Filed to story: Bound by Honor (Aria & Luca) Drama Story
“I’m still their cousin. They don’t have to treat me any different now that I’m married to Dante.” I hugged Gianna who looked gorgeous with her red hair that twinkled with stray snowflakes, then her younger sister Lily, who was getting more lovely by the day as well.
Dante chose that moment to join us. He shook hands with Rocco, then patted Fabiano’s shoulder with one of his kinder smiles before he kissed the hands of Ludovica, Gianna and Lily. The latter blushed furiously while Gianna looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Dante walked ahead with Fabiano and Rocco. I hung back with the women of the family as we made our way to the dining room table.
During dinner, one topic wasn’t mentioned: Gianna’s wedding to Matteo. It should have been the focus of attention under normal circumstances, seeing that it was less than six months away, but I had a feeling the Scuderis were desperate to avoid a scene. After I’d received my fair share of praise for the first two courses, I rose and turned to Gianna, who was staring down at the table with a frown. “Will you help me with dessert, Gianna?”
Her head shot up, suspicion written plainly across her face, but she knew that manners dictated she agreed. She rose from her chair, sent a scathing look toward her mother, and then followed me through the door to our left. “Mother asked you to talk sense into me, didn’t she?” she muttered as we headed toward the kitchen.
“No, it was your father.”
“Wow. Shouldn’t you have lied to me? That’s what most people do.”
I shrugged. “I think it’s easier if you know the truth.”
We stepped into the kitchen. Zita was cutting the Tiramisu into squares and setting them on plates while Gaby decorated them with fruit. “We’ll take over from here,” I told them. They seemed to understand. With a small bow toward Gianna, they slipped away toward their staff room. I grabbed the spatula and heaved another piece of Tiramisu on a plate, then motioned at Gianna to spread raspberries, strawberries, slices of mango and star fruit around it. “So talk,” Gianna said.
“I know you don’t want to marry Matteo.”
Gianna snorted. “I’d rather chop my fingers off and eat them.”
I gave her a look. “All women in our world face the same problem as you do. Very few are lucky enough to choose their husband. An arranged marriage doesn’t necessarily have to be a bad thing.”
“Why? Because love can grow over time?” Gianna said in what I assumed was an imitation of her mother’s voice.
“Yes, that’s an option.”
Gianna glared. “Come on. I’m not blind. Don’t tell me there’s love between you and Dante. You act like fucking strangers.” She snapped her mouth shut. “That was rude.”
It was, but I couldn’t blame her for speaking her mind, and the truth. “We haven’t been married for very long.”
“Shouldn’t two months be enough to know if you can stand someone or not? I knew after my first encounter with Matteo that I didn’t like that arrogant asshole.”
I put down the spatula and leaned against the counter. “What about Aria and Luca? She seems happy with her arranged marriage.”
“Aria is a pushover. If it had been me who had to marry Luca, either he or I would be dead by now. And Matteo is just as bad.”
“Aria made the best out of a situation she couldn’t escape. That’s all we can do.”
“No, it’s not. She could have escaped, if she’d been braver.”
I paused. Was she saying what I think she was saying? “Nobody escapes the mob.”
Gianny shrugged. “Maybe nobody really tried.”
“Oh, there have been enough people who tried, but eventually your past always catches up with you.”
“I know,” she said softly, then she pointed at the plates. “Shouldn’t we serve dessert now?”
“Yes, you’re right.” We loaded our arms with plates and returned to the dining room. Gianna’s parents cast hopeful glances my way. Dante eyed Gianna, then met my gaze. He seemed to know what the Scuderis didn’t: nobody could get through to Gianna. Her words about Dante and me kept bothering me the rest of the evening. It made me realize just how far my marriage with Dante was from the relationship I longed for.
That evening I decided to help Gaby and Zita wash the dishes, desperate to keep busy. We were almost done when Dante walked in, eyes taking in the scene before him emotionlessly. I was up to my elbows in dishwater. “You can go home,” he told Zita and Gaby who didn’t need to be told twice. They quickly took their leave. I withdrew my arms from the washwater and took the dishtowel Dante held out to me. “Thank you.”
“You are a great cook.”
I chanced a glance at him, wondering if he’d come here to tell me that. “I’m glad you enjoyed dinner.”
He nodded. I blew a strand of hair out of my face, then stretched my tired muscles. Dante’s eyes scanned my body. I became acutely aware of how close we were and how long it had been since we’d had sex. Had he changed his mind?
“I take it your conversation with Gianna didn’t go well.”
I sighed. “Of course it didn’t. How can I possibly convince Gianna that an arranged marriage won’t make her miserable? I’m the least person she would listen to.”
Dante smiled tersely. “You are right.” He took a step. “I’ll get back to work then.”
I didn’t try to stop him. Maybe a few weeks ago I would have made an attempt at seduction but today I lacked the energy. I slumped against the counter as I watched Dante stride out of the kitchen.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I peered at the clock again. It was past midnight but I couldn’t sleep. I longed for Dante’s closeness, for his touch. It had been more than a week since the dinner with the Scuderis, and two weeks since Frank had run off and Dante had fucked me. God, and I missed him.
I slipped out of bed and left the room, not bothering to put on a bathrobe. It was dark in the corridor. I felt my way toward the staircase, then slowly descended it. At the end of the hall, light spilled out from under Dante’s office door. I knocked, then entered without waiting for a reply. Tonight I would take what I wanted. The silent treatment was over.
Dante sat in his leather chair behind the desk. His hair was disheveled as if he’d run his hand through it repeatedly. He’d thrown his jacket and vest over the sofa, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white shirt and rolled up the sleeves, revealing his strong arms. He hadn’t bothered to remove his gun holster. He was staring at something on his laptop but glanced up when I stepped in.