Michael
I’m greeted the moment the front doors of the Messina estate swing open.
“Mr. Amato,” Matteo Messina booms, stepping forward with his hand already extended. “We are so thrilled you could make it.”
The enthusiasm is performative at best. Still, I take his hand and give it a brief shake before releasing it. His wife, Camilla, stands beside him wearing a perfectly rehearsed smile.
“You know my wife, Camilla,” Matteo continues smoothly. “And of course, Rosalia…your fiancée.”
Rosalia stands next to her mother, watching me. She’s polished as always, her caramel-colored hair pulled into a sleek high ponytail that doesn’t have a single strand out of place. A cream sundress fits her perfectly, paired with delicate heels.
“Rosalia,” I say.
Her expression softens into a genuine smile. “Michael. It’s good to see you.”
I don’t smile back.
A maid steps forward.
“Do you want me to take your suit jacket, sir?”
“Thanks,” I say, shrugging it off my shoulders.
Without the jacket, the gun holstered at my waist is impossible to miss.
“I can take that too,” she says, her voice careful now.
I shake my head once. She disappears with the jacket, but not before I catch Matteo and Camilla looking at each other. It’s quick, but I don’t miss it.
Matteo clasps his hands together.
“Why don’t we move to the garden? It’s such a nice day out.”
Camilla steps aside, gesturing toward the doors that lead outside.
“We’ll follow you and Rosalia out.”
Rosalia moves to my side. For a moment, no one moves. Then it hits me. They’re waiting for me. I step forward. Rosalia’s hand slides around my forearm, her fingers curling lightly against my sleeve. I have to fight the immediate urge to pull away.
We all take our seats at a lavish table set at the edge of the garden.
The view stretches out over a wide koi pond where flashes of orange and white drift lazily beneath the surface of the water.
Roses bloom everywhere around us, climbing trellises and spilling over stone borders in thick waves of color.
Within seconds, several maids appear from the house carrying silver trays.
Crystal glasses are set in front of us, followed by tea poured carefully from porcelain pots.
Small plates of fruit, pastries, and delicate appetizers are arranged across the table as if this is some kind of afternoon garden party instead of a business meeting disguised as a family gathering.
Matteo clears his throat, folding his hands on the table as he looks across at me.
“Michael,” he says warmly, “before we discuss anything else, thank you again for your generosity toward our family.”
I give a tight smile but don’t respond. The gratitude in his voice is genuine enough. Five million dollars tends to inspire that.
“If it weren’t for you forgiving our debt,” he continues, glancing briefly toward Camilla before returning his attention to me, “our situation would have been…far more complicated.”
Beside him, Camilla smiles politely, though her posture remains rigid.
“But thankfully,” Matteo goes on, his tone brightening as he gestures lightly toward the women beside him, “Camilla and Rosalia have been very busy these past few months planning the wedding.”
At that, Rosalia’s smile widens.
“Everything is coming together beautifully,” Camilla adds, clearly pleased with herself.
Matteo chuckles softly and leans back in his chair. “And the date is approaching quickly now. Only two months away. August will be here before we know it.”
I’m half-listening as he continues talking about venues, flowers, and guest lists. Across the table, Rosalia watches me the entire time, her smile never once fading.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I reach for it automatically, glancing down at the screen beneath the table.
Katie: What am I supposed to wear on a date with a man who wears tailored suits to a college bar?
A laugh slips out of me. I clear my throat and look up. Across the table, Matteo, Camilla, and Rosalia are all staring at me.
“Excuse me,” I say, standing from my chair. “I need to make a phone call.”
“Of course,” Matteo says politely.
Rosalia’s eyebrows pull together as I rise from the table, her expression tightening slightly as she watches me walk away.
Once I’m far enough from the table that their voices fade into the background, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial her number. I stop beside a wooden trellis and lean back against it as the phone rings.
She answers on the first ring.
“Hello?” she says, her voice carrying a note of confusion.
“Wear whatever makes you comfortable,” I tell her.
“No. We’re not doing that,” she says. “What are you wearing?”
The irritation in her voice makes me grin.
“What do you want me to wear?”
There’s a brief pause.
“You’ll wear whatever I say as long as it’s within reason?”
“Yes,” I say calmly.
She doesn’t hesitate.
“Jeans and a nice t-shirt.”
“Okay.”
Another pause.
“Really?”
I chuckle. “Katie, I do own other clothes besides suits.”
“You could have fooled me,” she mutters.
“I’ll see you at seven,” I say with a quiet laugh.
“Whatever,” she mutters, and the line goes dead.
I lower the phone and stare at the screen before shaking my head. That damn woman.
“Michael?”
I turn at the sound of her voice. Rosalia stands on the stone walkway that cuts through the rose garden, watching me with a small crease between her brows. I lift an eyebrow.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, sliding my phone back into my pocket. “Let’s go back to the table.”
I spend the rest of brunch listening to Matteo talk about his latest business ventures. The same ventures that buried him five million dollars in debt to my family.
What an idiot.
He speaks with the confidence of a man who thinks he’s impressive, gesturing occasionally with his hands as he explains deals and partnerships I stopped caring about ten minutes ago. Camilla beams beside him.
Across the table, Rosalia alternates between staring down at her plate and stealing small glances in my direction.
I have to fight the urge to yawn. At one point, I glance down at my watch.
It’s past noon. Seven more hours until I pick Katie up.
That thought is the only thing that makes sitting through this bullshit tolerable.
Eventually I’ve had enough. Matteo is halfway through another explanation about some investment opportunity when I set my napkin on the table and push my chair back slightly.
“I’m going to have to cut this short,” I say evenly. “I have another engagement this afternoon.”
Matteo blinks, clearly surprised, but he recovers.
“Of course, of course,” he says, rising from his chair as well. “We completely understand. Thank you again for coming.”
Camilla immediately stands beside him, smiling brightly as if the entire morning has gone exactly as planned.
“It was lovely having you here, Michael.”
Rosalia stands last, smoothing the skirt of her dress as we all begin making our way back toward the house. We move through the rose garden before stepping inside the cool quiet of the estate’s foyer. Matteo opens the front doors and gestures toward the drive.
“We’ll walk you out.”
He pauses, glancing at Camilla.
“Actually,” he adds lightly, already stepping outside, “we’ll give you two a moment.”
The doors close behind them, and Rosalia turns toward me.
“I’m really excited about August,” she says, stepping closer.
I nod with disinterest, already turning to leave.
“Michael,” she says, touching my arm.
I look down at where her hand rests. It moves to my chest, and then she rises on her toes. She’s trying to kiss me.
“Rosalia,” I say firmly, grasping her shoulders and moving her back. “You need to remember what this engagement really is.”
She swallows.
“A business arrangement.”
The smile slips from her face. Then she forces it back.
“Of course.”
I open the door and walk out.