Chapter 7 Alina #2
Matilda, our ever-efficient servant, bustled between the table and the kitchen doors, setting out fine china with practiced precision, folding napkins just so, and adjusting each dish with a discerning touch.
It was a beautiful morning, idyllic even.
And yet, as I took my place at the table, the memory of Balthazar’s kiss still clung to my lips like the taste of something forbidden and sweet.
I carried our secret night like a hidden flame in my chest. The sunlight seemed to shine a little brighter because of him.
Mother and Father were already seated, their attention on the morning news sheet.
“Good morning, Papa,” I said, kissing his cheek.
“Good morning, Mammina,” I added, moving around the table to kiss her soft temple.
“Good morning, dear,” Mother replied absently, her eyes not leaving the page.
Papa, however, looked up.
His gaze caught mine and held it.
“You look cheerful,” he said, his voice threaded with suspicion. There was something in how he said it—searching, as if he were testing me. “Is it the picnic with Lord Amato that has you so delighted? Or is it… Something else?”
My stomach clenched at the name.
Davide Amato.
I had tucked him away in the farthest corner of my mind, hoping to forget the inevitable. But now, like a storm cloud gathering on the horizon, he was back—looming.
The thought of being alone with him made my skin crawl. Still, I couldn’t let Papa see the revulsion that curdled in my stomach.
So, I smiled.
Sweet. Practiced. Lethal.
“It’ll be nice,” I said, the words hollow, the lie barely stitched together. I tried to sound excited, but all I could think about was how desperately I wanted to escape into Balthazar’s arms.
Davide Amato was respectable. Polished. And painfully ordinary next to the wild, unpredictable fire that was my true love.
Davide stood tall with a confident posture and a well-built frame that demanded attention.
His dark, wavy hair brushed just above his shoulders, and a neatly trimmed beard framed his sharp jaw.
His eyes—a deep, deceptive brown—often glittered with ambition and a hint of something darker.
He dressed with calculated elegance, each outfit curated to amplify his charisma and status.
But I saw through the charm. Through the smiles and sweet words.
Beneath the charm was a man who sought power, not partnership. He wore manners like a mask and hid manipulation behind every compliment. Unfortunately, my parents were blind to it all. They fawned over his potential, his prospects, and his polished name.
“When are you leaving?” Mammina asked, her gaze burning through me like fire.
“This afternoon,” I answered, my voice tight with restrained fury. “His carriage is due in six hours.”
“Be sure to dress appropriately,” she said, each word dipped in condescension.
My temper flared. “What does that mean?”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “Something pretty, dear. Something that reflects your station in life—impeccably.”
The rage rose in me like a tide, hot and suffocating. I stared at her, then at Papa, my fingers curling into fists beneath the tablecloth.
They were always watching and meddling, always pushing me toward a future I had no desire to live.
Marriage. Children. Obedience.
I wanted none of it. Not yet. Not like this.
And yet... despite the fire licking at my insides, I knew their interference came from love. Twisted, misguided, suffocating love—but love nonetheless.
That didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
With an exhale, I let my shoulders fall, softening my posture just enough to appear agreeable.
“Of course, Mammina,” I said sweetly, the demure edge in my voice carefully honed. “I’ll wear my finest picnic attire. Wouldn’t want to embarrass the family.”
At precisely two o’clock, I descended the stairs with practiced grace, every step measured, every detail of my appearance curated like armor.
I wore an emerald-green silk gown that clung to my waist and flared with elegance.
The low-cut bodice drew attention without apology.
Puffy sleeves, delicately embroidered with tiny flowers, added a touch of softness.
A wide-brimmed hat, tied with cascading ribbons, sat atop my head, completing the ensemble.
Fine gold chains shimmered against my collarbone, and my low-heeled leather shoes clicked lightly against the polished floor.
Davide was already comfortably ensconced in the front parlor, speaking with my parents as if he were already family.
I froze on the final step—my breath caught like a hook in my throat.
“I’d like to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage,” Davide said, calm, confident… calculated.
My stomach twisted into knots. Rage, dread, and betrayal surged in equal measure.
Papa replied with a thoughtful hum. “You’re an upstanding young man, Davide. But can you provide for her? Care for her in the way she deserves?”
“Naturally,” Davide said with a self-satisfied smile. “My banking career is quite lucrative.”
I stood just out of sight on the parquet floor, paralyzed. To my left, through the archway, stood the people deciding my future without me. To my right, the door. Escape.
For one wild moment, I considered bolting and running as far as I could, straight back to Balthazar, to passion, to freedom.
But I knew I had to face them—at least for now.
Plastering on a smile, I stepped into the room with feigned delight.
“Why, hello, Lord Amato,” I said, sweeping into the parlor like I hadn’t just overheard my entire fate being bartered away.
Davide shot to his feet, his eyes gleaming as if he’d already won.
“Lady Tocino,” he said, bowing slightly before taking my hand and kissing my knuckles. “You look… splendid.”
“Thank you,” I said sweetly, fluttering my lashes with mock modesty. All the while, my mind raced behind the mask.
There was no way in hell I would marry Davide Amato.
My parents clucked and chirped around me, their voices merging into a dull, ceaseless drone of admonishments and expectations. Each word grated against my ears, a reminder of the future they were eager to thrust upon me.
They believed this was the grand send-off, the moment their precious daughter would finally become a betrothed lady. I could see it in their shining eyes and hear it in Mammina’s sniffles as she fussed with the lace on my sleeve.
But I had other plans.
We bade them farewell, their faces aglow with hope. Mammina dabbed at the corner of her eye with a silk kerchief, no doubt already imagining the wedding feast, the flower arrangements, the seating charts.
I slid my hand into the crook of Davide’s arm like a dutiful daughter, all charm and grace, and let him lead me outside.
Waiting in the drive was his carriage—a gleaming black calèche, its polished frame glinting in the sun. The fold-down roof had been unlatched and pulled back for the day’s heat, giving the open vehicle a grand, parade-like presence.
Then it happened.
I lost my footing and stumbled forward.
The two snow-white Andalusians reared slightly, their muscles tensing, nostrils flaring. The whites of their eyes flashed in alarm, and their manes whipped like storm-tossed waves. They jerked against the reins, hooves stamping, as if sensing something unnatural in the air.
Davide sprang into action, his voice thunderous.
“Ivory Moon! Frostfire! Whoa, steady!”
He yanked the harness, his jaw clenched as he fought to calm them. The horses whinnied and snorted, unsettled by something unseen.
At last, they stilled, their ears twitching in the quiet morning.
Davide turned back to me, his expression a mix of confusion and irritation. “I don’t know what got into them. They’re usually well-behaved.”
I smiled sweetly as I slipped onto the plush leather seat first, smoothing my skirts with practiced grace before he joined me.
“Perhaps they saw something that spooked them,” I said softly.
“Perhaps,” Davide replied, climbing in beside me. “But I don’t want you to worry. I’d never put you in harm’s way.”
He clucked and snapped the reins against the horses’ rumps, urging them into a quicker pace, eager to escape whatever had startled them.
I didn’t understand why the horses had reacted to me, but the thought lingered, curling around my mind like smoke.
And then, a plan began to take shape—a wicked little bloom of possibility.
What if Davide were removed entirely, not just from my life but from everyone’s?
The idea filled me with a dark thrill.
I didn’t yet know how to make it happen, not exactly. I wasn’t sure how to frighten the horses on command, how to stage an accident that didn’t implicate me. But I was clever. Resourceful.
I’d find a way.
We trotted along the dusty road until Davide finally drew the reins and brought the carriage to a stop near a creek. The water trickled gently along the bank, framed by swaying grasses and low-hanging trees. The scene was idyllic, but I felt nothing.
He stepped down and circled to my side, reaching up with both hands to grab my waist. His fingers closed around me with unnecessary familiarity.
My skin prickled under his touch.
Instead of helping me down, he spun me in a circle, his face beaming with delight. “Oh, my beautiful Alina.”
I forced a smile, dizzy from both the motion and my growing disgust. When my feet touched the earth, Davide lunged forward for a kiss.
I stepped back just in time, avoiding his lips.
He froze, blinking as if he couldn’t fathom what had happened.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Is something wrong? Is my wildcat lover suddenly shy?”
I stared at him, the bitterness rising like bile in my throat.
Yes, I had defied the rules of modern propriety with Davide—just as I had with others. But this… this had turned into something else entirely.
Davide didn’t see me as a lover.
He saw me as a prize.
A wife.
A possession.
And that… was unacceptable.