Chapter 6
EMILIA
I'd become very familiar with the subtle art of waiting over the last two years, but it still didn't mean I enjoyed it.
The minutes ticked by slowly, each one feeling like an hour.
A knock on the door startled me. It wasn't the Sasquatch; it was too light a knock.
Delicate, almost musical. Niccolò didn't know what knocking meant, so whoever this was would be someone new. Someone who actually had manners.
Pulling open the door, I looked at a woman with fiery red hair, grinning from ear to ear, who came up to my chest. Literally.
The top of her head barely reached my shoulders.
"You must be the future Mrs. Venosa. It's wonderful to meet you. If you would just move out of the way, I’ll set up.
" Stepping away from the door, the pint-sized mystery lady floated into the room, her smile wide and her eyes excitedly scanning the area.
She moved with the energy of a hummingbird, darting around with purpose.
She was immediately followed by Venosa men who looked just as terrifying as Sasquatch man.
They towered behind her like dark sentinels.
They carried bags, boxes, and a mannequin, their arms loaded with supplies.
"Letty, you're here." Niccolò's voice carried as he walked into the room.
He had a smile on his face. Not a smirk, or a frown, but a true smile.
The expression transformed his entire face, softening the harsh lines around his mouth.
I could feel my pulse increase slightly.
Are you seriously being turned on by the man's smile?
Who would have thought Stockholm Syndrome could set in so quickly?
My brain was bringing me back around to reality.
Just because he smiled didn't change anything.
He was still my captor. Still, the man who'd ruined everything.
"It's been too long." She beamed up at him, and they kissed one another on both cheeks, and her hands lingered on his chest. The touch was familiar, comfortable, like they'd done it a thousand times before.
I could kill her quickly; the only issue would be getting her out of the house.
Now you're fucking jealous? God, I needed to unplug my brain.
Clearing my throat, they both turned to look at me.
I knew my expression was less than friendly, and my eyes were locked on the woman still touching the man I was supposed to marry.
The woman took a step away from my fiancé, and Niccolò arched his brow, and the smirk returned.
He'd caught me. He knew exactly what I was feeling, and he was enjoying it.
"Letty Rossi, I'd like to introduce you to my fiancé, Emilia Carminatti." He placed his hand on her lower back as she moved toward me. The gesture was possessive, protective.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Carminatti.
I've been dying to design for you." She grinned and held out her hand, her eyes bright with genuine enthusiasm.
Niccolò's eyes narrowed in on me as I stood there, not taking her hand.
The silence stretched between us, awkward and tense.
Gently shaking my head, I smiled and took her hand.
"Sorry, you just caught me off guard when you said you were wanting to design for me." Letting her hand go, I watched her eyes scan my body. Not in a judgmental way, but with the analytical gaze of someone who saw potential.
"Oh, I can't tell you how many days I'd hoped you'd wander into my shop.
Your figure is perfect, and I have so many ideas.
" She clasped her hands to her chest, and I thought she was going to vibrate across the room.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Niccolò let his gaze travel down my body, slow and deliberate, and a shiver ran up my spine.
It wasn't nefarious, but I did think he wanted to eat me alive.
Nobody had ever said my figure was anything special.
I had been "blessed" with ample breasts that I spent most of my time trying to conceal.
Binding them down, hiding them under loose clothing.
My Nonna used to grab my hips and smile, saying, "Perfect for bringing babies into the world.
" I can still hear her thick Italian accent as she spoke, her weathered hands warm on my body.
"Did you bring sketches with you?" I asked, trying to change my attitude about this entire thing.
Maybe if I participated, if I pretended this was something I wanted, it would be easier.
Sitting at the table, I waited for her to open her briefcase.
“I’d think designing this dress will put you on the map.
Let's go all out." I glanced over at the only man left in the room.
His jaw was set, and the smirk fumbled into a frown.
Good. Let him be the uncomfortable one for once.
"It will increase my visibility, yes. How all-out are you thinking?" She shifted her eyes from me to Niccolò, clearly trying to gauge if this was actually my decision to make.
"Whatever Emilia wants, just send the final bill to me.
Ladies, as much as I would love to see this process, I have work to do.
" He moved closer to me, pressed his hand on my back, warm and heavy through the borrowed shirt, and leaned down.
His lips brushed my cheek. "Enjoy this, darling, it's all for you.
" His warm breath fluttered over my ear, and I leaned into him.
The movement was involuntary, my body responding before my brain could stop it.
I couldn't take my eyes off him as he walked out of the room, his hands in his pockets, making the fabric of his slacks cling tightly to his ass, and I noticed Laetitia watching him go.
Her gaze was admiring, hungry. "God, that man," she muttered under her breath.
Her cheeks instantly flushed as she turned to look at me.
"Ms. Carminatti, I'm sorry. That was meant to be an internal thought.
Not that it's any better, I shouldn't have thought about it at all.
" She looked mortified, her hands nervously fluttering.
"Please call me Emi, and I agree." I was smiling, even though I might not be happy about this situation, I wasn't ignorant of the eye candy right in front of me. Niccolò Venosa was objectively beautiful, even if he was also objectively terrible.
For the next hour, we'd looked at sketches and fabrics.
Letty spread them across the table like treasures, her fingers trailing over silk and lace with reverence.
I couldn't deny Laetitia was talented. The designs were stunning, innovative, nothing like the standard wedding dresses I'd seen.
I wondered how she'd escaped my knowledge until now.
Commotion from outside the room drew our attention, and the door flew open. "You're getting married." My sister Alessia ran into the room, flinging her arms around me. She nearly knocked me off balance with the force of her embrace.
"What are you doing here?" I asked while being choked. Her arms were wrapped around my neck like a vice.
"Niccolò called Papa and said that we had to be here.
" Gianna smiled as she pushed Alessia off me and hugged me much more gently.
"Congratulations?" I looked up at her and closed my eyes.
Our little signal to drop the discussion.
A code we'd developed years ago when we needed to communicate without words.
"Why are you wearing men’s clothes?" My mother questioned as she waltzed into the room, stealing any joy that had been here before her arrival. Her voice was sharp, disapproving, like everything else about her.
"My belongings haven't arrived from the house yet, and I couldn't wear my ball gown for the next four days. Niccolò lent me these." My mother huffed as she took a seat at the table, settling in like she owned the place.
"You're wearing his clothes? That's so romantic." Alessia sighed as she fell back onto my bed, sprawling across the expensive duvet like she was at home.
"Yeah, romantic," I mumbled as I rolled my eyes.
Gianna's eyes locked on me, and I turned to Letty.
"Ladies, we have a lot of work to do. I suggest we get at it. Emi, I need you out of those clothes." She hopped up from her chair and began getting her things ready, pulling out measuring tapes, pins, and fabric samples.
The morning flew by, and we were brought a beautiful lunch, so we didn't have to stop. Silver trays laden with sandwiches, fruit, and pastries. Letty made impeccable notes, and she'd excused herself to make a call to her studio.
"Really, Emilia, you could look a little happier about this. You're living in a grand palace, with people bowing at your feet." My mother sat on the settee with a glass of what I expected was a very expensive wine in one hand and a slice of cheese in the other.
"I'm sorry, I don't see it that way. Pretty sure that this is a nightmare," I said without looking at her. The last thing I wanted to do was look into her face; she'd sell me to the devil himself if it meant I was out of her hair. She'd tried often enough over the years.
"If you hadn't been so stupid thinking you could run the family, this wouldn't have been happening." She huffed, and I turned to look at my sisters, who seemed oblivious to the conversation as they flipped through Letty's sketches.
"No, you’d have been marrying me off to one of Papa's capos. Keeping it all in the family, right?" The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Most of my father's men were related somewhere along the line. Cousins, uncles, second cousins twice removed. All of them old, violent, and cruel.
"You ungrateful girl. Do you have any idea how much your father has had to pay to have you unbetrothed from Mathias? He didn't take this well." She reached for her cappuccino, glaring at me over the rim of the cup.