After Seven Years as the Don's Mistress, I'm Done

Outside my fitting room, Domenica had chosen the exact same wedding dress I was wearing.

She stood in front of the mirror and smiled at Raffaele.

“What do you think?”

Raffaele nodded, appreciation in his eyes.

“You look beautiful.”

The bridal consultant glanced through the crack in my door.

“Miss, would you like to come out and take a look? I’m sure it’ll look just as stunning on you.”

I closed the door.

“No, thank you.”

There was no need for both of us to wear the same wedding dress.

As I changed out of mine, Raffaele called.

“Livia, about our anniversary tonight… I know I promised you dinner on the yacht.”

In the background, I could hear the bridal consultant complimenting someone, followed by a woman’s soft laughter.

Before I could say anything, he continued.

“I’m sorry I can’t make it. Something urgent came up with Domenica, and I couldn’t get away.”

“Don’t be mad.”

I stood in the cramped fitting room, staring at the glaring white dress in front of me.

“The urgent thing you couldn’t get away from—is helping Domenica choose the dress she’ll wear when she marries you?”

“What?”

For a moment, he clearly couldn’t understand how I knew.

My voice remained calm.

“Raffaele, what exactly do I owe you that gives you the right to treat me like this?”

Silence.

A long while later, I heard footsteps, then Raffaele’s lowered voice.

“You found out?”

He drew a breath, and when he spoke again, his tone softened.

“Livia, it’s only for appearances.”

“You know what happened better than anyone. My brother died taking a bullet meant for me. Before he died, he entrusted Domenica to me. All my parents have asked of me since then is that I make sure she’s taken care of.”

His voice dropped.

“Just give me a little more time. Once things settle down with the family, I’ll divorce her quietly. Then I’ll marry you.”

He made it sound perfectly reasonable.

“And what am I supposed to do until then?”

Raffaele paused for two seconds.

“This doesn’t change anything between us. Once it’s over, I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

I repeated his words softly.

“Once it’s over?”

My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe.

There were a hundred ways Raffaele could have repaid his debt to his dead brother. He had chosen the one that humiliated me.

It was his debt, yet somehow I was the one expected to pay for it.

I hung up.

When I left the bridal shop, Raffaele was still beside Domenica.

He was obviously distracted, his brow drawn tight, the catalog in his hands sitting open to the same page.

Domenica called his name twice before he finally snapped out of it.

He didn’t even notice me walking past behind him.

Outside the shop, I pulled up the email I had received two months earlier from a prestigious historic-preservation firm in Paris.

This time, I didn’t hesitate.

I typed two words and replied.

“I accept.”

Then I booked a flight to Paris for three days later.