Chapter Five

Elisa sat slouched in the library chair, her cheek resting against her palm as she flipped through the pages of yet another thick file. Her eyes scanned the text, but her mind barely held on to the words. Names. Faces. Schedules. Guest lists. Facts about a man she didn’t know and couldn’t care less about. After lunch, Mrs. Cooper had practically dragged her into the library and forced her to go through the pile of files on the table.

The door creaked open behind her. She didn’t bother looking up. The soft click of heels gave the intruder away.

Her mother walked in, carefully composed in a cream-colored blouse and a pencil skirt that hugged her figure. Her expression was soft, but cautious — like someone trying to pet a sleeping dog without waking it.

She hesitated a few seconds before walking toward Elisa and lowering herself onto the chair beside her.

Elisa didn’t even acknowledge her. Her eyes remained fixed on the open folder in front of her — a page with a glossy photo of Stefano Bellucci shaking hands with a business associate.

“How are you, my dear?” her mother asked gently, her voice almost a whisper.

Elisa’s lips barely moved. “I’m fine.”

“Did you get a headache today?”

“No.”

Her mother straightened a little, as if trying to ease into the conversation. “How was your afternoon?”

“Fine.”

“Did Mrs. Cooper—?”

“Yes, she did,” Elisa snapped, her tone sharper now. “She gave me files. Photos. A detailed breakdown of my fiancé’s family tree. Notes on which fork to use and who’s sitting next to who at the wedding. Apparently, I’m supposed to memorize 112 names.”

There was a beat of silence. Her mother folded her hands in her lap, her eyes flickering with unease.

“I know this is hard,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “but I just want you to give this a chance.”

Elisa finally turned to look at her, eyes narrowing. “How long did we date? The file didn't give any information on that.”

Her mother blinked. “Several months.”

“When did he propose?”

“Elisa…” Her voice dipped, uncertain. “These questions aren’t really neces......”

“They matter,” Elisa said, her voice rising. “I’m expected to marry a man in three days, and the only thing I know is that he’s 6'4, has dark hair with hazel eyes, likes women who barely eat and has a business no one can name. Oh — and that he is wealthy enough to keep me happy. Like it matters.”

Her mother shifted uncomfortably. “You were proud of his wealth. You kept saying he could give you the kind of life most girls only dream about.”

Elisa leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. “And you and father were okay with that? With me marrying a man just because of his money?”

“It was your decision,” her mother said quickly. “You chose him.”

Elisa gave a bitter laugh. “Then I must’ve been out of my mind.”

Her mother didn’t answer. Her lips tightened, and for a moment, it looked like she wanted to reach for her, but didn’t.

“I don’t want to marry him,” Elisa said, her voice quieter now, but firm. “I don’t know him. And he clearly doesn’t care about me — he hasn’t even visited.”

“Elisa, please—”

“No. Don’t ask me to pretend. This isn’t love. This is a transaction.”

Her mother’s voice cracked just slightly. “We can’t cancel the wedding. It would insult the Bellucci family — your father—”

“I don’t care about his pride. Or their name. Or their guest list.”

There was a knock on the door. A maid stepped in, head bowed.

“Mrs. Mancini,” she said softly, “your husband requests your presence — both of you — in the dining room.”

“Thank you, Jane. We’ll be right there.”

As the maid left, her mother turned back to her, her face suddenly weary.

“I know this isn’t what you want. But please, just try to give it a chance.”

“I’m not giving it anything. He doesn’t even care about me. He didn’t visit me. I don’t know him. What are we getting married for?”

Her mother didn’t answer. Her lips pressed together, and for a second, she looked almost... afraid.

“Elisa, we'll talk later. We have to go downstairs. Your father doesn't like being kept waiting.” she said, almost pleading now, "Just... don’t bring this up with your father. He won’t be pleased.”

“Go,” Elisa said, her voice flat. “I’ll follow.”

Her mother stared at her for a moment longer, then stood and quietly left the room.

Elisa sat there, unmoving, before finally rising. She didn’t want to go. But she also didn’t want to give her father another reason to lash out. She walked slowly to the dining room.

When she entered, both her parents were already seated. The table was long, the distance between them enough to host a small gathering. The food had been served, and neither of them looked up as she made her way to the far end and took a seat.

She had barely taken a few bites when her father’s deep voice rang out from across the table.

“Did you study the files?”

Elisa didn’t look up. “Yes.”

“What is the name of your fiancé?”

“Stefano Bellucci.”

“Do you have any questions?”

Elisa didn’t respond.

His voice hardened. “Elisa. I asked you a question.”

“I don’t want to get married to him.”

He slowly put down his fork and dabbed his mouth with a napkin, as though steadying himself. “I thought we’d already talked about this. I didn’t ask for your consent. You are getting married. That’s not negotiable.”

Elisa looked up at him, defiant. “You can’t force me.”

“Yes, I can,” he said, calmly but with clear venom in his voice. “You are my daughter. I decide your future.”

“I’m not your puppet,” she hissed. “I have a mind. I can make my own choices.”

Her mother froze, caught between them. She glanced at her husband, then at her daughter, unsure who to calm.

“You can choose anything,” he said, “as long as it doesn’t go against what I’ve already decided.”

“I’m not marrying him,” Elisa said, her voice rising now, “and you can’t make me. You can send your apologies to Stefano Bellucci. The bride isn’t attending.”

She stood sharply, her chair scraping across the floor with a screech. Her mother flinched.

She turned to walk out, But her father’s voice, low and dangerous, stopped her in her tracks.

“If you walk out that door, I’ll throw you into the street. And don’t expect me to open it for you again.”

Elisa stopped.