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I shake my head, standing up. “I’m going to bed, Gianna. Tomorrow night, you’ll have a date with one of the Lombardi brothers. Think about your future and which of those men you want to share it with. Your decision will matter very soon.”
I see the way her shoulders slump slightly as she nods, but she doesn’t say anything else. And when I walk out of the library, still vibrating with the aftershocks of pleasure, it takes everything in me to remind myself that it’s for the best.
I’ve made the right decision. Now, I just have to see it through.
Alessio
Ican’t stop looking at the clock.
Gianna left at seven with Tommas Lombardi—a dinner and theatre date that I expect to result in her being home by midnight. I was clear with both him and security that I expected her back no later than that—and I’ve spent every minute since then on edge, restless and unable to focus on anything I’ve tried to use to keep my focus off of what might be happening right now. Nothing—not going through files or reading a book or attempting to watch a movie has kept my attention, not when the more present image of Tommas Lombardi holding Gianna’s hand or touching her thigh in the theatre box seat next to his is determined to fill my mind.
It feels like absolute misery, waiting for her to come home, thinking of her time spent with anyone else. And I know that it’s a misery I could put myself out of so easily, if only I’d compromise the principles I’ve stood on thus far.
For two weeks, I’ve arranged an initial date with each of the young men who came to dinner, and for two weeks, Gianna has dutifully spent an evening with each one. I can tell she’s hated every minute of it, and it takes everything in me to tamp down my steadily rising jealousy, the fury I feel at the idea of anyone else with their hands on her. The fact that she hates it so much, too, should help, but it doesn’t. It only makes it feel doubly worse—that we’re both in misery over this.
She’s kept her promise. She hasn’t brought up the topic of a marriage between us again, and after each date, she’s reported back to me with her feelings about it.
Including this one, when she finds me in the living room with an old movie droning in the background and a fire lit despite the summer warmth, a tumbler of whiskey in my hand instead of my usual wine. She sits down on the sofa an arm’s length away from me, her silky black dress cascading around her slender calves. It takes everything in me to keep my eyes off of her legs, or the small diamond cutouts at her waist, filled in with netting that lets the glimpses of skin show through.
“Either of the Lombardi brothers is a possibility,” she tells me with a shrug. This is her second date with a Lombardi brother—the first I arranged a private dinner for the two of them, which was even worse than tonight, with both of them under the same roof with me. I hated seeing her dress up for them, hated the way seeing her in the black silk dress that she chose for the theater made me feel, hated the idea that his hand might touch her thigh through the silk and not mine. I told myself that it was my penance for wanting her at all, that if I’d just managed to keep control of my desires, I wouldn’t feel like this.
It’s not a very comforting thought.
“Do you like either of them?” I lean back in my chair, and Gianna gives me a look that suggests I should know better.
“No,” she says flatly. “And I don’t like Carlo either, or Marco. I don’t like any of them. But either of the Lombardi brothers are probably the least awful.”
“Is there anyone you absolutely don’t want?” I force myself to ask the question as flatly as possible, like a questionnaire, like this means nothing to me other than ensuring her future. Like the idea of any of them with her doesn’t make me burn with the desire to strangle whoever touches her.
“Giorgio and Marco.” Gianna swallows hard. “Marco is too—he comes on too strong. I think he’d get bored of me quickly and find someone else on the side. And Giorgio is crude. I don’t like his sense of humor.” She bites her lip. “Although I guess none of that really matters. It’s not like they’re going to want to be friends with me. Or like this marriage is anything but a business arrangement, really.”
There’s a hint of defeat in her voice that cuts me deeply. “I’m sorry, Gianna,” I tell her gently. “I know you want the kind of marriage that you know your parents had. But it’s not something I can facilitate in the time Fontana has given us. And if he insists on Andre—”
“I know.” She sucks the corner of her lower lip into her mouth, nodding as she looks down at her hands. “It will be worse. Trust me, I know.”
As the days pass, with every date, I see Gianna get quieter and quieter. Meals are more silent, and she spends more and more time in her room. I can see that it’s all upsetting her, that this process is breaking her spirit bit by bit, but I don’t know what else to do. Fontana’s deadline is growing closer, and she has to make a choice.
I end up telling her that she’ll attend a charity dinner with me at the Chicago natural history museum, and she can choose which of the three remaining candidates will be her date. “The other two will be there, naturally, so you can speak to and dance with any of them. You’ll need to make a choice after this,” I warn her. “So think about it.”
“Tommas.” She answers quickly, quickly enough for me to feel a stab of almost painful jealousy. “He’s been the least—pushy. I think he might not be the worst of them.”
It’s not exactly a glowing recommendation. And when Gianna comes downstairs to meet me so we can go to the gala, I find myself wanting desperately for her to be on my arm instead.
She chose a deep purple gown for the gala, strapless with a reinforced v-shaped neckline filled in with some sort of illusory fabric. It’s split up one side to her thigh, and I see she’s wearing amethyst earrings, glittering in the light beneath her upswept dark hair. She looks beautiful, more beautiful than anyone I’ve ever seen, and as I escort her to the car, all of my thoughts about Tommas Lombardi are unkind.
It’s a good choice,I remind myself. If she chooses Tommas, she will have picked a family with enough sway to not be overwhelmed by the sudden leap in status, but not so well-respected that they’ll resent being absorbed into the Mancini family. Not only that, but since Tommas has a brother, the Lombardi family will continue on as well. If I’d been forced to choose for her, it’s the choice I would have made, and I wonder if she’s thought of any of this. If any of it has been what made her lean more towards choosing him.
I try to let her be, once we’re there. I have people I need to talk to, and I want to give her some time with Tommas without taking up her focus. She’s kept her promise, but not bringing up the topic of marriage with me doesn’t mean that she hasn’t thought about it. We’re too close to Fontana’s deadline—I can’t distract her.
Butgod, it’s difficult. I can see during dinner that Gianna doesn’t have any real affection for Tommas. He’s attentive towards her, clearly eager for her attention in return. I’d almost be able to admire the way he focuses so entirely on her if I didn’t want to drag him outside and punch him in the jaw for it.It’s going to be him, I think as I sit there, working my way through a salad course that I barely taste and watching the two of them.In a few weeks, he’ll be her fiancé. Then, her husband. And you’ll go back to New York and a parade of women you don’t remember while he teaches her all the things you wish you could.
I never knew jealousy could have such a bitter taste, but I’m learning it now.
I can see that Matteo and Carlo are jockeying for her attention, too, as the gala goes on and the dancing starts. It would almost be amusing to watch Tommas and Matteo compete for Gianna’s attention, the two brothers working against each other, if it weren’t for the fact that as the evening goes on, it’s harder and harder to ignore the fact that I want to be the one swaying across the dance floor with her in my arms.
You could have had that. And you chose differently.
I do end up on the dance floor, with a pretty blonde in a long red dress who doesn’t look much older than Gianna—probably a younger daughter of one of the families who hasn’t been married yet. I catch Gianna’s glance just once—see the heat of jealousy in her eyes, too—before she’s swept off in one direction by Tommas and me in another. I lose track of her for a moment. When the song ends and I look for her, she’s nowhere to be seen.
