HIS EMPIRE, HER HEART

DANTE I stand at the altar with Valerio Corsini beside me. His presence is steady, as always. Every muscle in my body is locked, disciplined into stillness. My palms press flat against each other, hiding the urge to clench my fists. I hate being here. Hate that my life has been forced into a corner where this marriage is my only option.My mother sits in the front pew, dressed in deep burgundy, smiling like a woman who cannot wait to see her grandchildren. She doesn't look at me. She doesn't need to. The message was delivered weeks ago, folded into a legal document and handed to me like a gift.Marry Isabella Hart. Or watch Nico Romano inherit every asset my father spent his life building.I should have refused. I wanted to. But my mother knows exactly how to get to me, has always known since I was a boy watching my father sign away pieces of himself in order to keep the peace she demanded. She learned that power early and never let it go.I told myself I would enter this marriage on

Isabella Twenty-five minutes is not long enough to talk yourself back into composure, but it's what I have. I change out of the gown in the suite they've given us, pulling on a simple dress that doesn't press against my ribs and doesn't smell like the reception hall. My hands are steadier by the time I'm done. The courtyard air is cool when I step outside. Lanterns glow amber along the stone walls, and under different circumstances it might be beautiful. Papa stands with Aurelia near the steps, and when he sees me his face does the thing it always does...forgets to hide how much he loves me. I walk straight into him. His arms come around me and I press my face to his shoulder, and the tears I've been managing all day finally slip past. He doesn't tell me not to cry. He just holds me, one hand moving slow and steady across my back the way it did when I was small and had nightmares. "Shh, Princess," he says, though I feel his chest shake when he says it. "You'll be fine." Behind m

Isabella The Pamplemousses Botanical Garden is sprawling and green, making the villa’s manicured perfection look like a toy. Giant lily pads float on dark ponds while tangled canopies break the sunlight into scattered gold. Dante walks beside me, hands in pockets, sunglasses hiding his eyes. He hasn't stopped critiquing the trip since we stepped out of the car. "The humidity is going to ruin that linen," he says, eyeing my dress. "And these paths are poorly maintained. A waste of an afternoon." "They have giant tortoises here," I say, trying to ignore him. "Over a hundred years old." "Captive reptiles. Fascinating," he draws out the word with heavy sarcasm. I stop in my tracks. "You don't have to stay if you're so miserable." "I'm not miserable. I’m being realistic. This is a tourist trap, Isabella. You’re letting the 'experience' blind you to the lack of utility." "Utility?" I laugh, the sound sharp and bitter. "Of course. How could I forget? Everything with you is a transacti