Chapter Seventeen
Belle
I stood in the cavernous foyer of Villa Luca, a cardboard box of Christmas decorations balanced against my hip, surveying the space with the tactical eye of a general planning a campaign.
The grand staircase swept upward like a ribbon of marble, perfect for winding with pine garland and twinkling lights.
Crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, ready to be adorned with delicate glass ornaments.
The imposing portrait of Dario's father watched me with painted eyes that seemed to ask what the hell I thought I was doing.
December had barely begun, but I wasn't waiting another day to bring Christmas to this beautiful, cold fortress.
"This place needs Christmas," I muttered to myself, setting down the box with a decisive thump that echoed through the empty space.
Christmas had always been my salvation. Even in my toughest years, living in that awful studio apartment with the leaky ceiling, working three jobs just to make rent, I'd strung dollar store lights around my windows and baked cookies on my temperamental hotplate.
The Luca family mansion, for all its grandeur, felt just as empty as those lonely apartments had, only on a much grander scale.
I pulled a length of pine garland from my box and approached the staircase.
The mansion was quiet this early. The staff were still with their families, the brothers scattered to their morning routines.
Perfect for my sneak attack of holiday cheer.
I draped the garland along the banister, securing it with hidden wire, then began weaving the string lights through the artificial greenery.
Took me an hour of careful work, but the end result was as beautiful as I’d hoped.
"There," I whispered with satisfaction as I stepped back to admire the first stage of transformation. The lights weren't lit yet, but I could already imagine how they would warm the cold marble when evening came.
I was halfway through humming "Silver Bells" when a throat cleared behind me. I nearly toppled off the third step of the staircase, spinning around to find Vittorio standing there, his expression unreadable as always.
"Oh! Good morning," I said, my voice too bright with surprise.
Vittorio's gaze traveled over the garland-draped staircase. "We don't typically decorate for the holidays," he said, his tone neutral.
"Well, you do now," I replied, summoning confidence I didn't quite feel. Living in the Luca household still felt like walking on eggshells some days, even with Dario's ring on my finger. We hadn’t yet had a ceremony, but all the paperwork was filed, an announcement in the local paper made the front page, and Dario had informed me we would have a reception for appearances. If I wanted a big ceremony, he’d gladly fund whatever my heart desired, but he absolutely would not wait to make me his wife.
Something flickered in Vittorio's eyes—amusement, perhaps?
"Carry on," he said with a small nod. As he turned to leave, I swore I heard him humming the same carol I'd been working on.
He caught himself, stopped abruptly, and straightened his shoulders before continuing down the hallway.
I grinned at his retreating back. One Luca brother infiltrated by the Christmas spirit. Four to go.
There hadn’t been anything by way of decoration that I’d been able to find, even with the help of a couple of the older staff members.
So I’d used the black credit card Dario had given me and ordered everything.
And kept ordering throughout the day as I continued to work.
It was an exercise in how to turn a sophisticated estate into an homage to commercialized Christmas.
With the staircase finished, I gathered my supplies and moved through the mansion, a woman on a mission.
Each grand room presented new opportunities.
I hung wreaths on interior doors, their deep green boughs and burgundy ribbons bringing color to the austere hallways.
The formal sitting room received garland across its fireplace mantle, accented with pine cones I'd collected from the estate grounds and painted with touches of gold.
And lights. Lots of lights.
The marble floored reception hall felt particularly cold, its vastness swallowing even the grandest decorations. I stood in its center, turning slowly, wondering if anyone had ever danced here, laughed here, felt truly at home in this beautiful, intimidating space.
"More to the left," came a precise voice from the doorway.
I turned to find Alessandro leaning against the frame, his tailored suit impeccable as always. "What?"
He gestured to the wreath I'd hung over the fireplace. "It's a few centimeters off center."
I blinked at him. "You can tell that from across the room?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Precision matters."
To my surprise, he crossed to the fireplace and adjusted the wreath himself, his movements careful. When he stepped back, his gaze swept the room. “Looks good.”
I hid a smile as I adjusted the garland to his specifications. "You like what I’ve done?"
He considered it, head tilted slightly. "Maybe. I’m not really sure. We’ve never had Christmas decorations that I can remember. I thought it might make the place feel… cluttered, but I think I might like it.” Coming from Alessandro, this was practically a standing ovation.
By mid-morning, I moved my operation to the kitchen.
Here, at least, I felt on solid ground. I laid out ingredients for gingerbread men, the recipe memorized from years of practice.
Alongside them, I placed the components for panettone, a nod to the Luca family's Italian heritage.
The kitchen staff had given me space, curious but respectful of their boss's wife taking over their domain. Or being in the kitchen at all really.
The room soon filled with the scent of ginger, cloves, and warm butter as I worked. I arranged the first batch of cookies on a decorative plate, dusting flour from my hands as I stepped back to survey my work.
"Don't mind if I do," came Matteo's voice as he seemed to materialize beside me, snatching a gingerbread man from the plate before I could protest.
"Those are for everyone," I said, trying to sound stern but failing. “And you scared the shit out of me, Matteo!”
Matteo grinned as he bit off the cookie's head with a dramatic crunch. "Mmm." He shagged two more before I could stop him.
"Save some for your brothers." I couldn’t help but laugh. These guys were fun when they let their hair down, so to speak. Matteo wasn’t saving anything for anyone he didn’t have to. Especially my cookies.
"They snooze, they lose." But he retreated, leaning against the counter to watch me work. "Didn't take you for the domestic type, Belle."
I shrugged, rolling out more dough. "There's a lot you don't know about me."
"Fair enough." His expression grew more serious. "Dario seems... different since you moved in. Less..."
"Murderous?" I suggested, only half-joking.
Matteo barked a laugh. "I was going to say 'tense,' but sure, we can go with murderous." He snagged another cookie on his way out, winking at my protest before leaving me to my task.
I continued my Christmas campaign through the long morning hours.
In the main living room, I arranged bowls of scented pine cones and stacked presents wrapped in gold paper—empty boxes, but they created the right effect.
I was balanced precariously on a chair, attempting to drape ribbon across the enormous fireplace mantle, when Gabriel found me.
"Whoa, careful!" He rushed forward as the chair wobbled beneath me.
"I've got it," I insisted, though my grip on the mantle suggested otherwise.
Gabriel steadied the chair with one hand. "Let me help before you break your neck and Dario breaks mine for letting it happen."
Unlike his brothers, Gabriel showed genuine enthusiasm for the decorations. He helped me arrange the ribbon in graceful swoops, then eagerly suggested we add the silver balls I'd brought to hang from the ceiling.
"I haven't decorated for Christmas since..." He trailed off, a shadow crossing his face.
"Since your parents?" I guessed softly.
He nodded, suddenly focused on adjusting a ribbon that didn't need adjusting. "Mom loved Christmas. After she died, Dad didn't see the point. I was so little I barely remember helping. But it’s there." He tapped his temple with his finger. “Buried pretty deep, but it’s there.”
I placed my hand over his. "Then we're bringing it back. For her."
Throughout the day, I caught glimpses of Marcus watching from doorways, his expression giving away nothing but his continued presence speaking volumes.
Once, when I struggled with a particularly unwieldy garland in the library, I turned to find him silently holding the other end, helping me secure it before disappearing without a word.
Later, I caught him examining a cookie, turning it over in his large hands like a strange artifact before taking a careful bite. When he noticed me watching, he gave me the tiniest nod, a gesture that, coming from Marcus, felt like effusive praise.
By late afternoon, flour dusted my clothes, pine needles clung to my hair, and my fingers were sticky with cookie icing.
But Villa Luca glowed with Christmas warmth.
At least the main entrance, the kitchen, and the rooms I frequented daily.
The transformation wasn't complete, we still needed a tree.
I had plans for the exterior lights, but already the imposing mansion felt warmer, more like a home than a fortress.