Chapter 8. The Dance

* Lorenzo *

I must admit that her body fit against mine perfectly even with an ease that felt wrong for how deliberate it was. Too soft, not tentative, just there, pressed into my frame as the orchestra slipped into something slow and indulgent. A waltz meant for appearances. For sealing lies.

I set my hand properly at her tiny waist, fingers splayed just enough to claim control without bruising. Damn, she feels good. I wanted to squeeze her tightly. But I have to follow etiquette. That was what this was supposed to be. A dutiful son dancing with his new stepmother while the guests watched and whispered.

If only they knew how ugly the truth was beneath the silk and crystal. The bitterness I felt seemed to dull the moment I inhaled her sweet perfume; it made me want to bury my nose in her neck.

Miranda didn't look at me at first. Her lashes stayed lowered, mouth held too still, as if any movement might crack her composure. I kept telling myself to despise her, but now that she is in my arms like this, all I can think about is taking her to my bed. Her mouth looked inviting, I was glad when my father did not follow tradition and just kissed her on her forehead.

I'll be committing a big sin if I follow my sexual urges right now.

I could feel the tension humming through her, coiled, restrained, familiar. The same tension I carried every day in this family.

"Relax," I murmured, my voice low, meant only for her. "They'll think my step mother hate me."

Her fingers tightened briefly at my shoulder. "That wouldn't be far from the truth, would it?"

A corner of my mouth lifted. Sharp and amused. "Careful. Hatred implies effort."

She finally looked up then, straight into my eyes, and for a second the room disappeared. God, she was infuriatingly beautiful. Even wounded, even sold, she still carried herself like someone who refused to bend all the way. Why does she have to be my stepmother!?

If she knew. If she knew that while my father placed that ring on her finger, his eyes had already been searching the room for his woman, Laura.

I guided her into a slow turn, the hem of her gown whispering between us. Applause rippled around the floor, the audience satisfied by the illusion. My father stood near the edge now, close to Laura, their heads inclined just enough to be intimate without being obvious.

The same way it had always been.

"She seems, comfortable," Miranda said quietly, her gaze flicking past my shoulder for half a second. "Laura."

I followed her line of sight without turning my head. Laura laughed at something Salvatore murmured, her hand resting briefly, too briefly, against his sleeve.

"She always is, my father has known her for a long time," I replied.

There was something in my tone that made Miranda stiffen. She studied my face again, searching, like she sensed a crack but couldn't yet see where it led.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked.

I leaned in just enough that my breath brushed her ear, my words wrapped in silk and danger. "It means you're observant. Don't stop now. And whatever you see father does, you can't question him even if he married you."

Her jaw set. "If you're trying to unsettle me."

"I'm not trying," I cut in softly. "I'm succeeding Miranda."

We moved again, slower now but closer. Her pulse thudded under my palm and it felt good. I hated that I noticed everything about her. Hated more than it mattered to me.

I'd known about Laura since I was seventeen. Known the difference between a family friend and a woman who stayed too late, who moved through my father's houses as if she belonged there. I'd watched my mother pretend not to see. Watched Salvatore build empires by day and betray vows by night.

And now he'd handed Miranda a crown made of obligation and called it protection. But he was only an object to him because until now he has still been with one woman and that is Laura.

"You think tonight changed everything," I said, my voice barely audible beneath the strings. "It didn't matter if he married you, Miranda. Don't feel at ease just because you have a marriage contract."

Her brows drew together. "Then why does it feel like it ended something?"

Because it did, I thought. Because you just stepped into a war you don't even know exists.

I spun her once more, a touch sharper than necessary. Her breath caught, eyes flashing, not fear, but anger. Good. Anger would keep her alive.

"Listen to me," I said, meeting her gaze fully now. "In this family, loyalty is a performance. Love is a liability specially for us. And truth," my grip tightened fractionally at her waist "—is negotiated."

She swallowed. "You sound like you're warning me, Lorenzo."

My name sounded different coming from her lips. It was nice like my name had a new meaning into it. I had to knock my head with my knuckles because I almost lost it.

"I am."

"Why?" she asked. "You don't owe me anything."

No. I didn't. But I also didn't owe my father silence anymore.

The music began to swell toward its end. I slowed us, let the final notes stretch, keeping her just a second longer than propriety allowed.

"Because," I said quietly, "you deserve to know where you're standing Miranda."

Her eyes searched mine, something unsettled blooming there. Confusion and suspicion. A crack is forming at the edge of her perfect composure.

Before she could ask more, the applause surged again, the spell breaking. If I could i would have danced with her all night buy I released her smoothly, stepping back into the role everyone expected of me.

I bowed my head slightly. Respectful and controlled in the eyes of the crowd. My lips twisted in a smile that did not reach my eyes.

"Welcome to the De Luca family," I said sarcastically. "Try not to trust anyone too quickly."

And as I let her go, as my father's laughter carried across the ballroom from where he stood far too close to Laura, I knew one thing with absolute certainty.

Miranda had no idea what she'd married into.

But she was about to learn that starting tonight. I would hate to leave her but I have to go and speak with the other guests now that my father seems to be too busy to handle anything else other than speaking with Laura.