4

Talia

My feet stopped working. Mother nudged me forward, but they still wouldn’t move, because I knew, without a shred of doubt, that our lives were about to be ruined in a matter of minutes.

“C’mon now, we don’t bite.” The voice came from the end of the long table, sounding far too amused for the tension strangling the room. The man who said it wore an easy grin, his dark hair brushed back carelessly. Beside him sat another man with the same face, only his mouth was a hard, straight line. Next to them was a woman, maybe my age or older, with sharp blue eyes that scrutinized me from head to toe.

I refused to look at the man by her side, even though I could feel his gaze burning through my skin. The world had to be playing some sort of cruel twisted joke.

Father cleared his throat, turning to fix me a warning look. “We’ve been waiting for you, Valentina.”

Swallowing the bile in my throat, I kept my head bowed, and forced my feet into action, slipping into the empty seat beside him.

“Once again, I apologize for the delay.” Father began. “I know you've both met already, but if you'll allow me do the honours, Ares Marcelli, meet my daughter, Valentina Russo.”

Against every instinct screaming at me not to, I lifted my head, desperately hoping my mind was playing tricks on me.

Because I knew the face of the man staring back at me. I’d seen it a year ago, on the night of my sister’s engagement. And there was absolutely no way he wouldn’t remember me.

★★★★★

One Year Ago

It felt unusually cold tonight. Perhaps it was because the Marcellis were in our home. Father talked about them with so much disdain yet he'd so willingly given up his own daughter for whatever they'd promised him. The hypocrisy disgusted me.

Valentina did not want this marriage. I watched her shrink further into herself after Father revealed the arrangement between our families. There was nothing I could do to stop this, nothing but watch helplessly as our lives were mapped out by men who saw us as currency, because deep down I knew I would end up like her too… betrothed to a man I did not love.

I sank onto the wrought-iron bench in the courtyard, staring up at the moon. It was cruelly beautiful and too bright for a night like this. I tried to focus on the serenity, but my mind kept drifting, wondering what was happening inside father's office. I wanted to be there for Valentina, but Father refused.

The soft crunch of a twig drew my attention, raising the hair on my skin. “Who's there? Our estate was safe, but in the world I'd been born into, nothing was guaranteed.

There was no answer at first.

I stood, grabbing a fallen branch from the olive tree next to me. What would I even do with it? “Who's there?” I repeated, my heart pounding violently.

Father's men did not creep up on us, so it had to be a stranger. A man stepped out from the shadow, hands shoved casually into his pockets. The moonlight caught him just right, showing off the sharp angles of his face and the dark sweep of his hair. He did not carry the cautious subservience of Father’s men. This was someone who walked like the world belonged to him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I hissed, taking a step back.

Still, he said nothing. His eyes lingered on the branch in my hand, and a small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at his lips before he met my eyes. Did he just mock me? I jabbed the branch at him. “Leave.”

He took a step forward instead. “Don't make me use this.” I warned.

The stick snapped in half under my grip, one piece landing on the ground. Shit! There goes my weapon.

His smirk blossomed into a full grin, and he coughed to hide his laughter. I exhaled a shaky laugh myself, the absurdity of the moment breaking the tension for just a heartbeat. If he was an assassin, I'd be dead already.

“This isn’t the way to the main house. If you’re lost, I can… direct you,” I blurted, unsure why I was offering help to someone who definitely belonged to the Marcellis.

He remained silent.

I swallowed my irritation, frustration gnawing at me. “Can’t you speak?” I muttered under my breath. His presence was suffocating, draining the air from around me, yet compelling in a way I hated to admit. My eyes traveled over him despite myself. He was extremely tall, a good foot above me, making my own five-foot-five frame feel almost childlike in comparison, and the dark shirt he wore hugged his broad shoulders, tapering into a narrow waist that led down into… My pulse quickened against my will. What the hell was I thinking? He clenched his fists briefly at his sides, the tendons in his inked forearms flexing under his rolled up sleeves. I hated that I was noticing him, but I couldn't resist. He was impossibly beautiful, like the inspiration behind Michaelangelo's statues, or perhaps, the moonlight was playing tricks on me. I took a step back, deciding to retreat entirely but his voice stopped me.

“I’m… not… lost.” The words were rough, almost a rasp, like he hadn’t spoken in a long while.

“What… what are you doing here then? Shouldn’t you be… securing your boss?” My voice cracked slightly, but I could not stop the torrent of questions spilling out.

His lips twitched. “My… boss?”

A weird thought hit me. I liked the sound of his voice. I shook my head, trying to suppress the thought.

“Yes! Your… your employer.” I gestured vaguely with the branch, feeling ridiculous. I was yelling at him like some foolish girl. And yet… my stomach was twisting into knots just from him looking at me.

He stood still, watching me with a keen, unnerving interest.

“You don't talk much, do you?” It wasn't uncommon for men like him to speak little. Father forbade our guards from speaking to us, which reminded me that one of them would soon come around for their routine checks. The last thing I needed was a report of me lingering with a stranger reaching Father. “Well then, I should leave.” I brushed my palms on my gown, suddenly aware of its simplicity. It was nothing fancy, just a slightly loose pale green sundress…but did it make me look fatter? I didn't have Valentina's perfect curves. My hips were rounder, my chest fuller, and for the first time, I felt every one of my imperfections.

A feather-light touch grazed my temple, sending a shiver racing down my spine. Did he just…? I froze, startled. My pulse hammered so loudly I was sure he could hear it. I looked at him, wide-eyed. “Did you just touch me?”

His expression remained blank.

“You shouldn’t be going around touching just anyone. That's not how things are done over here.” I turned, intending to leave, but suddenly, his hand was on mine, warm and insistent. I jerked back. “What the hell are you doing?”

He looked just as startled.

“Let me go,” I hissed, more fierce than I felt. Adrenaline pushed the words out of me. “If you don’t—if you don’t let me go right now, I’ll tell Father. I’ll tell him you touched me."

His eyes darkened, and his grip loosened, but he didn't release me. Instead, his fingers traced small circles across my palm. The air became colder, and my breathing grew shallow. I watched, entranced, as his other hand rose, fingers brushing lightly against my jaw, trailing along my cheek, before threading through my hair. My eyes fluttered shut, heat pooling in the pit of my stomach. It was absurd, confusing, and despite every nerve screaming that this was reckless, that this was wrong, I couldn't pull away.

He leaned closer, and the subtle, intoxicating scent of his cologne wrapped around my senses, shrinking the world until it was only me and him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered. The single word sounded like a secret I wasn't supposed to hear.

When I dared to open my eyes again, he was gone.