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He tipped his head back and laughed like a lunatic, like loving someone was the silliest idea he’d ever heard. “Get real, Drea. We don’t marry for love.”
I pressed my palm to the table and leaned forward. “Do you love me?”
“No,” he said with zero emotion.
“After ten years, not even a little?”
He pressed his lips into a thin line and shook his head. “Nope.”
His confession slayed me, slicing deep into my chest. I’d always known Luca was incapable of feeling love, but hearing the truth made something snap inside me.
“The feeling is mutual.”
He wanted to get this wedding over, produce an heir, and wash his hands of me. Our marriage was a business transaction, a deal made by rich pricks behind closed doors. But I wanted his love and respect, two things I’d never gotten from Luca. Rage stirred inside me like a potion brewing in a cauldron, my anger about to bubble over.
“You want someone to boss around,” I fired back. “A wet hole to stick your dick in when you’re bored. Not a wife. Count me out.”
Bastian laughed, which shocked the hell out of me. He was usually the scary, serious one. Marcello didn’t even breathe beside me. Arlo looked so pissed he might explode. And Damian—that fucking psycho—he sat back and picked at an onion roll, popping pieces into his mouth like he was eating popcorn at the movie theater.
Enjoy the show, asshole.
Luca held my gaze with his angry blue irises. “If I wanted a whore, I’d fuck one.”
“You have plenty of them on retainer. Ask one of them to marry you. I’m sure they would love to act out their Pretty Woman fantasy with you.”
Luca was no Richard Gere, that was for fucking sure.
I lifted the napkin from my lap and dropped it onto the table before I shot up from my chair. “Thanks for the heartwarming proposal, but I’m pretty fond of my fingers. I need them to paint. So if you’ll excuse me, I think we’re done here.”
The legs of his chair scraped across the marble floor. “Sit down, Drea.” His words burned with anger. “You can’t run away every time shit gets hard.”
“You’re the one who taught me to run,” I yelled, my cheeks flushed with heat. “I never wanted to leave someplace so badly until I met you. You make being locked in a closet throughout my childhood seem like fun.”
“You think I’m letting you go?” He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “Nah, baby. You’re not going anywhere. Sit your pretty ass in that chair.”
“Apologize, or I’m walking out of here for good.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” He gritted his teeth. “And take those fucking paintbrushes out of your hair.”
“Nope.”
“Drea,” he warned.
I waggled my eyebrows to taunt him. “Come over here and make me.”
“Take them the fuck out,” he yelled.
“Why?”
“Because that’s how his mother wore her hair when she was painting,” Arlo interjected in a cool, calm tone.
With a sigh, I plucked the paintbrushes from my hair and dropped them onto the table. My wild curls spilled down to my shoulders.
“Happy?” I asked him.
“Sit,” Luca demanded.
I slid my hands to my hips. “Apologize.”
Stubborn as a bull, he stared at me, expressionless.
His dad smacked his arm, issuing a silent order. No one defied Arlo, not even my Devil.
He clenched his teeth, biting back whatever nasty comment he was about to make. “Sorry for being an asshole.”
I gave him a satisfied smile, though I didn’t believe a word. “Tell me the real reason I’m here. I’m not stupid.”
“Sit down.” Luca pointed his finger at my chair. “Now.”
“When you say it so nicely, how can I resist?”
“Alexandrea,” Arlo said. “We’re about to serve the steak. You don’t want to miss this cut of filet. I had it delivered for the special occasion.”
What was special about this nightmare?
“Alright.” I took my seat. “But I’m done discussing a marriage between Luca and me.”
Arlo shot a warning glance at Luca. Then his dark brown eyes were back on me. “You have my word. My son will be on his best behavior for the rest of the meal.”
“One more thing,” I said to Arlo because I knew it would piss off Luca. “My grandfather mentioned having a choice between Luca and Marcello.”
Arlo’s eyebrows rose in shock. “Carl said this?”
“Yes.”
Luca breathed through his nose. His jaw clenched so tightly it could have cracked under pressure. Everyone stared at me, even Marcello, who had an unreadable expression plastered on his face. It was so fucking awkward I wanted to hide under the table.
“I suppose I need to speak with Carl about this matter,” Arlo said with a concerned look aimed at Luca.
Did my grandfather’s opinion hold more weight than I had thought? No one corrected me, which made me wonder if the Wellingtons had power over them. Everyone shifted nervously in their seats as if the idea of me marrying Marcello over Luca made them uneasy.
