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He doesn’t need to tell her he’s the man we must all follow, whose word is law around here. His authority oozes from every pore. Emilia seems to understand that. She lowers her eyes and murmurs a greeting as he puts his hands on her shoulders and kisses each cheek. Her behavior, so far, has been exemplary and for reasons I don’t understand, that pisses me off.
I watch as Antonio turns Emilia around to face my siblings.
“That’s Matteo, Leonardo, and Gio.” He points out each of them. My brothers and I are all physically similar—above average height, solid build, dark brown hair, and blue eyes. People have trouble remembering which of us is which, though nobody ever mistakes Antonio for anyone else. He carries an air of menace that none of the rest of us can match. “Where’s Livvy?”
She was there with the welcoming party when we came through the door, but my sister seems to have slipped away.
“It’s so nice to meet everyone,” Emilia says. Her tone is demure and she casts her gaze to the floor in a submissive gesture.
“And you, my dear.” Approval radiates from my mother. “Now, where is that girl? Olivia?”
“Here, Mamma.” Livvy rushes back into the entrance hall. The cellphone she’s clutching explains her brief disappearance.
“Put that damned phone away and greet your new sister,” Antonio barks.
Livvy casts a dark glare at him. No doubt it terrifies the pathetic little pups who chase after her, hoping she’ll give them a moment of her time, but it has no effect on Antonio. She flingsher arms around Emilia, almost knocking her off balance in her enthusiasm.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Livvy gushes. “It’s good to have another woman around. I need someone on my side.”
She purses her lips as she glances over her shoulder at our mother. There’s no such thing as female solidarity in this house. Mamma is firm in her belief that Antonio is never wrong. When he and Livvy butt heads, it’s my oldest brother’s side she always takes. My sister is nineteen, no longer a child, but Antonio insists on keeping her on a tight leash. To be fair, she is a magnet for trouble. It’s not usually her fault, but mayhem follows when she’s left to her own devices.
“Are you hungry after your trip?” Mamma asks. “Can I fetch you something to eat?”
“No, thank you,” Emilia replies politely.
“We had breakfast on the plane,” I add, in case my mother thinks I’m neglecting my bride-to-be.
It was an excruciatingly civilized affair, with Emilia nibbling on a croissant like a field mouse and delicately dabbing her lips with a napkin after every bite. She’d thanked me profusely for the wonderful breakfast and gushed about how kind I was when all I did was put a fucking croissant on a plate.
“Alessandro took good care of me,” Emilia says.
“Such a good boy.” Mamma grins at me as if Emilia’s words prove I’m the romantic hero she’s constructed her fantasy around.
“Right then.” Antonio claps his hands. He’s a busy man and this little meet and greet has probably stretched the limits of his patience. “We’ll let you get ready.”
“Ready?” Emilia asks.
“For your wedding, dear.” My mother’s bright blue eyes sparkle with tears of joy. “The dress is in your room. Just wait until you see. It’s like something out of a fairytale.”
Though I warned Emilia the marriage ceremony would take place immediately, she still appears shocked. Her eyes widen and she blinks rapidly before smoothing over her expression to project that same placid air she adopted when she woke from her nap on the plane.
“I’m sure it’s beautiful.”
“It will be even more so on you,” Mamma says. “Now, Sofia will be here shortly to see to your hair and makeup. Perhaps you’d like to take a shower before she gets here?”
“Yes, I would,” Emilia replies in that same calm, robotic voice. “A shower would be very pleasant.”
Taking hold of her arm, I lead Emilia to the stairs. As we move past Leo, he leans in close to me.
“Great catch, Sandro. She’s so lifelike, you’d almost think she was real.”
I mutter for him to go fuck himself, but I know exactly where he’s coming from. Since I told Emilia she needed to behave herself, she’s been acting like a Stepford wife.Yes, Alessandro. No, Alessandro. Thank you, Alessandro. You are the best, Alessandro.It’s creepy and makes a mockery of my request for obedience.
We head upstairs to the guest room where my mother has things set up for Emilia to ready herself for our wedding.
“This is delightful.” Emilia walks to the middle of the room and slowly turns in a full circle.
“Is it?”
