Chapter Four

The drive from the airport felt like something out of a movie. Not the rom-com type, but the kind where the scenery is so impossibly perfect it makes you suspicious.

We drove along the coast, the Mediterranean stretching endlessly to my right, shimmering under the afternoon sun. 

On my left, cliffs rose high and steep, dotted with houses painted in pastel shades that looked like they’d been plucked from a watercolor. Laundry fluttered on balconies. Scooters zipped past. Somewhere, a man was shouting in Italian at a car that had double-parked.

I wanted to press my forehead to the glass like a little kid. Instead, I sat back and tried to act like I’d seen it all before.

“So… how far is your house from the airport?” I asked, pretending to sound bored instead of enchanted.

“Not far,” he said from behind the wheel, his tone casual. “Fifteen minutes. Maybe less if traffic isn’t bad.”

He didn’t say much after that, and neither did I. But I felt his eyes flick toward me a couple of times, like he was checking to make sure I hadn’t bolted out the car door.

When the villa finally came into view, my fake boredom evaporated.

It was… ridiculous.

Tall iron gates swung open as soon as we approached, revealing a driveway lined with towering cypress trees. The path curved through perfectly manicured gardens, bursts of flowers spilling over stone walls. The building itself was all white stone and pale shutters, with balconies wrapped in vines and windows that caught the sunlight like they’d been staged for a luxury magazine shoot.

I stepped out of the car, tilting my head back to take it all in.

“Okay,” I said, unable to stop the smile spreading across my face. “I hate admitting this, but… this place is insane.”

He smirked, locking the car. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

*********

Inside was somehow even more impressive. High ceilings with wooden beams, marble floors that gleamed under the light, and French doors thrown open to let the breeze drift through. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something savory cooking somewhere deeper in the house.

“This is just the entrance,” he said, walking ahead. “There’s more upstairs.”

Of course there was.

He showed me to my room. How dare he call a space with a king-sized bed, antique armoire, and a balcony overlooking the Amalfi Coast a “room.” I stepped outside, gripping the railing as the sea breeze lifted my hair. The water below glittered like scattered diamonds.

For a few minutes, I just stood there, letting the view wash over me. The entire last twenty-four hours felt unreal,like I’d fallen into someone else’s life and now I'm back to my life.

When I finally turned back, my suitcases had already been brought in and stacked neatly by the wardrobe. Efficient. Too efficient.

*********

After changing to something simpler,I went downstairs.I found him in one of the sitting rooms, sprawled in a leather chair like he owned the entire coastline. Which, given the view from the window, he might as well have.

“So,” he said without preamble, “what happened?”

The question was simple, but his tone wasn’t. I believe mom must have told him everything. But he just wants to hear from me.

I told him everything. The party.The way my dad had dragged me out like a criminal. The scolding in half-Italian-half-English. The arranged marriage reminder. The Italy ultimatum. But I didn't tell him about my ex.

I didn’t sugarcoat it. I even told him about my sarcastic comebacks, because pretending I’d been polite would’ve been the most unbelievable part of the story.

For a moment, he was silent. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. There was a flicker,quick, sharp,of something that looked like anger. Not the loud kind. The dangerous, quiet kind.

Then it was gone. He leaned back, waving a hand dismissively. “Not the smartest move, Alessia.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. “No one got hurt. Except maybe my pride. And my mother’s blood pressure.”

He didn’t smile.

Instead, he reached over to the coffee table, picked up a thick, glossy book, and dropped it in front of me with a soft thud.

I glanced down. Top Five Universities in Italy.

“Choose one,” he said simply. “I’ll take care of the enrollment.”

I blinked. “You’re… what, my college advisor now?”

“Something like that.”

I flipped it open. Full-color spreads of historic campuses and cheerful, photogenic students filled the pages. The captions boasted about academic rankings, centuries-old traditions, and student life that sounded like it had been copy-pasted from a tourism brochure.

When I looked up again, he was still watching me.

His gaze lingered too long, heavy enough to feel but not enough to call out without sounding paranoid.

I arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said, leaning back. “Just wondering how long it’ll take you to get yourself in trouble here.”

I smirked. “Depends on how good the nightlife is.”

That earned the faintest twitch of his lips,almost a smile. Almost.

The pages were glossy under the light, but all I could see was the man at the airport. The one who’d leaned in close and whispered, Benvenuta in Italia, futura sposa.

I didn’t know his name. I didn’t know how he knew me or why he’d said that. But I knew one thing, it hadn’t been random.

And as much as the villa was beautiful, as much as the sea breeze made me want to stay on that balcony forever…

I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just stepped into something I didn’t understand.

Something that had nothing to do with college, and everything to do with why my stepbrother’s gaze lingered a little too long.