Page 29 of His Bride

I take a deep breath. “He’s actually… nice to me. Considerate, even.”

“But?” Mom prompts gently.

“But I’m so confused. How can I reconcile this with the man my father practically sold me to? And yet…”

“And yet you’re starting to have feelings,” Valentina finishes softly.

I nod, tears spilling over. “Is that wrong? After everything?”

Mom cups my face. “Oh, tesoro. Your heart isn’t wrong for feeling.”

“We’re here for you,” Valentina adds fiercely. “No matter what.”

Their words wrap around me like a warm blanket.

“I love you guys,” I croak as I wipe a stray tear.

“We love you too,” They say back.

Just then, The waiter returns with plates steaming with aromatic pasta and seafood. We shift to lighter topics, savoring both the food and the moment.

“Remember that time we snuck out to that concert?” Valentina giggles, twirling linguine on her fork.

I snort, nearly choking on my wine. “God, we were so clueless. I thought my heart would burst from excitement.”

Mom shakes her head, but her eyes twinkle. “You girls were always trouble together.”

As we reminisce, I feel a renewed sense of self. These memories, this connection - it’s all still mine.

Too soon, our plates are empty. A knot forms in my stomach as I realize it’s time to leave. We stand, hugging tightly.

“Stay strong, mia cara,” Mom says, her embrace fierce.

I nod, not trusting my voice. Valentina squeezes my hand, her smile a promise of unwavering friendship.

As we exit, Enzo materializes by my side. His eyes scan constantly, muscles taut beneath his suit.

“All clear, Mrs. Rossi,” he tells me, guiding me to the car with a firm hand on my lower back.

I slide in, watching Mom and Valentina fade into the distance. Enzo takes the wheel.

“Thank you, Enzo,” I say softly as we pull away from the curb.

He meets my eyes in the rearview mirror, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before his expression smooths. “Just doing my job, Signora.”

The city blurs past. I press my forehead to the cool glass, lost in thought.

My fingers trace idle patterns on the leather seat as the car weaves through traffic. The lunch with Mom and Valentina has left me raw, yet strangely invigorated.

The ride passes by in silence and soon, the car rolls to a stop. Enzo opens my door, scanning the driveway with vigilant eyes.

“We’re home, Mrs. Rossi.”

I square my shoulders, exit the car and stride towards the front door, heels clicking against the pavement.

Inside, the house is quiet. Too quiet. I pause, listening. The faint murmur of the TV drifts from the living room. My heart rate quickens as I move towards the sound.

Dante sprawls on the couch, eyes fixed on some action movie. His gaze snaps up to me when I enter, dark and unreadable. The air thickens, charged with unspoken tension.

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