5. Isabella
ISABELLA
Father once said my worth lies in knowing when to speak, which really meant knowing when to shut up.
For eighteen years, I've bitten my tongue and kept my face pleasantly blank while my mind filled with unspoken thoughts.
Whether it’s my situation or Alessandro Dante, that restraint falters.
But something about Alessandro Dante unravels my carefully cultivated restraint.
If my father knew I’d demanded Alessandro’s respect, his head would explode.
It’s a surprise and a relief that Alessandro didn’t remind me of my place.
"The flowers are lovely this time of year," he remarks as we make our way back to the house.
"Almost as lovely as the conversation we're pretending to have.” I freeze, horrified.
My hand flies to my mouth, but it's too late.
The words hang between us.
Instead of anger, Alessandro's mouth quirks. "You'd prefer what, exactly? Discussion of the territorial disputes?"
"At least it wouldn't be as artificial as commenting on horticulture." The filter between my brain and mouth seems to have malfunctioned.
He stops walking, studying me like I'm a puzzle. "Most women in your position would be more cautious."
"Most men in your position wouldn't tolerate this conversation." I should stop talking. I can't stop talking.
With amusement still in his eyes, he says, "You’re right. Perhaps I find honesty and boldness refreshing. Normally, I only get it from my siblings.”
His admission catches me off guard. "The one you banned?” Good God, I’m a glutton for punishment.
“My father exiled Luca, not me.”
“And yet you’ve been Don for a while and he’s still gone.” I’m about to blow this arrangement, which isn’t necessarily bad. I mean, as handsome as Alessandro is, I’d still rather go to school than get married.
But if I mess this up, my father will kill me… and I’m not sure I’m exaggerating.
“Luca has made his own way in Chicago. He’s quite content.”
I’ve heard that as well. Still, I’m not sure being candid with him is wise. “I doubt you truly want to know my thoughts and opinions, Don Dante.”
"Alessandro," he corrects, his voice softening. "And I'd like to hear what you actually think, not what you've been trained to say."
I search his face for deception and find none. Just curiosity.
"That's a dangerous request," I tell him. "My thoughts aren't always suitable for polite company."
His laugh is unexpected. "Then it's fortunate I've never considered myself particularly polite."
For the first time since this arrangement began, I feel the knot in my belly loosen.
Not that this will ever be a love match, but perhaps it will be a friendship based on respect.
"I wonder what other assumptions I've made about you that might be wrong," I say.
"Probably all of them." Alessandro's voice carries no arrogance, just certainty. "People see what I need them to see."
"Which is?"
"An uncompromising leader." He shrugs. "What about you? What assumptions have I made?"
I consider this. "That I'm a docile pawn in my father's game."
"You’re clearly not docile." His gaze holds mine. "Calculating, perhaps. Strategic, definitely."
The way he says it, not as accusation but appreciation, makes something shift inside me. It’s like I’m being seen for the first time.
“Yes, well, don’t tell my father that.”
“Soon, what your father expects won’t be an issue. You’ll have me to contend with.”
I stop and look up at him. “What are your expectations of me?”
His brow furrows. “I believe we’ve come to an accord on that. You’ll meet the expectations of a wife and I’ll provide you with security… and respect.”
Expectations of a wife. Surely, that’s more than smiling at dinner parties. “What other expectations?”
"You'll need to be more specific, Isabella."
"Heirs. Children. I assume that's part of why you agreed to this arrangement. To secure your legacy."
Alessandro's expression shifts. "Is that what your father told you? That your primary purpose is to bear my children?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "It was implied."
"Let me be clear," he says, stepping closer. "I have no interest in forcing you into motherhood. The Dante line will continue through my brothers. My legacy is the empire I build, not the children I sire. In fact, I’m not interested in being a father."
I blink. This wasn't the answer I expected from him. "So you don't..." I struggle to find the right words. "You don't intend for us to..."
"To sleep together?" Alessandro finishes bluntly. "Not unless it's something we both want. This marriage is a business arrangement."
Relief should wash over me.
After all, isn't this what I wanted?
To avoid becoming a brood mare?
And yet, the thought that he doesn't desire me creates an unexpected hollow feeling.
"I see.”
"Does that disappoint you?" His voice drops lower, and suddenly, I'm acutely aware of how close we're standing.
"No. I just…" My eyes drift to his mouth against my will. "I assumed certain things would be expected."
His eyes catch mine, and for a moment, I imagine what it would be like to be wanted by him.
Not just politically useful, but desired.
But that’s not what he wants.
He wants a wife for show, not to love.
He won’t touch me, but because he’s the Don and I’ll belong to him, no other man will, either.
I’ll be a virgin forever.
I'd accepted the idea of a loveless marriage, but I thought I’d endure his touch and have children to love.
Instead, I’ll be bound to this compelling man and never experience the intimacy that should come with it.
"So, we'll be what? Roommates?" I ask.
Alessandro watches me, and I see a flash of heat in his eyes. "The only expectation I have is honesty between us."
I nod, fighting the confusing urge to close the distance between us. When did I start wanting his touch? "Honesty. I can manage that."
“Good.”
He turns to continue the path to the house.
“Are you saying you don't find me attractive?" I blurt out like an idiot.
He stops, slowly turns back to me. I see that heat in his eyes again. "That's not what I said."
"You implied it." I tilt my chin up, wanting to appear strong, even as I feel like a silly girl. "Our marriage is a business arrangement."
"Don't put words in my mouth, Isabella."
I frown, because I’m pretty sure he said he didn’t want kids and that our marriage was business.
His jaw tightens. "I said I wouldn't force you. I never said I didn't want you."
The air between us crackles with tension.
I step closer, watching his pupils dilate. "So, you do want me?" I'm playing with fire, but I can't seem to stop.
"What game are you playing?"
“No game. Just wanting to know the rules. The boundaries.” I shrug with a casualness I don't feel. "No sex, then. That's fine."
"You're deliberately misunderstanding me."
"And you're deliberately being vague." I smile sweetly. "For a man who values honesty, you certainly dance around speaking plainly."
Alessandro's hand catches my wrist, not painfully, but firmly enough that I feel my pulse hammering against his fingers.
"Let me be plain, then. I find you attractive. More than I expected… more than I want. But I won't act on it unless you want me to. Understood?"
I swallow hard. "Perfectly."
His gaze drifts to my mouth, and my insides go molten hot as I anticipate him kissing me. My breath stills as I wait.
He releases my wrist and steps back as he clears his throat. “I think we’ve covered enough of this arrangement for now.” He turns, striding back to the house.
Later, after Alessandro leaves, I’m summoned to my father’s office.
His eyes narrow as I enter. "Well? Did you manage not to embarrass this family?"
I shrug. "We got along fine."
"Fine isn't good enough." His voice sharpens. "Was he pleased with you?"
The question makes my skin crawl, but I maintain my facade. "I believe so."
Father's expression shifts from suspicion to cautious approval. "Good. The wedding plans will proceed. Don't give him any reason to reconsider."
"Of course not. If that's all..." I’m not interested in rehashing my meeting with Alessandro to my father.
“Yes, that’s all.” He gives me a dismissive wave.
Once safely locked in my bedroom, I collapse onto my bed, replaying my encounter with Alessandro.
A smile tugs at my lips as I recall our verbal sparring in the garden.
The way his eyebrow raised when I challenged him.
The flash of approval in his eyes when I refused to back down.
Most men want docility.
Alessandro seems to crave my fire.
I find you attractive. More than I expected… more than I want.
The memory of his hand on my wrist sends heat spiraling through my body. Something electric passed between us in that garden.
I close my eyes, and heat builds inside me as all the memories come back.
I've never felt this way before.
This desperate, aching need that starts deep in my core and radiates outward is terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
I pull a pillow to my chest as I wonder what it would be like to have him here in my bed. Would he be gentle or demanding?
Suddenly, he's here with me in my imagination.
His lips press against mine, not tentative but sure.
Claiming.
In my mind, his hands cup my face before sliding down my neck, tracing the curve of my shoulder, dipping lower...
My breath catches. I've never been kissed, but somehow, I know Alessandro would kiss me like he means it.
Like he wants to devour me whole.
My hand drifts to my neck, tracing the path I imagine his lips would take.
Down my throat, across my collarbone. Lower still.
I shouldn't be thinking this way.
Shouldn't be touching myself like this, imagining it's him.
But I can't stop.
Don't want to stop.
My fingers trace the swell of my breast through the fabric of my dress, and I gasp at the sensation.
Is this what it would feel like if he touched me?
Better?
Worse?
Our wedding night looms in my mind, and it’s no longer something to dread but something to anticipate.
Will he be as controlled in bed as he is in life?
Or will he finally let his careful restraint slip away?
I press my thighs together, trying to ease the building ache between them as my exploration continues, guided by instinct and desire.
My fingertips drift lower, tracing the curve of my hip, hesitant at first but growing bolder as the ache grows. In my mind, Alessandro's voice whispers encouragements against my ear.
"Let go," he would say. "Show me what you want."
I slip my hand beneath my dress, my breath catching as I imagine his touch instead of my own.
The fantasy grows more vivid.
Alessandro's weight pressing me into the mattress, his hands gripping my wrists above my head, his lips trailing fire down my neck.
The way his eyes would darken as he watches me.
My fingers find slick heat between my thighs, and I gasp at the contact.
With his face in my mind, I circle the sensitive bundle of nerves, my back arching off the bed as pleasure builds inside me.
"Alessandro.”
My movements grow more frantic, chasing something I can't quite name.
In my mind, Alessandro watches me with those penetrating eyes, his expression hungry and possessive.
Mine, his gaze seems to say. And in this moment, I want to be his.
The tension coils tighter, my breath coming in short gasps until finally, it snaps.
Wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me, Alessandro's name coming out in a moan as my body trembles.
As the aftershocks fade, reality crashes back. I lie breathless, staring at my ceiling with wide eyes.
What have I done?
I press my palms against my hot cheeks, mortification and exhilaration battling inside me.
I've just pleasured myself while fantasizing about a man I barely know.
A man I'm being forced to marry.
A man who makes me feel more seen, more alive than I've ever felt before.
This wasn't supposed to happen.
I was prepared to endure this marriage as a political necessity, not to crave his touch.
These feelings complicate everything.
If I give him my body willingly, will my heart follow? And if it does, will he handle it with care or crush it?
I take a deep breath and stare at the ceiling.
Whatever path lies ahead with Alessandro, I'll walk it with my eyes open.
He was clear that this marriage is business and that his attraction to me, while something he’ll indulge if I want, isn’t something he wants.
He’s not looking for love and family.
So I’ll need to take care to keep my heart out of this arrangement because if I fall for him, I’ll only get my heart broken.