Chapter 3 – Stranger with a Familiar Smile

The morning after the engagement brunch, Elise rose early.

Today wasn't about introductions. That had been yesterday—the curated crowd, the champagne, the polite appraisals veiled behind silver trays and smiles. Today was smaller. Sharper. A private luncheon between the Caro and D’Amaro families, set in the garden to “talk through expectations” and “build rapport.”

Translation: keep impressing them.

She would.

But not the way they expected.

Elise stood before her wardrobe, ignoring the row of pastels her mother had laid out again. She reached past them for something different—a charcoal-blue wrap dress with long sleeves and an open back. Subtle, sleek, dangerously quiet.

She twisted her hair into a low knot and lined her eyes dark and winged. No lipstick. No perfume. She didn’t need artifice.

She wasn’t dressing to appeal.

She was dressing to disarm.

Her mother taught her posture, but her father — in his rare moments of attention — insisted on less frivolous tutors. One for offshore finance. Another for digital encryption. “A beautiful woman is a target, Elise,” he’d once said. “Know how to hide your money. And your mistakes.” She’d listened. Silently. And remembered.

When she stepped out of her room, Camila paused at the top of the stairs.

“That dress is a little dramatic for lunch.”

Elise smoothed the fabric at her hip. “Then lunch should rise to the occasion.” 

The table was set beneath the olive trees in the lower garden. Six chairs. White linen. A silver bucket chilling vintage Prosecco. It was elegant and spare—and entirely for show.

Cassian arrived first, flanked by his uncle Matteo.

Elise descended the stone steps slowly, the light catching the smooth fabric of her dress as she moved.

Cassian looked up.

And paused.

There was a hesitation in his expression, as if he wasn’t sure whether he was seeing the same woman from yesterday or someone who had stepped into her skin and sharpened the edges.

“Elise,” he said, rising politely.

She nodded once. “Cassian.”

His gaze lingered a second too long. Not rude. But thoughtful.

She turned next to Matteo and offered a more formal smile.

“Mr. D’Amaro,” she said.

“Matteo, please.” His voice was smooth, his eyes sharper than his smile. “And you must be the reason my nephew forgot his manners.”

She let out a soft, noncommittal sound. “He’ll recover.” 

They sat, and lunch began—the four parents talking business at one end of the table, Elise seated beside Cassian at the other. Matteo positioned himself across from them, silent but listening.

Elise ate slowly, movements deliberate. Her knife slid through the grilled sea bass with elegance. She didn’t fill the silence, and she didn’t defer to Cassian—not like she might’ve in her old life.

And he noticed. 

“You didn’t say much yesterday,” Cassian said, his voice low enough for her alone.

“I didn’t need to.”

He sipped from his glass. “You’re not what I expected.”

“You keep repeating that.”

“I’ll stop when I figure out why.”

Her gaze lifted to his. “You’re used to people fitting patterns. But I don’t.”

“You’re deliberately difficult.”

“No,” she said. “I’m deliberately designed.”

That made him pause.

Not because he disagreed—but because he didn’t understand what, exactly, she meant by it.

Across the table, Matteo watched them closely. Elise hadn’t once looked to Cassian for guidance. She didn’t laugh too loudly. Didn’t lean in too quickly. Her confidence wasn’t performative—it was controlled.

More importantly, she unsettled Cassian.

And that intrigued Matteo.

As lunch drew to a close, Cassian leaned toward her.

“I’m surprised you came today.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugged. “Some girls get nervous. Especially after yesterday.”

Elise tilted her head. “And what do you think yesterday was?”

“A test,” he said simply.

“And today?”

“Another one.”

She smiled, slow and dangerous. “Then I hope you’re grading yourself.”

He grinned. It faltered slightly under the heat of her gaze.

When they stood, Matteo was already at her side.

“Elise,” he said smoothly, offering his arm as they walked up the stone steps.

She hesitated. Then accepted.

He didn’t speak until they were out of earshot.

“My nephew is clever, but impatient. He’s never had to work for anything.”

“Must be nice,” Elise replied coolly.

“Which is why I noticed how rattled he gets when you’re near.”

She glanced at him. “And you?”

“I get curious.”

Elise’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Be careful, Mr. D’Amaro. Curiosity can be dangerous.”

“So can beauty,” he replied, just as evenly. 

She let go of his arm at the top of the steps.

Then turned to him.

“Good thing I’m both.”

As she broke away from Matteo toward the drinks table, she felt Cassian’s eyes on her.

And soon after, from the shadows of a second-floor balcony, another pair of eyes followed her.

Matteo D’Amaro sipped his whiskey slowly, watching his nephew follow a woman like a dog circling a scent he couldn’t place.

He watched Elise for a long moment—not with hunger, but with interest.

She didn’t smile. She didn’t beg. And she didn’t bend.

Interesting, Matteo thought.

Very interesting indeed.

Later that evening, Elise sat by her window, legs tucked beneath her, the leather-bound Elena Cruz journal open in her lap.

She wrote:

Cassian: instinctive. reactive. curious. Doesn’t like puzzles he didn’t build.

Matteo: calculating. attentive. watches instead of chasing. Keep close.

She tapped the pen once against the page.

And beneath the names, she added one more word:

Useful.