because he continues gently, “Your father mentioned something about his health issues. He said he was hoping to live long enough to walk you down the aisle. That’s why he suggested moving up the wedding date.”
My heart drops. Papa’s health… I’d been so caught up in my own turmoil, I hadn’t even considered how this might be affecting him.
“But,” Pyotr adds, his voice softening, “if you need more time, I understand perfectly. We don’t have to rush if you’re not ready.”
I look up at him, surprised by his consideration. For a moment, I see him not as the obstacle to my happiness with Dante, but as a person with his own hopes and feelings. It makes what I know I have to do even harder.
“I… I appreciate that, Pyotr,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
Pyotr continues, his voice thoughtful, “I must admit, the brevity of our engagement initially gave me pause. In my experience, such rushed arrangements often conceal… complications.”
“Complications?” I ask stupidly, my mind too much in shock to really understand what he’s saying.
Pyotr raises an eyebrow and looks at me before understanding dawns on his face. He squeezes my hand gently and smiles. “Ah, my mistake, Chiara. I forget I’m talking to an innocent. Complications meaning a pregnancy.”
I laugh nervously, my heart pounding. “Oh, no! No, I can assure you, that’s not what this is about at all.”
He smiles again, seeming relieved. “I’m glad to hear it. I just wanted to be certain you weren’t being pressured into this for any unsavory reasons.”
His consideration touches me, even as it adds to my inner turmoil. I find myself confessing, “Having my father walk me down the aisle… it does mean a lot to me.”
Pyotr’s eyes soften. "Of course it does. I would move heaven and earth to make sure my parents were there for my wedding, too. Family is everything, isn’t it? And your father is a remarkable man. I can see how much he loves you.”
His words strike a chord, reminding me of Papa’s happiness at the prospect of this marriage. The conflict between my heart and my head rages on.
“You know, Chiara,” Pyotr says, his voice gentle, "I want you to be happy in this marriage. I know I’ve said this before but I hope that, in time, we can build something beautiful together.”
I nod, unable to form words. Pyotr is saying all the right things, showing a kindness and understanding that I hadn’t expected. It should make me feel better, but instead, it only adds to my guilt.
Because even as I consider my father's happiness and Pyotr’s genuine attempts to connect, Dante’s face fills my mind. His beautiful smile, the warmth in his eyes when he looks at me, the feeling of safety and love I experience in his arms. The thought of living without him, of never experiencing that deep connection again, breaks my heart.
“Chiara?” Pyotr’s voice breaks through my reverie. “Are you alright?”
I blink back tears, forcing a smile. “Yes, I’m fine. Just… overwhelmed, I suppose. I wasn’t expecting Papa to say that when I came into his office.”
He nods understandingly. "It's a lot to take in. But remember, we're in this together now."
As we continue our walk, I feel the weight of my decision pressing down on me. How can I choose between my family's expectations and the love of my life? How can I break Pyotr’s heart when he’s being so kind?
And most importantly, how can I live with myself if I give up on Dante?
The answers elude me, and with every step, I feel like I’m walking further into a trap of my own making.
“What do you think about moving up the wedding date?” Pyotr asks. “I must confess, I am eager to marry you. But I don’t want you to think I’m pressuring you. I just want there to be complete honesty between us.”
Well, that only makes me feel more guilty because I’ve never been honest with Pyotr.
As I open my mouth to respond to Pyotr’s question about moving up the wedding date, my words die in my throat. There, standing directly in our path, is Dante. My heart leaps into my throat at the sight of him, even as my stomach plummets with fear.
Dante looks absolutely livid. His jaw is clenched tight, his eyes blazing with a fury I’ve rarely seen. His hands are balled into fists at his sides, knuckles white with tension. Every line of his body screams barely contained rage. He’s staring at Pyotr with such intensity that I’m surprised my fiancé doesn't burst into flames on the spot.
I’m suddenly acutely aware of how close Pyotr and I are standing, of his hand still resting lightly on my elbow. Dante’s eyes flick to that point of contact, and I see a muscle in his jaw twitch.
Dante’s words from last night echo in my mind: “I would have pummeled that asshole within an inch of his life for kissing you when you didn’t want it.”
The memory sends a chill down my spine. I know Dante. I know how protective he can be, how fiercely he loves. And right now, seeing him face to face with Pyotr, I’m terrified that this might end in a terrible confrontation.
Pyotr, oblivious to the tension radiating from Dante, offers a polite smile. “Ah, you must be Dante. I’ve heard a lot about you from Don Marino and your excellent father. Your father is very proud of you.”
Dante’s eyes narrow, and I can practically see him weighing the consequences of throwing the first punch. My heart is racing, caught between my love for Dante and my fear of what might happen if he loses control.
I need to defuse this situation, and fast. But as I stand there, trapped between the man I love and the man I’m supposed to marry, I feel paralyzed. Whatever I do next could change everything, and I’m not sure I’m ready for those consequences.
The tension in the air is palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. It feels like we’re balanced on a knife’s edge, and one wrong move could send us all tumbling into disaster.