“Oh my God.You’re ashamed,” I whisper.“You’re ashamed to introduce me as your mistress.”He flinches, but doesn’t deny it.His jaw tics and he exhales sharply, clearly frustrated, but doesn’t look my way.Shame floods me, hot, raw and suffocating.I turn toward the window, my reflection barely visible in the glass.
Daria’s voice echoes in my mind, cruel and familiar.
‘You will always be the whore your mother was.’
I swallow the lump in my throat, blinking hard.I won’t cry.Not now, not in front of him.
“I see,” I murmur.My voice sounds small, hollow.
“Goddamnit.”He swears under his breath.“It’s not what you think.”
I let out a bitter laugh.“Isn’t it?”He looks at me then, sharp and annoyed, but I can see something else under it too.Guilt… Maybe even regret.
“She’s been trying to marry me off for years,” he says, voice tight.“Throwing every spoiled heiress in Italy at my feet.If she thinks we’re engaged, she’ll back off.”
“I get it,” I manage to choke out.
Breathe…in…out…
He gives me a sideways look and I clench my fists so tight my nails dig painfully into my palm to keep from breaking apart.“I’ll do it,” I say, willing my voice to sound strong and resolute.“But after this, you owe me.”
He doesn’t hesitate.“You don’t get to ask to leave me.”
I lift my chin, meeting his gaze.“Then let me spend time with Chiara.”
His grip tightens on the wheel.He doesn’t speak for a few seconds, then he nods curtly.“Deal.”
I look back out the window, heart hammering, throat tight, the storm inside me barely restrained.The rest of the drive passes in a tense silence and I wonder why he even bothered to bring me with him.But if he wants a performance, he will get the best damn show this city has to offer.
We arrive at the mansion and he parks his car in front of the entrance.The mansion is massive and resembles more a Tuscan manor than a villa in the outskirts of Boston, complete with stone columns, ochre brick walls and huge glass windows.I’ve never seen it in daylight before, and despite myself, I fall a little in love with it.
Damiano rounds the car to open my door and offers his hand.I take it, and he slides an arm around my shoulders, guiding me toward the wide double doors like we’ve done this a hundred times, like we belong to each other.
A woman is waiting in the doorway, her smile so radiant it nearly knocks the breath out of me.“Mi figlio!”she exclaims, arms already outstretched.
I blink.This is his mother?She is…stunning.Petite and glowing with a warmth that has no business belonging to a woman related to Damiano.Where he is all dark edges and broodiness, she is sunshine and ease.Her golden-blonde hair is pinned up elegantly, and I can’t believe she could possibly be over forty.
“Mother,” Damiano says, releasing me to step into her arms and press a kiss to the top of her head.“And this,” he says, glancing back at me, “is Lily.My fiancée.”
My heart stutters.It feels strange to hear him say it so naturally.So convincingly, like he believes it.
“Hello, Mrs.Santaluccia.It’s an honor to meet you,” I say, extending a cautious hand.
“Oh no, none of that.”She laughs, dismissing the gesture and pulling me into a warm, maternal hug that smells like citrus and roses.“Call me Sophia.The pleasure is all mine,tesoro.You’re even lovelier than I imagined.Come, come inside.”
She loops her arm through mine with a kind of familiarity that leaves me blinking in surprise, and just like that, we’re swept into the house, Damiano trailing behind us in silence.
Sophia leads us through the elegant, sun-drenched rooms like she’s hosting royalty.We settle in an outdoor lounge where soft light spills over the terrace and the air smells like lemon blossoms.Damiano sits beside me on a plush sofa, his arm draped over the backrest behind me, fingers occasionally brushing my neck like a subtle claim.
Sophia takes the seat opposite us, her eyes gleaming.“What will you drink, Lily?”she asks.“I’m having an Aperol spritz, but we have everything.I’ve stocked the best Italian vermouth, too, if it’s what you prefer.”
“Aperol sounds wonderful, thank you,” I say, doing my best to keep my voice light.Damiano requests a whiskey, neat.
She motions with her hand and a butler appears like magic, disappearing again with our orders.
Then Sophia leans forward, practically vibrating with excitement.“Now tell me, how did you two meet?”
My mind blanks.
