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I try not to cringe as the stray noodles hanging from his lips are sucked into his maw with such force that sauce splatters across his chin and the napkin tucked into his shirt.
“Of course, I’m open to negotiations and would like to ensure the match with my daughter would be… agreeable on both sides,” my father says.
I sincerely hope the hint of disgust in his tone means he’s less inclined to marry me off to Tony. The sloppy eating, I could probably learn to live with. But the gluttony of gambling debts the Valencia heir has accrued? He’s well on his way to spending every last penny of his inheritance before his father’s even in his grave.
No, I don’t think I could stomach living with a man so willingly a victim to his vices. And while his brother Lorenzo might not be nearly so bad, he’s not much better.
“My son Valentine would make an excellent match for your daughter,” Don Russo states with a sure grin.
“But isn’t Valentine just twelve?” I ask, boldly meeting the don’s eyes. “He can’t possibly be ready for marriage.”
“I hardly think you should concern yourself with matters you clearly don’t understand. Obviously, he would grow into his role as your husband. And I would think you should consider yourself lucky not to be strapped with someone… older,” Don Russo states dismissively, giving Don Fiore a sidelong glance before turning his eyes to my father.
The silent look states that Don Guerra should get his unruly daughter under control before I embarrass him further.
“Tia.”
That’s all my father needs to say. I know that hint of warning too well. If I don’t hold my tongue, I will very much regret provoking the punishment that will follow our guests’ departure.
I bristle at the perfunctory way they discuss my nuptials as if I were nothing more than a piece of dining room furniture to be traded away. But as I’m little more than a pawn to these great men, no one cares to tiptoe around my feelings.
The end game—the victory over the Morettis—is all that matters.
Still, I’ll count my gentle scolding as a small blessing. Because it’s given me a window of opportunity to bow out of the stifling negotiations.
“Pardon my ignorance, Don Russo. Of course, you would know better about the workings of these types of arrangements. If I might be excused, father? I’ll leave the conversation to those who understand such things.”
“Take your sisters with you,” he agrees, sending me off with a wave of his hand.
Delicately wiping my lips, I set aside my napkin, then take Maria by the wrist and pull her out of her chair and toward the dining room door. Anna, Vienna, and little Sofia follow without a word.
“Blech,” Maria says as soon as we’re out of earshot. “I’m dreading the day father decides who to marry you off to.”
I cringe internally. “Me too.”
“I mean, don’t get me wrong. I feel terrible for you. But just think, if that’s what the options are, and you have first pick, who might I get stuck with as the leftovers?” Maria shudders visibly.
“Maybe you’ll be lucky enough to land Valentine Russo,” I tease.
Maria gives me a playful shove with her shoulder. “I’m not really interested in babysitting. Thanks.”
I laugh, appreciating that I have at least one person to commiserate with.
Still, I haven’t even told Maria about my plans for tonight…
It’s well past sunset, and the house lights have already started to darken as I ease my bedroom window open. Not daring to breathe, I watch and listen to see if any of my family’s guards made note of the soft shuffling noise, but if they’re in the vicinity, none seem to be drawn my way.
Slowly releasing my breath, I ease my shoulders through the window and look to my left. The ivy-covered lattice that creeps up the side of our oversized home looked a lot less intimidating to climb down in the daylight—when I was concocting my elaborate escape.
Now, I just hope the wood hasn’t started rotting after the century’s worth of plant growth that creeps up the side of the picturesque New England mansion. But I’m not about to chicken out now.
I have been hearing about the extravagant Moretti house parties for months now. And tonight, I intend to see what the fuss is all about. After having spent my entire childhood following the rules, I am determined to have at least one good adventure.
A shiver races down my spine at the wood’s agonized groan beneath my weight as I scale the siding. But I press on, clinging to the vines even as they scrape my palms and snag the skirt of my flirtiest dress. I’m more than a little grateful when I’ve climbed down far enough to drop the last few feet onto solid ground.
Crouching, I turn quickly to make sure no one saw me.
Looks like I’m in the clear.
