Chapter 6 – The Dress That Didn’t Fit

The flames were small. Controlled.

Elise watched from the open balcony door as the smoke curled into the morning air, barely visible against the pale sky. The grey dress her mother insisted she wear turned to ash inside the firepit — delicate silk, high collar, embroidered sleeves — all of it gone.

She didn’t flinch.

Camila had called it a gift. Something elegant. Something soft. Something to make her look like she belonged to someone.

Elise had decided she belonged to no one.

The rug beneath her feet was dusted with fine black ash. She didn’t brush it away.

She walked back inside, her skin still warm from the shower, hair damp and twisted loosely down her back. The mirror reflected bare shoulders, damp collarbones, the slow inhale and exhale of a body that had once been trained to be still.

That girl was gone.

The black halter dress she chose fit like second skin. High at the neck, open at the back, cut low along the sides where her ribs dipped inward. It hugged her in all the right places — just enough to draw the eye, not enough to look like she tried.

Her makeup was precise: sharp liner, sculpted cheekbones, a mouth in a rich berry red. She wore no earrings. Just a thin gold chain draped along the dip of her spine.

When she entered the foyer, her father was standing waiting downstairs. He looked up from his watch. His expression was unreadable — somewhere between irritation and regret.

“You’re dressed.”

“I am,” she said, picking up her gloves.

“She sent you something else.”

“I sent it back.”

He said nothing, but his mouth pressed into a line.

—

They drove in silence to the D’Amaro estate — the same hilltop venue where Caro marriages had been bartered for decades. The D’Amaro estate rose like a fortress above the cliffs. Brutalist angles softened only by imported olive trees and glass. 

Today’s brunch was supposedly informal, but Elise knew better. This was a showcase. A test.

She passed it the second she stepped out of the car.

A hush fell over the courtyard.

Eyes turned. Conversations paused. The Caro girl — the one whispered about — had arrived looking like a weapon in velvet. One older guest whispered behind a flute of Prosecco.

“Is that the Caro girl?”

“She doesn’t look like a Caro anymore.”

She didn’t smile.

The servers didn’t ask for her name. They offered her champagne with downcast eyes.

Cassian appeared on the edge of the terrace, dressed in charcoal grey, his tie missing, the top button of his shirt undone. Casual, but only just. His eyes landed on her and stayed there.

She didn’t move faster.

Let him come to her.

Matteo was the first to approach her.

He didn’t say hello. Just looked her over slowly, like he was appraising something priceless he hadn’t expected to find.

“Elise,” he said finally. “You look...”

“Different?” she offered.

“Fatal.”

She met his gaze and held it. “Then watch where you step.”

Cassian arrived a second later.

“You came,” he said, low.

“You didn’t think I would?”

“I thought you’d show up wearing something more... agreeable.”

“I find this very agreeable,” she said, her voice like silk poured over ice.

His gaze moved, just slightly, toward her waist — the bare line between fabric and skin.

“Not many women dress for war at a family brunch.”

“I’m not most women.”

Matteo looked between them. His smile didn’t shift, but his attention sharpened.

The three of them stood there, a triangle of quiet power in the middle of an afternoon built on false pleasantries. Then Matteo stepped forward and offered her his arm.

“Shall we?”

Elise hesitated, just long enough for Cassian to notice, then slipped her hand into Matteo’s elbow.

Let him wonder what it meant.

—

Brunch was served beneath a shaded pergola layered in wisteria. The table was long, white-linened, glittering with glassware and the false warmth of society.

Elise sat between the two men. She said little. She didn’t need to.

Her legs were crossed just enough to draw a man’s eye beneath the slit of her dress. Her lips brushed her champagne glass with deliberate ease. She smiled only when it served her.

She felt Cassian’s gaze before she turned.

He was watching her mouth.

She licked a drop of wine from her bottom lip and turned back to Matteo, who was speaking about logistics in Sicily.

“You seem very informed,” she said, tilting her head.

Matteo raised a brow. “Does that intimidate you?”

“Nothing that’s earned ever does.”

Cassian’s fingers tapped once against his water glass.

“Tell me, Elise,” Matteo said. “Is it true you studied art history?”

“For a while.”

“You don’t strike me as the sentimental type.”

“I’m not. But I understand the value of preservation. Especially when it’s rare.”

Cassian’s jaw ticked. “You value power.”

“I value choice,” she replied.

He didn’t look away. “You’ve been testing me.”

“No. You’ve just never had someone tell you no without smiling.”

The air between them shifted — not tense, but weighted.

Cassian leaned in, voice lower.

“You’ve been provoking me.”

“If I had, you’d already be reacting.”

“I am.”

She let the silence stretch.

“We should talk about what comes next,” Cassian said, voice low. “Now that the families are aligned.”

She turned to him. “Which part?”

“The formalities. Guests. The dress.”

She laughed. Soft. Dark. Amused.

“I’ll wear what I choose.”

Matteo’s smirk was nearly imperceptible. “She has taste.”

“She has a habit of challenging structure,” Cassian said flatly.

Elise turned toward him, slow and graceful.

“Then try building something worth submitting to.”

The silence was sharp.

Cassian’s eyes darkened.

Matteo poured more wine.

—

After the plates were cleared, Elise stepped away from the table and walked to the stone balustrade overlooking the vineyard.

The breeze was cool. The air smelled like sea salt and wealth.

Cassian joined her.

“Was that the plan?”

“What?”

“The dress. The silence. The way you looked at him instead of me. You knew what you were doing when you walked in wearing that.”

She didn’t look at him. “Do you regret bringing me here?”

“I regret wanting you this badly.”

That made her turn.

He was right there, gaze fixed on her lips.

“You want me,” she said. “But you don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“Good,” she said, stepping closer until the front of her dress brushed his belt. “Then we’re even.”

His hand found her waist.

Not forceful. But firm. Like his fingers had been there before. Like they remembered.

Her breath caught for a second, only because her body still reacted.

Then she stepped back, slowly pulling his hand from her hip and folding it politely into his own.

“We don’t play that game in public,” she said.

Cassian stared at her. “Then where?”

She leaned in, close enough for her breath to warm his neck.

“When I’m ready,” she said, “I’ll invite you.”

And she walked away.

The slit of her dress parted with every step.

Every head turned.

This wasn’t the girl in lavender.

This was Elise Caro, beautifully dangerous, and absolutely untouchable.