Shit.We never went over our story.
“I, um…sort of stumbled into him at a gala,” I say, hoping that will be enough.
“She captivated me,” Damiano says, his voice low and smooth.“The moment I saw her, I knew she was going to be mine.”
Geez, he didn’t need to lay it on so thick.Heat crawls up my neck.
Sophia claps her hands together like she’s watching her favorite romantic comedy unfold.“Oh!Love at first sight,così romantico!”
I smile weakly and take a sip of my drink to hide the guilt clawing up my throat.She is so sweet.She doesn’t deserve to be lied to.
Then her gaze falls to my bare hand.“Where is your ring?”she asks, frowning as she looks at Damiano.“Figlio mio, I raised you better than that!”
I nearly choke on my drink.Before he can speak, I jump in.“He gave me the most beautiful diamond ring when he proposed in my favorite restaurant,” I say quickly.“Unfortunately, it kept falling off so I had to bring it in to get it resized.”
Damiano doesn’t miss a beat.“In fact,amore,” he says, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, “I picked it up from the jeweler this morning.”
He produces a small black velvet box.My breath catches as he opens it and takes out a ring.I don’t even have time to react before he gently takes my hand and slides it onto my finger.It fits perfectly.Sophia takes my hand and looks approvingly at the ring.Only when she releases my hand do I dare take a peek at it.It is a rose-gold band with diamonds set all around and a big central diamond.It is beautiful.
“Why…th-thank you, darling.”I whisper, hoping my smile looks sincere and convincing.
He lifts my hand and brushes a kiss to my knuckles.“Anything for you,amore mio.”
Damn, he’s good.
I am too stunned to speak.Too aware of Sophia’s approving smile, too shaken by how effortlessly he plays the part.The worst part is…he almost makes me believe it, too.
He keeps my hand in his, stroking his thumb over the ring absentmindedly like it belongs there.Like I belong there.Dinner is announced and we rise, Sophia beaming as she chats about the menu.Damiano takes my hand again as we walk to the dining room, his touch steady and warm.
I smile, I laugh at the right times and I play the role.But deep down, the guilt gnaws at me.Sophia is kind.She believes in love.And I’m lying straight to her face.
We settle at the table, the early tension slowly melting away under the glow of candlelight and the subtle clinking of silverware.Sophia, ever the perfect hostess, turns to me with a soft, curious smile.“Tell me about your family, Lily.”
I give her the polished version, the one that sounds respectable, safe.The truth is messy, and I can’t bear the thought of lying to this woman who radiates warmth like the sun.But I do it anyway, hating myself a little more with every smile she offers in return.She listens intently, nodding, occasionally reaching over to squeeze my hand like she already sees me as one of her own.Guilt coils in my stomach like barbed wire.
Then I gently shift the attention away from myself.“What about you, Sophia?You mentioned you are from Florence?”
Her face lights up with nostalgia.“Yes, I grew up there.I still live there because I can’t part with my roots, the pace of life, the food, the sun.My sister still lives there too, with her son, Lorenzo.He’s about Damiano’s age.”
“Oh?”I raise a brow.“Is Lorenzo as…intense as Damiano?”
She lets out a melodic laugh, rich and warm.“Not at all!Lorenzo is a dreamer.Carefree, romantic, always finding new ways to avoid responsibility.”
I glance at Damiano, who is sitting beside me with a face carved from stone.I grin.“So…seeing how sweet and open you are, are we sure Damiano isn’t adopted?”
Damiano shoots me a dark, warning glare that would send most people running.I meet it with an innocent smile, kicking him lightly under the table.
Sophia giggles, covering her mouth.“Oh,tesoro, you have no idea how many times I’ve asked myself the same question!”
“Mother,” Damiano mutters, reaching for his glass with a raised brow.
“No, no,” she says, grinning as she affectionately pats his hand.“As unbelievable as it may seem,mi figliois mine.He took after his father, the same dark hair, the same serious eyes.And the same tendency to hide his feelings under a mountain of scowls.”Her voice softens as she speaks.“But more than that, Damiano had to grow up faster than most boys.Too fast.”A flicker of pain ghosts across her face.Whatever happened, it carved its mark on both of them.A lump forms in my throat.
Trying to lift the heaviness, I ask gently, “How was he as a kid?”
Her face brightens again, the shadows fading.“Oh, he was adorable,” she gushes.“He was the kind of little boy who stood up to older kids when they bullied others.Fiercely loyal, always bringing home strays, cats, dogs, even a turtle once.He was protective of everyone.And when he wasn’t trying to fix the world, he was always trying to help me.He was so serious sometimes it broke my heart.But he’s always been good.”
She looks at him then, pride written all over her face.And my heart clenches painfully.What wouldn’t I give to have someone look at me like that?
