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The cat squirmed in her arms, before settling. Lulu was a weird cat. Sometimes she fell asleep right in Amara’s arms, and from experience, Amara knew she was settling in for a nap. She kissed the top of her head and walked towards the dining room.
Amara had only been in that room on a few occasions, mostly when she’d been helping her mother. She had never had a meal there. It felt surreal too, standing on the door, watching as the staff laid the table for dinner. Her instinct was to join them, helping them place everything, but she refrained. She didn’t know how she was going to be the lady of the house when she had grown up serving them. It was an odd realization, and something she needed to think about. While she didn’t want to be detached from the working members of the compound, as Dante Maroni’s wife she would have to adhere to certain expectations.
The twelve-foot table was the focal point of the hall-like room, with tall windows with a stunning view of the darkening hills, and a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling that glimmered in the sunset with different colors of the fire.
Amara watched from the sidelines as two of the girls who had been her juniors placed the cutlery on the long table, avoiding looking at her as she stood at the door with a napping Lulu.
Fuck expectations. Just because no one before her had been friendly with the staff didn’t mean she couldn’t start. Forgetting one’s roots was one of the biggest mistakes she had seen people make. Roots were important for a tree to grow.
Putting a wide smile on her face, she headed into the room and noticed the five staff members pause.
“So, you’re all just going to ignore me?” she asked them in a teasing tone.
One of the men smiled. “Welcome home, Amara. It’s been a long time.”
She smiled back. “It has been a very long time, Fabio. How is your knee?”
His smile widened. ?
??Still twinges.”
Amara turned to the woman who had been her mother’s apprentice. “And you Maria, is your son still playing football?”
The older woman gave a stiff smile. “Yes, Miss Amara.”
The stiffness of the smile made her own wobble a bit. Amara hugged Lulu closer and swallowed.
“Give us the room, please,” a feminine voice from the door had Amara turning to look at Chiara Mancini, Leo Mancini’s wife. While Amara had never had any interaction with her, she didn’t like the woman one bit. Chiara was extraordinarily beautiful, perhaps one of the most beautiful women Amara had seen, but her soul was rotten. Rumor said she had been married by a much older Leo who had raped her in the marriage. Amara had been empathetic towards the woman until she had heard about her taste for younger boys. Tristan being her first extra-marital affair hadn’t endeared her any either.
Amara didn’t know if she had ever come onto Dante, but she straightened her spine as the room emptied.
Dressed in a stunning silver dress, Chiara strode in, a polite smile on her lips. “I don’t think we have been introduced. I’m Chiara.”
For a second Amara felt vulnerable, as though she was somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be. But then she remembered the man who had walked through hell with her, the man she was going to spend the rest of her life with, and realized that dealing with people like Chiara would come with the package of them being open.
“Dr. Amara,” she introduced herself politely, using the same confident tone she used with her clients.
Chiara’s eyes flickered to the scar on her neck that she wasn’t hiding anymore before she looked up at Amara. It was one of the rare occasions Amara thanked her height over the shorter woman.
“Well,” the other woman began, looking down at the sleeping cat in her arms, her nose wrinkling slightly. “Are you Dante’s girlfriend?”
Amara gave the woman a cool gaze. “I’m sorry, who are you?”
“I’m Dante’s family,” Chiara chimed, her eyes all innocent. “He’s under such pressure. Being the leader is not easy, and he’s so young yet. I’m just looking out for him.”
“I appreciate that,” Amara told her in her soft voice that she still hated on certain occasions like this one. People like Chiara heard her speak and immediately thought her weak. Soft did not equal strong in their vocabulary. Soft meant malleable, gullible, vulnerable. Only that was strong which was in-their-face. Morana was strong in her eyes probably, with her devil-may-care attitude and the spine of steel she wore in her eyes. Amara, with her flowery dress and furry cat and soft voice and scars, was a passing fancy, a poor little innocent, an easy target.
Maybe, her voice and her demeanor was a good thing. It let them underestimate her.
Keeping her expression deliberately pleasant, Amara thanked her. “It’s nice of you to look out for him.”
Chiara fell for it, hook, line, and sinker. “Someone has to. Hopefully, he’ll marry one of the prospects soon.”
“Prospects?” Amara asked, mildly curious, rocking Lulu in her arms.
“Oh, women he’s been vetting for years,” Chiara told her helpfully. “All girls from prominent families with good connections. He needs someone who adds to his power.”
Amara felt her lips turn up at the not-so-subtle attack at herself. Amara of a week ago might even have agreed with Chiara, might have felt the doubts about her suitability. But the woman who had been tied up in her nightmare had struggled against her ropes, escaped them, and shot a man dead to protect the father of her child. This Amara had woken up into her nightmare and walked out, not unscathed but stronger. This Amara didn’t let a dig get to her simply because if Dante had wanted to marry one of the more suitable girls, he would have. He didn’t. He had given his crown to her.
