42. Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Two
Mariella
I hold up the shimmering silver dress, a goofy grin spreading across my face.
It’s the one I saw at Gucci, the dress Mateo insisted on buying for me. I refused then, convinced I’d never have an occasion to wear something so stunning.
Its impeccable tailoring and flawless design strike the perfect balance between elegance and boldness. The hem stops mid-thigh, revealing just enough to be daring without crossing into scandalous territory, while the halterneck design covers my bust.
It’s a relief. I’m not sure I’d be comfortable showing too much cleavage.
I let my fingertips glide over the fabric. It’s smooth and weightless despite its elaborate sparkle.
Wow.
That grin? Yeah, it’s still plastered across my face.
Right until I realize I have no undergarments for a dress like this or the right shoes. My smile falters, replaced by a frown as my gaze drifts to my closet, trying to remember what I have that might go with this.
Hang on, there was a smaller package nestled inside when I first pulled the dress out, but in my excitement, it barely registered.
I carefully lay the dress on the bed and peek into the box. Sure enough, there’s an ivory box inside, and my breath catches as I stare at the elegant, silver-embossed logo.
La Perla .
I open the lid, revealing layers of delicate tissue paper, semi-sheer and so soft I worry it might dissolve at my touch. A small sticker, perfectly positioned, holds it all together. I hesitate, savoring the moment.
Even the faint scent rising from the box seems intentional, a subtle floral note that adds to the aura of indulgence.
Did Mateo pick this out? Or was it a store clerk?
My cheeks warm at the thought that it was Mateo.
I carefully peel away the sticker and unwrap a strapless lace bra. It’s intricate, bold and delicate and sits atop the soft folds of seamless nude panties. They’re folded so nicely it seems wrong to disturb them.
Beneath them is a pair of nude thigh-high stockings with a lace trim that matches the bra, so silky they almost glide through my fingers.
Again, I wonder if Mateo picked this out himself. Did he picture me in these? The thought leaves me flustered, but I can’t deny the thrill running through me.
Nobody has ever bought me anything like this.
My mother organized my wardrobe for my marriage to Renaldo Conti, right down to the lingerie, but nothing was this exquisite. Those pieces were practical, carefully chosen to meet expectations, not to make me feel special. This, though? It’s indulgent, luxurious, and very personal.
I stare at it for a little while longer, before turning my attention to a pair of silver stiletto heels in the bottom of the box, which complete the ensemble.
“Wow, just wow,” I mutter to myself, sinking onto the bed and admiring Mateo’s latest gifts.
He’s spoiling me.
Though to him this is likely just an outfit he’s providing for our club night. He probably does this sort of thing all the time for his dates.
Is this a date?
We all know how they usually end. Is this why he picked the La Perla garments?
What do I do if he wants more than a kiss?
God, I want more with him too, so much more. All of it, actually. But I’d be a dead woman if my father found out I’ve lost my virginity before marriage. To him, it’s not only a virtue, it’s a bargaining tool to secure me a husband.
In this day and age it shouldn’t matter anymore, but my world clings fiercely to such outdated traditions, wrapping them in layers of honor and pride that suffocate any hope of freedom.
My father’s crude warning keeps replaying in my head too. “Whatever you do, don’t spread your legs for him. It’s a guaranteed way for him to lose interest. Men like Mateo De Marco love the chase.”
Is that what this is?
A chase?
An amusing challenge with someone completely inexperienced?
The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth, dulling the excitement Mateo’s gifts had sparked.
No. He’s not like that. Mateo is kind and caring, though it’s hard to reconcile that with his position in la famiglia .
Am I fooling myself?
Probably. When you’ve got a crush on someone, it’s almost impossible to see things clearly, right?
And then there’s his reputation. He’s an unashamed playboy. What could he possibly want with someone insignificant like me?
I wish I could call Isa and tell her all about what happened and get her advice. She doesn’t even know about last night’s ambush and that I came that close to dying.
All of a sudden talking to her is all I can think about. But it’s unlikely she’ll have the phone with her, and if I tried the houseline, it would lead to too many questions from my mother.
And if I really was out of luck, Father might be there and demand a progress report. No, I can’t risk calling the house.
But I’ll try Isa. Maybe she’ll be in her room and hear the phone.
I go to the bedside table and open the drawer. I pick up Isa’s phone and glare at Father’s, my anger about what he wants me to do flaring up anew. It’s like the phone itself is a symbol of everything he’s trying to force on me. All I want to do is smash it against the wall.
My fingers itch to do just that, to throw it and stomp on it, but the fear Father has so effortlessly instilled in us girls resurfaces. I swallow hard, and instead of acting on my impulse, I push the phone deeper into the drawer until it’s completely out of sight, hoping that hiding it will bury the emotions too.
Then my gaze lands on Mateo’s phone. It taunts me. I should send him a message to thank him for his beautiful gifts, but until I can figure out his motivation, I don’t want to start a conversation with him, especially not over messages.
Closing the drawer, I open the message thread with Isa.
Me: Are you there? I NEED to talk with you.
I stare at the screen, watching the ticks confirming it’s been delivered, but they stay stubbornly gray.
Come on, Isa. Be there.
The minutes tick by, but my message remains unread. Dammit!
Now what?
The urge to talk to someone is overwhelming.
I need help to figure out what to do.
Should I cancel on Mateo tonight? But what a shame that would be given the stunning outfit I now have. I want to wear it! That’s my answer, isn’t it?
And I’ve never been to a club. This is my chance to experience things any normal twenty-year-old would. Who knows when I’d get the opportunity again.
I could handle Mateo’s advances, couldn’t I?
Yeah, because you didn’t completely melt into a puddle of goo when he kissed you , the cynical voice inside me replies.
Argh!
What to do?
Sofia .
She’d help me figure it out. And she’s been to plenty of clubs and could assist with my makeup.
Happy with my idea, I grab my makeup bag from the bathroom and head toward the wing where Sofia is held. I’ve been taking longer with each food delivery, and I’m sure whoever is monitoring things has figured out I’m talking to her by now.
No one’s said anything yet, though, so I figure it must be okay. They’d have pulled me aside by now for a stern talking to if it weren’t.
Nobody stops me as I walk past the guards patrolling the wing, clearly without food, and head toward the door that keeps Sofia prisoner.
I wonder, for a brief moment, what would happen if she walked out with me.
Would they stop me? Or would they assume I’m taking her somewhere she’s been summoned to? No, surely I wouldn’t get away with that. If she were to go anywhere, it would be under guard.
When I enter the room, Sofia is on the ground, gracefully moving through yoga poses while the television hums quietly in the background. So this is how she’s staying in such enviable shape, despite being locked up for weeks.
“You’ll be giving the security guard monitoring the video feed quite a thrill,” I say as I sit down on the bed.
Sofia gets up from the floor where she was in a pose arching her back as far as it will go, displaying her breasts to full advantage.
She winks at the camera, before turning to me, grinning.
“Gotta make his job a little more enjoyable. Can you imagine how boring it would be to stare at monitors all day?”
“As boring as being locked up inside here,” I reply.
“Well, at least I can watch movies and documentaries all day. Though by now I think I’ve watched pretty much everything.”
She looks at the clock on the wall before sitting down next to me.
“It’s not dinnertime yet. What are you doing here?” she asks with a frown. “Did something happen?”
I jump off the bed and shake out my hands. I’ve got the urge to pace, but this room really is too small.
“Mari?” Sofia asks with a raised brow.
Do I tell her?