5. Unexpected

Brielle’s POV

Two weeks had crawled by since the breakup, and somehow I still felt like garbage. I had spent the first few days crying on Cassandra’s couch, eating overpriced ice cream, and binge-watching really trashy reality TV shows. Finn had brought wine-the good kind, bless him-and sat with me while I ranted about how men were cosmic punishments disguised as humans.

But eventually, life demanded that everyone return to their regularly scheduled programming. Cass had work. Finn had long shifts. And I had… well, I had my own mess. So I threw myself into work. And I designed really hard. I did late nights, extra projects, staying behind until security guards started giving me pity looks. Anything to keep my brain from replaying what happened with Marcus. Anything to avoid thinking about him probably sliding comfortably back into Kate’s arms.

I deleted our photos and blocked him everywhere. I threw away that stupid hoodie of his I kept sleeping in. I was fine. Totally fine. Except… I was absolutely not.

And then my mother called.

“Brielle, darling, you need to come to dinner this Friday,” she said in that tone that meant “I’m pretending you have a choice but you really don’t.”

“Mom, I’m not exactly in the mood for—”

“I insist. I have someone very special I want you to meet.” I rolled my eyes. Of course it had to be one of her book club men who all smelled like cologne and desperation.

“Mom—”

“I’ve been seeing someone,” she cut in. “It’s getting quite serious.”

That made me pause. My mother hadn’t dated seriously since my father died five years ago.

“Oh,” I said, genuinely taken aback. “That’s… good. I’m happy for you.”

“So you’ll come? Friday, seven o’clock?”

Everything in me wanted to say no, curl up in bed, and avoid humanity entirely. But she sounded very excited about this. I couldn’t crush that.

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful! Dress nicely. This is important.” And that was how I ended up standing outside her house Friday evening, wearing a navy-blue dress I dug from the depths of my closet, silently asking myself why on earth I agreed to this. I sighed, mentally kicked myself, and rang the bell.

My mother opened the door instantly, as if she’d been waiting with her ear pressed against it.

“Brielle! You came!” She squealed and pulled me into a deep hug. I took the time to take in her cologne and just relish in its luxury.

“Of course,” I said. “I said I would.” I replied pulling back.

She stepped back and eyed me critically. “You look lovely. A bit thin. Have you been eating?”

“Yes, Mom.” I said, faking a smile. She never like Marcus. I couldn’t give her that satisfaction. Plus, I knew she would be happy we finally parted ways. She would be disappointed that I have been mourning rather than rejoicing. Plus, this was her moment. I couldn’t ruin it for her.

“Good. Come inside. He’ll be here any minute.”

The house looked staged. Like she’d auditioned for the part of “elegant hostess” and the judges were due any second. Fresh flowers everywhere, with candles lit, and the best china arranged like we were having royalty.

“Wow,” I murmured. “This is a lot.”

“I want to make a good impression,” she said, adjusting yet another flower. “This is very important to me.”

“I can tell. So… who is he?”

“Oh, Richard? We met at a charity gala three months ago. Very sophisticated man. You’ll like him.”

Before I could ask anything else, the doorbell rang. Mother’s eyes shone and then she looked back at the door and began walking towards it, smoothening her dress and checking herself in the mirror like a teenager meeting her crush.

“Richard! Right on time!” she squealed. And I think her pitch was a bit higher than it was when she saw me.

“Linda, you look beautiful.”

The voice that answered was deep and very polished. You could tell the calibre of men it belonged to. The kind who signed million-dollar contracts over cocktails. Then I heard them kiss and I cringed

“Come in. My daughter is here. I’ve been so excited for you two to meet!” I stood up, plastering on my polite-daughter smile as they approached.

The man was tall, late fifties maybe,with an expensive looking suit, and had silver strands in his golden hair. The kind of man who owned entire buildings and didn’t bother hiding it.

“Brielle,” my mother said proudly, “this is Richard Moretti. Richard, this is my daughter.”

Moretti? My brain stopped. Moretti definitely rang a bell.

“Lovely to meet you,” he said warmly, extending his hand.

I shook it automatically, my mind spinning. Moretti. Like Dante Moretti. But it couldn’t be. There had to be dozens of Morettis in the city. It didn’t have to be that Moretti.

“Nice to meet you too,” I managed to say amidst the chaos in my head. I was almost tempted to ask if he knew the name Dante Moretti. But it would be unwise.

“Your mother speaks highly of you. A graphic designer, right?”

“Yes.”

“Wonderful. Creativity is an undervalued talent.” I nodded with a smile on.My mother looked like she’d won a husband raffle.

“Richard owns several businesses. Hotels, restaurants, construction—”

“Linda,” he chuckled lightly. “She doesn’t want my résumé.”

“Actually,” she said pointedly, “I find it fascinating.”

I tried to focus, but that name wouldn’t leave my head. Moretti.

Then Richard said, “My son will be joining us as well. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, how wonderful!” my mother said. “Brielle, he’s around your age. Wouldn’t it be lovely if you two got along?”

I forced a smile. “Sure, Mom.”

God please, let it be another family. Please dear God, please. Please don’t let it be him. I could only pray at that point because my insides panicked.

The doorbell rang again. My stomach dropped.

“That must be him!” my mother sang, practically skipping toward the door. Then I heard greetings. Then a familiar voice. Please, universe, have mercy. Please—

Then they walked in. And just like that, the universe told me to go to hell. Because standing right there in my mother’s living room, wearing a black suit that probably cost more than my rent, was Dante Moretti. For a second, everything fell still the moment we locked eye contact. He had paused in his steps, while I just remained still, wondering why the universe was destined to make my life messier. Then slowly, his lips curved into that sinful, knowing smirk I’d been trying to forget.

“Dante, this is my daughter, Brielle,” my mother announced proudly. Obviously oblivious to the underneath tension between us. “Brielle, dear, this is Richard’s son, Dante.”

I couldn’t speak. I just remained where I was, hoping a miracle happened and someone suddenly woke me up saying it was a freaking nightmare.

Then he started walking toward me, like he had all the time in the world. His eyes never left mine.

“Brielle,” he said, extending his hand. “What a pleasure to finally meet you properly.”

I forced a smile as I shook his hand, and a spark shot right up my spine. Then he leaned in pretty close enough to get to my ears.

“Small world, little cat,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only I could hear.