Page 18 of What's Left of Us

Sure, I would dance with random men at charity events, no matter how little I wanted to, but it was always under their watchful eyes. And, most times, I was more than glad when the song was over, and I got to smile and leave my partner behind in favor of trivial conversation at my parents’ table discussing politics and the state of the economy.

My experience with the opposite sex is limited at best. I’d snuck my first kiss behind the bleachers at St. Mary’s when I was fourteen because Millie told me it was lame to be in high school with no experience. Then again, she’s the same person who lost her virginity at fourteen at a party she snuck out to in the middle of the night. I was open to kissing a boy or two, but I never let her pressure me into doing more.

I’d had it drilled into my head since I was eight that my virtue was everything to me. I never truly understood why, but I held on to that, knowing how much it meant to my family.

Humming, Antonio releases my chin and circles me. “I hope he thanks me for this arrangement. Too bad they didn’t make them like this when we were younger, huh, Nikolas?”

“Careful, Antonio. That’s still my daughter,” my father says, deceptively calm.

I look at him, trying to hide my disgust for the stranger who touched me so nonchalantly. Hasn’t he heard about Luca’sindiscretions with women? If my virtue was so important, what about his?

“I don’t understand, Daddy.”

“You don’t need to, darling,” he answers, standing and pressing a palm down on his shirt to flatten the wrinkles.

“I’m to be engaged without any conversation then?” I doubt, my voice nearly inaudible. “I barely know Luca, and I highly doubt one party is going to change that. Marriage is forever.”

“Exactly. And marriage is important, Georgia. For both us, the Carbone family, and our social standing.” He extends his hand toward the door. “Antonio, I’ll walk you out. We can discuss the details later.”

Betrayal weighs heavily in my stomach at the news. Nobody has said anything aboutmarriage. I’d thought about the day I would get married. What little girl hadn’t? But I never dated because I was never allowed to. I couldn’t even go to college because my father insisted that it was a waste of my time and money. He informed me I had other priorities. Unfortunately for me, those priorities consisted of co-hosting charity events and presenting myself as a dutiful Del Rossi in the public eye to help boost my father’s business and reputation. Once in a while, he’d let me go to work with him and help file paperwork at The Del Rossi Group office, but it was rare.

I watch as my father passes me without any further explanation. It doesn’t make sense.

I straighten, holding up a hand. “I don’t—”

“Don’t argue, Georgia.” He cuts me off with a stern look. “You’re to respect my decision as you always have. You’ve trusted me this long. Now trust me about this. It’s a good pairing. Now, go ask your mother to buy you a dress for the occasion. What’s done is done.”

Swallowing, I stare at his back as he walks my future father-in-law to the door. I say, “She’s not my mother.”

He stops, his back straightening before he looks over his shoulder. “No,” he agrees, with his mouth twitching downward. His eyes dim the same way they always do when my late mother, his first wife, is mentioned. Scanning my face as if seeing the ghost of her before him, he shakes his head. “She most certainly isn’t.”

My heart sinks to the bottom of my stomach when he opens the front door and says something quietly to Antonio, paying me no more attention.

Ever since my mother passed away when I was little, he’s buried himself in work. It seemed like no time at all that Leani entered the picture. Daddy told me I needed a maternal figure in my life because he was too busy to be raising me himself. But I could tell my mother’s death hit him harder than it did me. I was too young to understand she was gone. I’d been at her funeral, but even then, I didn’t grasp who lay inside the closed casket covered and surrounded by hundreds of flowers—all white carnations.

Her favorite.

I still smell them after all these years, and my mind goes back to that day in the big church full of people I didn’t know who offered me and Daddy their deepest condolences. He had been stiff and withdrawn as each person shook his hand but changed completely when a man in a fancy suit stopped in front of us. To me, he was just another stranger here to tell us how sorry he was for our loss, but there was something about him that stood out from the rest.

“It’s a shame it had to come to this,” the stranger tells Daddy, his grip on my father’s hand lasting longer than the line of other people before him. “Perhaps now you will listen the way your late wife did not.”

I look up at my daddy, then at the man.

His eyes lower to meet mine, and a funny feeling creeps up the back of my neck. “I would hate for something to happen to your precious daughter. She’ll be a stunner one day, Nikolas. Keep her close.”

He smiles at me, but there’s something weird about it. I reach out and touch my daddy’s hand, but he doesn’t hold it. When I glance up, I see the same expression on his face as when he heard about Mommy’s accident.

“Goodbye for now, Del Rossi family,” the man says in farewell, giving me one last glance before letting the people behind him have their time to talk. “And remember the conditions of our little deal.”

My father loved my mother so deeply that he used work to distract himself from the pain of her loss until I spent more time with my stepmother and house staff than I did with him.

Now it feels like he’s trading me off to be somebody else’s problem. What would my mother have thought about this?

I close my eyes and count to five. It’s only when I hear a soft, “Georgia?” from the housekeeper that I open them to see a concerned expression on the elderly woman’s face. “Is everything all right, dear?”

Voice shaky, I whisper, “No.”

Mrs. Ricci gestures for me to follow her into the kitchen, so I do. Guiding me to a stool at the large, marble kitchen island, the gray-haired woman sits me down and pours me a glass of homemade hot chocolate. She even keeps a secret stash of mini marshmallows hidden in the cupboard because she knows they’re my favorite.

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