Chapter Two

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Sarah says. "We've heard much about you, Laura."

"Only good things, I hope," I tell her robotically. Automatically. The family chuckles lightly. Well, all of them except Luca.

Where do I start?

He's not at all what I was expecting, and not because he's younger than I thought he would be. His appearance comes as a shock to me. He's actually good-looking. As much as I would like to say that he's atrocious looking, I can't. It'll be a filthy lie. His nose is long and straight, and slightly broad, but it doesn't mar his features. His eyes are brown—like mine—but they're framed with dark and thick lashes. My eyes are practically naked, and I have to accentuate my eyes with thick layers of mascara and eyeliner. His lips aren't too thin, and his cheekbones are high.

When he smiles at me, I notice that his upper teeth are straight, but there's some crowding on his bottom teeth. Again, it doesn't mar his features. He has a lovely smile. Charming.

It's meant to seduce.

"Yes, only good things," Sarah replies. Her smile is the same as Luca's. I eye Mary and see that her eyes are downcast, like our dad's.

Eliza is eyeing me with some disdain. I try not to take it to the heart. It might not be disdain. I don't know her well enough to know for sure. I eye the oldest son. He's different from Luca. Calmer. He wears glasses, but I can still see that they have the same eyes. Their father's eyes.

My mother claps once, breaking the trance. We were all staring at each other wordlessly, and it was starting to get slightly awkward. I wish I could walk toward Mary and hold her hand. I'm sure she's in need of it right about now. She looks small beside Luca, who's standing a few inches away from her, and she's far from short. She's five nine. She got it from our dad's side of the family. Dad's six-four. Luca isn't that much taller than her, so my guess is that he's around six feet.

I got mom's height. Five-four.

I stop myself. Why am I thinking about heights?

"I believe lunch can be served now that Laura is here," she says. I detect the criticism there. I don't think anyone else would. They don't know her as well as I do. "Please, let us all be seated. Constance," she says to our maid. "Let the kitchen know."

She nods and enters the house. Right now, I wish I was Constance. She has nothing to do with this. She won't have to (potentially) marry the man standing amongst us. A man she doesn't know. She's just an outsider. I wonder what she thinks about all of this. I'll have to ask her later. I bet we all look ridiculous in our formal wear.

The thought makes me dip my head and smile.

Mom nudges me forward once the guests start taking their seats. They brought the long dinner table all the way out here because we don't have another table big enough to hold five guests. Maybe this is why mom thinks we're poor. I sit beside Mary, who's sitting beside Eliza. Her husband, father-in-law, and Luca are seated across from us. Dad is on one end of the table, and mom is on the other.

I'm directly across from Luca.

Looking at him now, it's hard to see a man with a bad reputation. He looks ordinary. He's actually quieter than I thought he'd be, but maybe I have to wait a little longer before concluding such a thing. My first impression of him is that he's a calm person with an inviting smile. There's a sweetness to him that is a sharp contrast to what I see in other disreputable men. Men with bad reputations aren't sweet or calm. Or even quiet. Not in my world.

So, who is Luca Ferrante?

The starter is served. It's a variety of Italian starters, including bruschetta, scarpaccia, torta di p**e, pomodori ripieni, and many more. We don't usually eat this much Italian food, but I guess today is different because she's trying to celebrate her Italian heritage. Maybe she's trying to show the Ferrantes that she's more Italian than they think, but that's far from the truth. We don't speak Italian—our dad's not Italian. He doesn't speak a word of it. We grew up speaking English. We ate regular food growing up—nothing especially Italian.

Sometimes, I forget she's even Italian.

"This is delicious, Angela," Sarah says to her. She's having some of the torta di p**e. "Did you make all of this yourself?"

"Why, yes," she answers. I know for a fact that she didn't. There's a professional chef in the kitchen right now making all of this food. Now that I think of it, it makes sense why she wanted us to eat outside. The dining room is next to the kitchen, after all. Angela Greco Walsh is at it again. "I still have my dear mother's recipe book. I made all of this from scratch. My daughters helped me, of course. We have cooks but cooking is our favorite pastime. It takes me back to Italy."

Sarah looks impressed. Mary is a good cook. She mostly makes desserts; it helps her relax. I, on the other hand, can only make instant noodles. Maybe a decent sandwich. I've never been curious in the kitchen and I don't care that it's impractical. "This is truly amazing cooking. Brava."

So we're intimates now?

I turn back to my bruschetta. As I pick it up, I make eye contact with Luca. My heart skips a beat. He doesn't look away when we make eye contact, and that shows me that he's not shy about being caught staring. I remember the awkwardness of the situation and my appetite leaves me. He's supposed to pick one of us. I don't believe that he'll do it after this first meeting, but we'll be seeing more of him. I hate that.

Sarah asks Mary a few questions regarding her studies. She's studying biology—she's in her final year, actually. Mom couldn't be prouder. She wishes it were medicine, but studying is better than not studying at all, which is what I'm doing.

She talks a little bit about what she wishes to work with in the future, and Sarah nods along although it's evident that she doesn't understand much about what she's saying. I do because she talks about it all the time. I'm thankful that the silence is being filled with something.

And then she asks me the same thing. "What about you, Laura? What do you occupy your time with since you aren't at a university?"

Do I detect some disapproval there?

I clear my throat before saying, "I don't do anything at all. I spend most of my time at home, or with my friends."

Mom's face reddens. Good.

"But you do plan on studying, don't you?" she asks.

"When I figure out what I want to do, yes. I don't see why not." I look at Luca. The anger I feel makes me brave enough to ask, "Have you studied?"

"Economics," he simply answers. I'm surprised by the sound of his voice. It isn't a rumbling mess; it's clear and almost musical. He's a native Italian speaker.

Sarah adds, "Miguel studied law. He works with the family."

Of course, he does.

Marc takes the opportunity and explains a little about their legitimate business. Luca and I are still looking at each other. I wish he would look away first so I wouldn't look stupid, but simultaneously, I don't want everyone to think that I'm in love with him. So I concede. I glance at Mary and notice that she's staring at me. I can't imagine why.

I'm already bored with this lunch.

The table is cleared and the main course is served. I have some beef, but nothing else. Our parents are now discussing politics and other families. My father says very little, but I can tell that he's more comfortable. I can't say that the event is as scary as I thought it would be. They seem like ordinary people, despite all we've heard. In fact, now that they're here at our table, it's hard to remember the details. They're an ordinary family. And they're all quite friendly.

Except for Eliza.

She hasn't said a word to anyone. She's eating her food, but barely. She's only had a bite of this and that. I wonder what her problem is. She looks annoyed and I can't imagine why. She's not the one who'll marry a man of her mother's choosing. She's not the one being practically sold. Unless, of course, the same thing happened to her and she's triggered. That could be it.

I sip my drink and eye her over the rim of my glass.

Luca keeps staring at me.

Unlike with other men, I can't really say that he's staring at me because he's intrigued. There's a vacant expression in his eyes that makes it hard to tell. It's puzzling. I notice that he looks at Mary occasionally and that whenever he does, my sister blushes. I sip my drink slowly and watch her, too. What's the matter with her? Her reaction is infuriating me.

My annoyance grows.

Dessert is served. Mom's dragging it at this point. We should have finished about an hour ago; she told us it would only be for two hours. Yet, we're still eating dessert. I'm anxious for them to leave so I can go back to whatever I have to do. There's a meeting with my best friends right after lunch. Naturally, they want to know everything about the meeting. They're not exactly familiar with how my world works.

They don't know about Italian families and the mafia. They're aware of the fictitious story, but not the real aspects. They think it's barbaric to arrange a marriage for someone. They hear about murders from the news and on TV. I grew up hearing about assassinations. Sometimes, they involved people we knew. It was just how it was. My friends don't know about this.

They would never understand. Some things are best kept secret.

I finish my panna cotta with forest fruits just as the Ferrante family stands. We do the same. Dad grasps Marc's hand and shakes it. "Thank you for coming," he says with a smile. "Meeting you has been an honor."

"The honor is all ours," Marc replies politely.

We stand aside as mom says her goodbyes. Mary and I only smile and nod. She smiles, I don't. Neither does Luca. I'm curious now; I wonder what he thinks about all of this. Why is he agreeing to an arranged marriage? Is it all in the name of tradition?

We walk with them toward the door. Mary and I are behind. Luca is ahead of us. I glance at her and notice that she's staring at him. Once we reach the door, our parents keep walking with them all the way to their cars. There are two of them with two separate drivers.

We don't have a driver.

I watch them from a safe distance with my arms folded. They're probably arranging the next meeting. That is if Luca found one of us agreeable. I'm sure it's Mary. There's a better chance of it being her than me.

Before he gets into his car, we make eye contact.

And I can't lie. It makes a shiver race down my spine.