Chapter four

Meanwhile back at the villa I sat on the floor of my bedroom packing my clothes into a big suitcase. I took the box with the new watch, and carefully wrapped it in dark blue paper, and a neat ribbon about it. My mind drifted away from Marco and settled on Dante Ferraro, the man who would be my husband soon.

We had a long history. The first time I met Dante was when I was ten. He was an intimidating, cold, quiet older boy back then to a shy little girl like I was. Years later, in the second year of high school, my world came crashing down when my mother died suddenly. Grief made me a different person. I shut myself off emotionally, became withdrawn, stubborn, and totally resistant to my father or any kind of authority.

My father, worried about my bad grades, hired Dante to tutor me in math at our home. Initially, I hated it. I turned from him, would not speak, pushed back my textbooks. But Dante never became angry. He gave up his own summer vacation and patiently sat at my desk for 2 months until I finally got the work.

He was so patient with me all the time, and my grades went way up. Finally I got admitted to Jersey University and entered the campus as his junior. I had grown to think of Dante as a dear older brother over the years. And that was the respect I had, so it had seemed totally unthinkable to me when my father had first suggested that I marry Dante to unite our families. But after three years of cold neglect from Marco, Dante's loyalty felt like the only real home I had left. "You finished packing yet?

I jumped a little and spun around. Marco stood in the doorway of the bedroom, his back against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes went to the open suitcase, and rested on the wrapped blue gift box inside. "I'm almost done," I said, zipping up a side pocket.

He stood in the doorway and watched me, a relaxed, confident smirk on his face. “Do you want to tell me something, Val?”

He was clearly waiting for me to hand him the watch. I didn't say a word, and he moved further into the room, giving what sounded like a half-hearted apology. "Look, about what happened at the jewelry store earlier today... I am sorry if I seemed rude," Marco said, waving his hand. I mean, you know how stressful wedding shopping can be, especially when I’m dealing with my mother.

I got up and faced him. 'The watch is not for you, Marco. “And to be honest, I don’t think I did anything wrong today.”

His smirk vanished in a flash. His face blackened into an offended scowl. What do you mean, it's not for me? Who is it for? Tell me! As your boyfriend, it’s totally my business to know who you’re buying luxury gifts for!”

I cocked my head, looking at him with complete indifference. As my boyfriend? Aren't you Serena's boyfriend instead?"

The question visibly shook him. He scraped his feet, jaw hardening in a grim attempt to cover his tracks. "Don’t be ridiculous, Valentina! I just popped into that jewellery shop to help Serena pick out the bits and pieces to match my mum's dress for a family dinner! "And I shut up earlier to see if you'd really get jealous for once in your life!"

"You don't have to justify your excuses to me," I softly answered. "It's for my fiancée.

Marco looked at me for a long second, then erupted into a loud, mocking laugh. Your fiancé? Are you out of your mind? You're making up a fake engagement now just to force me to marry you! You are deluded, Val. I can't believe how desperate and clingy you're being!

He spun and stormed out of the bedroom without giving me one chance to tell him the truth. He didn't want to hear that I was the real heiress to the affluent Ricci family of Jersey City, and that I was leaving tonight to go home and marry Dante Ferraro.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and heard the front door slam down the stairs. My years of quiet, undemanding devotion had really made Marco think I was desperate for his attention. He thought I was a nobody, with nowhere to go.

My mind flew back to a cold night a year ago. I got home early from work and heard him on the phone in the living room talking to his mother Isabella.

“Don’t worry Ma,” Marco chuckled into the receiver. "I'm just dating Valentina for fun, to pass the time. I have no intention whatever of marrying her. None whatever.

That was when I knew he never really intended to give us a future. But I had stayed. I stayed because I still had feelings for him at the time, and because I needed the simple companionship of another person in a lonely, busy city. But even in my loneliness I had kept up my walls. In the three years we’d been together I had never broken my first kiss and virginity, refusing to give my body to a man who refused to give me his future.

I could put up with his lack of commitment. I could even fancy that he had less feeling for me than I had for him. Finding out I’d just been a convenient stand-in for my own twin sister Serena was the one unforgivable betrayal I could never accept.

Then suddenly the heavy door-bell rang downstairs.

I headed down the stairs and tugged on the front door. On the porch stood Marco’s mother, Isabella Santini. She was in an expensive designer suit, with jewellery of rich luxury that perfectly matched her outfit, proving Marco's earlier excuse of her expensive tastes was actually real.

She looked me up and down, openly and coldly contemptuous. Her lips curled into a sneer as her icy eyes met mine. "Do you really think," Isabella said coldly, "that a girl like you will ever be good enough to marry into the Santini family?

I entered the living room and sat on the armchair opposite Isabella Santini. I crossed my legs, my hands rested quietly in my lap. I didn’t offer her a drink, nor did I apologize for the mess of half-packed boxes in the corner.

“Mrs. Santini,” I said, my voice as flat as the desert. "Take time out for yourself. I have absolutely no desire to marry into the Santini family.”

Isabella laughed, harshly and dryly. She tapped her watch against her heavy diamond bracelet. "Oh please. Valentina, don't do these silly games with me. I have had girls like you for decades. You play this sweet innocent thing, pretending like you don't care about money, just to get a man to let down his guard.”

I looked at her face, and felt a little bored. She sat on my cheap fabric sofa in her custom designer suit, looking around my apartment like it was a garbage dump, looking so satisfied with herself.

"I am not pretending," I answered simply. "I don't want your son, and I don't want your family name.”

“Don’t lie,” she said, her dark eyes narrowing. “You know how much Marco is worth. A girl from your background doesn't just walk away from the Santini fortune.How much money has he paid you these last three years? Rent? Clothes? Dinners! ? You've been living off my son's bank account because you have nothing of your own.”

I felt a faint chill in my chest, not from sadness but from the sheer disbelief. I paid my half of the rent every month, without fail. I bought my own clothes with the money I earned working long, exhausting hours at the law firm.

 “I don’t care about Marco’s money,” I said, keeping my tone steady and level. 'Never have I.”

Isabella let out a mock, patronizing sigh. "Well, you would say that now. Because you know the ride is done. You think acting proud will make me feel sorry for you? You're just a gold digger who learned the bank is closed.”

I leaned forward a little, elbows on my knees. I looked into her cold eyes.” Tell me something, Mrs. Santini. Does your son have nothing to offer a woman besides his money?"

Her face turned bright red immediately. Her mouth opened and closed like she was trying to catch her breath. Her voice trembled with rage.

 "How dare you speak to me like that?" she hissed. “You little nobody with a big head!”

"It's a simple question," I said, leaning back in my chair. “If the only reason a woman would stay with Marco is his bank account, that doesn’t say much for him as a man, does it?”

Isabella glared at me, her chest heaving up and down. She scanned the coffee table, searching for something to distract her from the blush that was creeping up her neck. She looked down at the empty glass table-top.

“You don’t even have the basic manners to offer your guest a cup of tea,” she spat, her voice dripping with disgust. “You sit there like an ignorant child when my son invites me to his home. Where did you grow up?”

I smiled back at her coldly, being polite. “I didn't want to offend your high-class tastes Mrs. Santini by asking you to drink from a cheap kitchen cup. I thought your tea wasn’t good enough for you anyway, being only a low-class girl.”

Her fingers clutched the leather strap of her handbag. She was pissed because I wasn’t crying, shaking, begging for her approval like she thought I should.

“Think you’re smart, don’t you?” Isabella said, her voice dropping into a harsh warning. "Well, let me let you in on the real reason I came to see you. I would never let my son marry a woman so far beneath our social standing."

Stalking to a stop, she raised her chin in a cruel, triumphant smirk. “Ah well, I’ve already picked out Marco’s future bride. And it’s someone you know very well, Serena.”

I blinked, my face a mask of neutrality, but my mind was already racing. 

“That is correct,” Isabella said, mistaking my silence for heartbreak. “Your own sister. She has the class, the beauty, the charm that you can never hope to have. She was Marco’s first love. She is the only woman that I will ever accept as my daughter-in-law. So if you have any decency left, pack up your cheap bags and leave my son alone, or we will be forced to throw you out."

As she sat there gloating about Serena and the great Santini name, a quiet memory came to me. A few weeks ago I had been standing in the kitchen at a dinner party, secretly listening to a conversation between Marco and one of his business partners.

They had been quarreling about money. The Santini Corporation was quietly going down the tubes. Many of their major building projects in the city had come to a halt because of poor investments, and their financial losses were mounting every month. Marco was stressed, drinking too much and complaining that the banks wouldn’t give them any more loans.

And though I knew, I'd overheard Marco's phone calls, he never planned to marry me, I'd felt a deep sense of loyalty toward him at the time. Three years was a long time to be with someone. I really wanted to help him save his sinking company.

On that fateful night, when I walked to the bar with his favorite takeout food in my hands, my plan had not only been to surprise him with dinner. I'd meant to sit him down and talk about an investment. I had run away from my arranged marriage and cut off ties with my own father, so I knew I could not ask him for a favor. But I had a different choice.

My cousin, Nico Conti. 

Nico was the boss of the Conti Corporation, one of the greatest financial empires in the entire country. Nico had always loved me like a little sister, and I knew that if I swallowed my pride and called him, he would have arranged the funding to bail out the Santini Corporation without thinking twice. I was about to make a phone call to my family, to break my silence, just to save Marco’s business from sinking.

And then I'd heard Marco tell his friends that I was just a substitute for Serena. That was when I lost any desire to help him out. Let the Santini Corporation bleed. They deserved it.

I looked at Isabella, who was watching me to see if I was about to cry or ask for a payoff. She sat on the edge of the sofa, ready to negotiate a price to make me disappear.

 “Relax, Mrs. Santini,” I said calmly. “A few days from now I will be leaving for my hometown. And I have no desire ever to return to this city, or to your son.”

Isabella froze up. Her victorious smirk fell away into pure confusion. She blinked hard, clearly taken completely by surprise. “What... you? Is that all? You’re not going to ask for settlement?”

I stood up from my chair. "I don't want anything from you,and especially not from Marco," I said.

I reached over to the table, grabbed my leather purse and slung it over my shoulder before she could even open her mouth to announce her own dramatic exit.

"When you leave, lock the door," I told her as I passed her on my way to the front entrance of the apartment.

I opened the front door and stepped out into the hall, leaving Isabella all alone sitting on the sofa. She stared at me, mouth agape in shock, furious with anger over what could only be described as a shocking, unbelievable lack of the most basic manners.