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And I'm too young to die.
11
Adrian
My brother Ryder and I are being driven to the home of the Carluccis, and I don't know which one of us is hating this more.
I don't fucking like leaving Marzia behind with only the mute maid there to guard her. I don't trust my father anymore. I've seen firsthand what he's capable of.
As for Ryder, he seems pissed off his womanizer lifestyle has been interrupted for an occasion like this—one that doesn't even concern him directly. "I hate this," he mutters for the millionth time.
"Stop complaining." I grunt. "I don't like it either."
Just then, the driver pulls up in front of the Carlucci Villa, and the doors are opened for us.
I step out of the limo, buttoning my black jacket as I examine the building in front of us. The Carluccis are certainly loaded, but just as I suspected, even their home screams nouveau riche. There is no class in the design of the outlandish building. It's overly primped, with a garden so laden with blooming flowers it almost looks ugly. The hedges are cut into decorative shapes, everything is tacky and gilded, and the whole place says… We have money and you don't.
Fighting the urge to groan again, I force myself to stride forward where a small, plump man is awaiting my arrival eagerly.
He shakes my outstretched hand with gusto, rushing over himself to explain who he is and where I am. His name is Gustavo Carlucci and apparently, he's my bride-to-be's father. Without taking a single breath, he explains Nicoletta is turning eighteen in two months, tells me her mother died when she was a little girl, and that he took special care in sheltering her from the world any way he possibly could.
He even explains Nicoletta has been sheltered so much, she hasn't seen another man between the ages of fourteen and sixty-five ? except for him of course ? since she was five.
To me, it seems excessive, but he delivers the news proudly, as if he deserves a pat on the back for keeping his own daughter captive like some caged bird.
Ryder seems even less enthusiastic than I am as Gustavo insists on giving us a tour of the property. The garden tour alone takes over an hour, because the man is intent on explaining every single type of flower and plant in the luxurious surroundings of the villa. When we finally enter the house, which is even tackier on the inside, I quickly realize this could go on for hours unless I put a stop to it.
I just need to be careful, so I don't offend him. "Actually, Signore Carlucci, we're a bit tired from our long journey," I explain with a polite smile. "If you could show us to our rooms now, we'd like to rest a bit before dinner."
I needn't have worried about Carlucci getting offended. He seems like a caricature of an Italian chef as he laughs heartily, saying, "Of course, of course. Perdonami, I got a little too excited. A maid will show you to your rooms. Dinner will be served at seven p.m. in the grand hall."
"Thank you." I smile gratefully.
Ryder and I follow a tight-lipped maid up the stairs, down a gallery and into a hallway with several doors. She shows Ryder his room first, then walks me over to the next hallway where my quarters are.
The room is hotel-like, but overly decorated and merely looking at all the stuff in it gives me a headache. But I'm too exhausted to deal with Carlucci's obsession with anything and everything that sparkles—the man is a fucking magpie—and I strip my jacket off, staring out of the windows overlooking the sea.
It is beautiful here. It has potential. Yet I can't even bring myself to imagine living in a place like this, without Marzia and with some other woman by my side. I haven't even met Nicoletta yet, and I've already decided she isn't the one for me. I'll get out of this wedding, some-fucking-way, because there's no chance in hell Marzia's dying, or I don't end up as her husband.
I relax until a few minutes to seven, changing beforehand and walking down to the dining room with the help of the same maid from before. Once again, the room is laden with decorations and a heavy chandelier hangs above us. It must be worth a fortune, but it looks tacky in this overly decorated room. It should stand out, but instead it just blends into the chaos of the room.
"Ah, there you are," Carlucci beams at me while standing from his chair. "We've been waiting. I know Nicoletta is so very excited to finally meet you."
There are four places set at the long table, and he and my brother take up one each. I can only assume the last one will be occupied by my bride-to-be, the illustrious Nicoletta herself. I fucking bet she is. Probably desperate to see anyone with a working cock, for that matter. "I'm excited to meet her, too," I reply diplomatically, keeping my true feelings to myself and ignoring my brother's derisive snort. "When will she be joining us?"
