9. Isabella
ISABELLA
I stare at my reflection in the mirror as Maria arranges my hair, twisting dark strands into an elegant updo suitable for tonight's charity gala. My face appears calm. Inside, I'm seething.
"You're fidgeting again, Miss Isabella," Maria chides gently.
"Sorry." I force my hands to still in my lap.
Since Enrico interrupted Alessandro and me at the engagement party, my family has orchestrated an elaborate game of keep-away. Anytime Alessandro is in the vicinity, I'm flanked by Enrico like a prison guard.
They think I don't notice their strategy. I do. I notice everything.
"The roses or the pearls for tonight, Miss?" Maria holds up two hair accessories.
"The pearls, please."
It’s one choice in a sea of decisions I haven’t been able to make for myself. I haven't selected my own wedding dress, flowers, or even the food that will be served.
Mother insists it's tradition for the family to handle arrangements, but I recognize the lie.
This is all a show.
A show of wealth.
A show of strength.
A show of power.
And it’s not just to the outside world, but to Alessandro himself.
My father and brother are using me to show him he has no power over them.
In my mind, it’s a dangerous game.
One they’ll lose.
Especially if they think I’ll be their inside person to spy on or manipulate Alessandro.
That’s not the sort of wife I want to be.
I close my eyes, remembering Alessandro's gaze on the terrace, the way his fingers felt brushing against my cheek. The almost-kiss replays in my dreams, always ending the same way. With Enrico's interruption, with Alessandro's eyes hardening from warm desire to cold contempt.
"All finished," Maria announces, stepping back.
I examine the woman in the mirror. Perfect makeup, perfect hair, perfect dress. The ideal Vitale daughter, ready to be handed over in a peace treaty.
"Thank you," I murmur as she leaves.
Seven days until the wedding. The thought sends conflicting emotions spiraling through me. Fear and anticipation, dread and hope.
Tonight’s charity gala is the last major event before the ceremony, and everyone who matters in New York will attend.
A knock at the door reveals Enrico, handsome in his tuxedo and wearing his usual smug expression.
"Time to go. Father says we can't be late."
"Heaven forbid we keep Alessandro waiting," I reply sweetly, gathering my clutch. "After all, you've been so diligent about ensuring we spend quality time together."
His smile falters at my sarcasm. "This arrangement isn't about romance."
"No," I agree, brushing past him into the hallway.
But as our car pulls away toward Manhattan, I can't help wondering if this pull between Alessandro and me could become more than just a business arrangement.
He’s clear that he’s not a man for sentiment. He doesn’t want children. But he’s not cold toward me. He’s agreed to respect me.
And there are moments when I see something more in his eyes that makes my breath stall.
The car pulls up to the hotel. Photographers hover near the entrance, hungry for a glimpse of New York's elite. Father exits first, helping Mother, then Enrico offers his hand to assist me.
"Remember who you represent tonight," he whispers, his grip tightening painfully around my fingers.
“How could I forget?”
The grand ballroom is abuzz with wealth and power. The mayor, bought and paid for by families like ours, greets everyone with the shallow enthusiasm my father shows toward attendees as well.
My parents immediately drift toward their circle of allies, Enrico following close behind after shooting me a warning glance.
The crowd shifts, and I see him.
Alessandro stands near the far wall, deep in conversation with the police commissioner.
His tuxedo fits his broad shoulders perfectly, the stark black and white highlighting the olive undertone of his skin.
His dark hair is swept back, revealing the sharp angles of his face.
My heart stutters in my chest.
As if sensing my gaze, he looks up. Across the crowded room, our eyes lock.
The air between us crackles with electricity. My lungs forget how to function. The room around us blurs into insignificance, fading away until there's only him and the magnetic pull drawing me toward him.
Alessandro excuses himself from his conversation, never breaking our gaze as he begins moving in my direction. His expression remains neutral, but his eyes burn with an intensity that makes my skin flush.
He reaches me, and before my brother can materialize to intervene, Alessandro extends his hand.
“Isabella. May I have this dance?"
I place my hand in his, electricity shooting up my arm at the contact. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten what I looked like."
His lips quirk. "Impossible."
My brother starts toward us, but my father presses his hand on Enrico’s shoulder and shakes his head.
My father knows that part of tonight’s show is the merging of two powerful families.
He wants the world to see how he’s handed me over to Alessandro Dante.
Alessandro guides me onto the dance floor, his hand settling at my waist as he pulls me close, not inappropriately so, but close enough that I feel the solid warmth of him.
"Your brother has been quite the dedicated chaperone," he murmurs as we begin to move. "I was considering having him fitted with a tracking device so I could avoid him more effectively."
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. "He's been insufferable. I half expected him to install bars on my bedroom windows."
"Would you have climbed out anyway?" His eyes dance with mischief as he spins me gracefully.
"To escape him? Absolutely."
"And to see me?" Alessandro's voice drops lower.
I look up into those dark eyes. "Yes."
The word hangs between us as we glide across the floor, other couples giving us a respectful berth. I'm acutely aware of every point where our bodies connect. His hand at my waist, my palm against his shoulder, our fingers intertwined.
"I've missed our conversations," I confess. "Everyone else treats me like a pet or a prize."
"And how do I treat you, Isabella?"
"Like an equal." I hold his gaze. "Like someone worth listening to." I just hope it’s not a show for my father. That it will continue after we’re married.
His fingers tighten around mine. "Because you are."
The music swells around us, and Alessandro pulls me closer, his cheek nearly touching my temple.
"Seven more days.” His breath is warm against my ear. "And then no one, not your brother, not your father, will stand between us."
The promise in his words sends a shiver through me, fear and anticipation mingling into something new.
"Is that a threat or a promise?" I ask.
Alessandro's smile is dangerous and beautiful. "Both."
"When the dance ends, I should return you to your family," Alessandro says, though his eyes communicate something entirely different. "After all, I don’t want to have to kill your brother."
"Of course not," I reply, knowing he’s not entirely kidding but responding as if he is. "The scandal would be terrible."
Alessandro leans closer, his lips near my ear.
"The ladies' powder room is down the hallway, I believe.
If you were to excuse yourself in about five minutes, I doubt anyone would find it suspicious.
" His voice drops even lower. "And if I happened to get lost looking for the bar around the same time... "
My breath catches. "That would be quite the coincidence."
"Indeed." His eyes darken with promise. "Coincidences happen all the time in places like this."
As he guides me back toward my parents, Alessandro's hand lingers at the small of my back. "Five minutes," he murmurs before stepping away with a respectful nod to my father.
I count each second, making polite conversation with my mother and her friends while anticipation builds inside me.
The thought of stealing a few private moments with Alessandro, away from watchful eyes, makes my skin tingle with excitement. Maybe this time, he’ll kiss me.
Honestly, I never understood the big deal about kissing… or sex, for that matter.
But now, with Alessandro, it’s like he’s a drug and I need a fix.
When the time comes, I excuse myself gracefully, citing the need to freshen up. I'm nearly to the hallway when Enrico materializes in front of me.
"Where are you going?" His voice drips with suspicion.
I arch an eyebrow. "To check whether my lipstick has smudged. Would you like to accompany me to the ladies' room? I'm sure it would make for interesting gossip."
His jaw tightens. "You think you're clever."
“And you’re annoying. Honestly, Enrico, shouldn't you be pursuing your own interests tonight rather than monitoring mine? Like perhaps that blonde by the champagne fountain who's been staring at you for the last twenty minutes?"
He glances over reflexively, his attention momentarily diverted.
"She's the daughter of Judge Harrington, you know," I add, seizing my chance. "Father would be delighted if you made that connection."
Enrico hesitates, torn between his duty to watch me and the opportunity to impress Father.
"Don't wait up," I say with a wink, slipping past him before he can protest.
I disappear down the hallway, my heart pounding with the thrill of rebellion and the promise of Alessandro's waiting arms.
Just as I’m about to reach the bathroom, Alessandro appears from the opposite direction.
"You came," I say.
"Did you think I wouldn't?" Alessandro's eyes darken as he approaches, and I step toward him instinctively, anticipating the press of his lips against mine.
Instead, he takes my hand, his touch igniting sparks along my skin. "Not here. Follow me."
Disappointment crashes through me, but I let him lead me as we slip past the ballroom.
"Where are we going?" I ask as we reach the hotel elevators.
Alessandro presses the button, his face unreadable. "Somewhere we won't be interrupted."
The doors slide open with a soft chime. He gestures me inside, following close behind. As we rise through the floors, I study his reflection in the polished doors. His jaw is tight, eyes forward. He stands at a distance despite the small space.
Does he feel nothing? The doubt creeps in. Perhaps I've misread everything.
His interest, the tension between us, the almost-kiss on the terrace.
Maybe this meeting is purely strategic, another business discussion about our arrangement.
The elevator slows, and Alessandro finally looks at me. "You're quiet."
"I'm wondering if I'm a fool," I admit.
His brow furrows in genuine perplexity. "Why?"
"Because I'm alone in an elevator with the man I'm supposed to marry in seven days, and I still don't know what you want.”
His expression softens. "Are you afraid, Isabella?"
"Yes.” Then I straighten my shoulders. "And no. I'm afraid of making a mistake. I'm not afraid of you."
Something shifts in his gaze. “A mistake by being alone with me or the marriage?”
“I have no choice in the marriage. If it’s a mistake, it’s one my father is making.”
“So, what mistake?”
I can’t tell him about all these new and wonderful emotions and sensations I feel when I’m around him. Not when he’s been clear that he doesn’t want a love match.
I shrug. “Nothing.”
The elevator stops and the doors open, but he doesn’t make a move to exit. Instead, he presses his hands against the wall, caging me in.
“Don’t you ever keep things from me. You want my respect, Isabella? You be honest. No bullshit.”
There’s a momentary flutter of fear until I see a mix of frustration and confusion in his eyes. It suggests that he’s as off-kilter from the unexpected spark that keeps arcing between us.
I find my courage. “My mistake might be in thinking this marriage might not be so bad, after all.”
“Not so bad. I feel like I should be offended.” But he doesn’t look offended.
“You haven’t been brutish, possessive—”
“That’s your mistake, because once we’re married, you’re mine. You’d be wise not to forget that.”
I know I should find those words offensive, yet something about the heat in his eyes has the words flooding my body with heat. Like I want to be possessed.
“You said you’d respect me,” I find the words to remind him.
He nods. “I’ll respect you. I won’t oppress you until you’re a shell of a woman.”
Clearly, he’s met my mother.
“But don’t forget the world you live in.”
I offer a derisive laugh and exit the elevator. “How can I possibly forget when my father, brother, and now you are always there to remind me?”
As I take in the area outside the elevator, I realize we’re on the roof where a lovely garden and twinkling lights give off a romantic atmosphere.
I stop short. “Did you do this?”
“Yes.”
When I turn to him, he looks uncomfortable. Like he’s been caught doing something nice and is embarrassed by it.
I smile at him as I loop my arm through his. “Your form of possession is so much nicer than my father’s.”
“Your brother would kill me for this.”
I sigh, realizing this is just a pissing contest. One that Alessandro is currently winning because he now has me alone in a compromising position.
I remove my arm and walk to the wall and take in the glittering lights of the city. “That would be unfortunate. Perhaps I should save you by returning to him? Or perhaps you want to bring me down again and gloat.”
“Is that what you want?”
I turn to him. “If I’m only here so you can teach my brother a lesson in respect, then yes.
I want to return downstairs. If, on the other hand, I’m here because you want to be with me, well, then…
” My breath holds as I wonder if I’m also a pawn in his eyes.
If all this effort to get me alone is his way of telling my father and brother they have no power over him.