Chapter seven: The Devil at My Table

Fiona’s POV

Luca Ricci was staring at me, not glancing or politely acknowledging my presence, but staring like he’d never seen a woman descend a staircase before and i was staring right back.

God, he was beautiful.

It was actually offensive how beautiful he was and his steel-grey eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made me suddenly conscious of every step I took.

How could a monster be that pretty?

Seriously, was there no justice in this world? Couldn’t God have given him a crooked nose or terrible teeth? Something to make hating him a little easier?

Instead, he’d apparently decided to make the devil look like that.

I tightened my grip on the railing and continued downstairs, determined not to trip and give the bastard the satisfaction.

Mother walked beside me, looking considerably calmer than I felt.

“Stop staring,” she whispered.

“I’m not staring.”

“Fiona, you’ve barely blinked.”

I almost laughed, which was unfortunate because Luca chose that exact moment to smile and I immediately looked away.

By the time we reached the bottom of the staircase, father was already approaching us with an expression that suggested he’d rather be attending his own funeral.

“Fiona, sweetheart.”

“Papa.”

He kissed my cheek, then placed a hand against my back and gently guided me forward, I resisted the urge to ask whether he intended to personally deliver me with a ribbon attached.

“There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Really? Who could it possibly be? The gardener? The Pope?

Perhaps the man who’d demanded my hand in marriage without having the decency to introduce himself first?

“Luca,” Father continued, “this is my youngest daughter, Fiona.”

Luca stepped forward and up close, he was worse.

He was tall enough that I had to tilt my head slightly to meet his eyes, and there was something annoyingly effortless about the way he carried himself.

Like the entire world belonged to him and everyone else was simply renting space.

“Fiona.”

His voice was deep, calm, and completely unhurried, I hated that too.

“Mr. Ricci,” I replied, offering the most polite smile I could manage under the circumstances.

His eyebrow lifted. “Luca.”

“We’ve only just met. I think Mr. Ricci will do.”

Someone behind him made a strangled noise.

I glanced over his shoulder and found a handsome man desperately pretending he hadn’t laughed.

“As you wish, Miss Romano.”

Oh, so he wanted to play that game?

Father’s hand tightened against my back, while Mother suddenly became fascinated by the flowers on a nearby table.

“Well!” Mother announced rather loudly. “Shall we have dinner?”

Thank God.

“Excellent idea,” Father replied.

***

The dining room looked like my mother had personally invited the entire Italian royal family.

And, naturally, my place card was beside Luca’s.

I stopped behind my chair and stared at the arrangement, surely this was a mistake.

I looked at Mother and she smiled apologetically.

Viviana, already seated across from me, was grinning like she’d paid for front-row tickets to a particularly entertaining disaster.

I mouthed a very rude word at her.

Her grin widened. “Something wrong?”

I turned to see Luca stood behind my chair, one hand resting against its back.

“Nothing,” I said sweetly. “I was just admiring the seating arrangement.”

He pulled out my chair and I hesitated not because I didn’t know how chairs worked, but because the gesture was so unexpectedly gentlemanly that I immediately suspected a trap.

“Are you going to sit?” he asked.

I didn’t reply and he spoke again. “Take your time. I’m a patient man.”

Somehow, I doubted that.

I sat, and he pushed the chair in before taking his place beside me.

His cologne reached me almost immediately, wonderful even the bastard smelled good.

Viviana caught my expression and raised an eyebrow.

I kicked her beneath the table and she yelped, Luca seems to notice the interaction as he raised his brow.

Servants entered carrying the first course, and Father began discussing the weather with Matteo.

Of all things.

I picked up my water glass, wondering whether throwing it at someone would be considered poor table manners.

Mother would be furious.

He leaned down to my level and spoke in a voice only I could hear. “You’re very quiet.”

I turned toward Luca. “And you’re very observant.”

“So you speak, I was beginning to think you had nothing else to say.”

I looked around to make sure everyone could see the sweet couple interacting then I lowered my voice. “Give me time. I’m still deciding which words suits you best.”

He laughed softly.

“You’re quite different from what I expected.”

“Disappointed?”

“Not remotely.”

I studied him for a moment, trying to understand what kind of man could sit beside a woman he’d essentially forced into marriage and behave as though they were enjoying an ordinary family dinner.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you always get everything you want?”

His expression changed slightly. “Almost.”

“And when you don’t?”

He leaned back in his chair. “I become very unpleasant.”

I smiled.

“Then I suppose we’re both going to have a difficult marriage.”

His eyes narrowed with amusement. “Is that a promise, little dove?”

I blinked. Little dove? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Before I could ask, Father cleared his throat.

“Perhaps we should discuss the arrangements for the wedding.”

My stomach dropped. Already? We hadn’t even finished the first course.

“Papa, can we at least eat before discussing the rest of my life?”

“Fiona, we need to settle certain matters.”

Luca turned I smiled. “Perhaps we should discuss it.”

“That’s what we’re doing.” Father replied.

“No.” He placed his glass on the table and looked directly at me. “I mean privately.”

My smile disappeared. “Privately?”

“Yes. Just the two of us.”

The entire table fell silent, even Viviana stopped looking entertained and father straightened in his chair.

“Luca, I don’t think that’s necessary.” My father said.

“I disagree.”

His voice was still calm, but something in it had changed.

I looked between them, surely he wasn’t serious.

We’d barely exchanged twenty sentences, and now he wanted to get me alone?

Absolutely not.

I opened my mouth to refuse, but Luca spoke first.

“I think Fiona and I should have the opportunity to discuss our marriage without an audience. Unless, of course, there’s a reason you object.”

His eyes settled on Father.

And suddenly, I understood that this wasn’t a request but another test.

Another opportunity for Luca Ricci to remind my father exactly who held the power in their ridiculous arrangement.

I turned toward Papa.

Please say no.

For once in your life, please remember you’re my father before you’re a Don.

He was calculating, his daughter’s discomfort against the protection he’d purchased with her future.

Luca leaned back in his chair, perfectly relaxed, as though he already knew the answer.