Page 8 of The Don's Soulmate

"Now, tell me, did you have any exciting romances in the City of Light?" she asks conspiratorially, her blonde hair brushing the edges of her plate as she leans forward.

Heat rises to my cheeks at the question, remembering the mystery man from my dreams.

Sofia takes one look at my blushing face, batting her eyelashes she clasps her hands in delight. “Oooh, do tell. Did you go for romantic picnics by the Seine River and let him do a nude study of you afterward?”

“It’s not what you think,” I try to backtrack, smiling sheepishly. “I will have you know that I did have a boyfriend from whom I did not learn as much French as I had hoped.” We both laugh at my comment.

“Although I was deeply in love with him initially, we both realized that we were not each other’s forever love and ended it before things became too serious.” I stare down at my hands, suddenly painfully reminded of how my choice to fall in love has been stolen away from me.

Sofia notices my silence, her expression softening with concern. "What's wrong, Carlotta?" she asks gently. "You seem sad. Did something happen?”

My hands fidget with the edge of my napkin, my fingers twisting and untwisting the soft fabric as a heaviness settles in my chest.

I see the bodyguard looking our way. Sofia notices me glancing at him and slips her hand over mine. “You’ll get used to it again, Carlotta. I know you’ve enjoyed the freedom you had in Paris. Try not to let it upset you.” She gives my hand an encouraging squeeze.

I appreciate her gesture but struggle to find the right words. How can I explain the weight that I carry, the burden that has been thrust upon me without my consent?

"It’s not just about adapting to being back home, is it?" Sofia asks tentatively, her gentle voice stilling my nervous movements.

"No," I admit, my voice barely a whisper. My heart races in my chest, and I feel a knot forming in my throat. "It's just...there are certain expectations of me that have come to my notice."

"Carlotta," Sofia pleads, her eyes searching mine. "You know you can tell me anything. What's going on?"

As much shame as I feel for being bartered away like livestock, I know I cannot keep this secret locked away. Sofia is my closest confidante, maybe my only confidante. If there is anyone who deserves to know the truth, it is her.

"Tonight," I choke out, tears welling up in my eyes despite my best efforts to hold them back. "Tonight, I am supposed to meet...him."

"Who?" Sofia asks, her voice barely audible, as if she already senses the gravity of my situation.

"The man my family has chosen for me," I confess, my heart aching with every word. "The man I am to marry."

“Wait, what?” she screeches a little too loudly. I look back at the bodyguard; if he notices anything, he’s not showing it.

My tears betray me, spilling over my cheeks as I force the words out. "I have no choice in the matter. My father has arranged it all, and I am to be married off like some...some kind of commodity."

Sofia's eyes widen in shock, her mouth falling open. Her hands tremble as she grips the edge of the table, struggling to process the news that I'm delivering. "No, Carlotta," she stammers, disbelief etched across her face. "It must be a misunderstanding. Surely, this can’t be right?"

"Believe me," I say, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and resignation. "I wish more than anything that it was not true. But my father has made his decision, and there is nothing I can do to change his mind.”

"But...why?" Sofia asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Why would he do this to you? You're so young, and you've just returned from Paris. Surely, he knows by now how much you long for freedom. He has always indulged you…" her voice trails off, unable to fathom the extent of this news.

"My father believes it’s a fruitful match, and my brother reminded me that if I don’t marry now, I’ll be deemed a spinster. Duty trumps any concept of freedom," I reply a little angrily, wiping at my tear-streaked cheeks.

"Well, do you know who he is?" Sofia finally asks her expression a mixture of horror and sympathy.

"No, I was too upset to ask," I admit with chagrin. "All I know is his name... Ugo Caputo. And that I am to meet him tonight."

Sofia's eyes widen in shock, and her hands tremble as she covers her mouth. "Ugo Caputo, you say? No, please, no," she says in a hushed tone, fear lacing her words. Her reaction sends a chill down my spine.

"Sofia," I implore with desperation, "you must tell me everything you know about him."

Her eyes dart around the coffee shop, ensuring that none of the other patrons are listening in. She leans in closer, lowering her voice even further. "Carlotta... Ugo Caputo is not someone to be trifled with. His reputation in our city is...."

"Go on," I urge, my heart pounding in my chest.

Sofia hesitates for a moment, choosing her words deliberately and cautiously. "There are whispers, Carlotta. Dark rumors that surround him."

My breath catches in my throat as I hang onto her every word. After listening to her account, I drop my head in my hands, “No,” I whimper.

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