Page 28 of Beauty and the Boss

“Cecelia, my darling, here I am, right on time,” he says as he arrives home early from work and meets me in the sitting room, as I requested. I kiss him on the cheek and sit down nervously.

“Thank you for this, Papa. I know how busy you are, but this is important.”

“I think I might already know what you want to talk to me about.” He sits on the arm of the couch and nods knowingly.

“You know?” I ask, caught completely off guard. And if he knows, he doesn’t seem mad about it. Hope blooms in my chest—maybe this will go better than expected.

“Raphael?” he questions.

Before I even have the chance to answer, the doorbell sounds.

“Ah, here he is!” he says and looks out towards the hallway as Maria makes her way to the door.

I could not be more confused. Does Papa know Michael is coming here? Why is he asking me about Raphael? Does he know about what happened in the hotel room on the night of my birthday? And if so, how? Connie wouldn’t have told him. My whirling thoughts are messy scribbles as I rush out of the room and intercept Maria in the hallway. A few moments later, after our brief and anxious hellos, I return to the sitting room hand in hand with Michael.

Papa’s look of shock is exaggerated, almost comical. He stands, aghast, his palm flat on his chest. This is definitely not who he was expecting after all.

“Papa, please may I introduce you to Michael Luciano,” I say, trying to disguise the tremor in my voice.

Papa’s eyes swivel between us then lock back on mine. His mouth opens and closes like one of Micah’s sock puppets. Finally, he finds his voice. “I know who he is, Cecelia! What is he doing in my house?”

“Mr. DeMarco, I—” Michael says, trying to intercept.

“I’m speaking to my daughter, not you!” roars Papa.

I choke back a cry as Michael squeezes my hand.

“Papa, I know you think Michael kept me prisoner in Naples and hurt me, but he didn’t. We are in love. Micah is his son. We want to be a proper family and we’ve come to you today to ask for your blessing.”

Papa gapes at me, a deep groove forming between his eyes, so confused is his expression. I can hardly bear to meet his gaze, but I do, inching even closer to Michael’s side.

“It’s true, Mr. DeMarco.” Michael tries again. “All of it. I love your daughter and our son, and I will dedicate my life to taking care—”

“Cecelia, he’s brainwashed you! Can’t you see that?” Papa slices through Michael’s words, refusing to acknowledge them. He begins pacing like a caged lion, desperate to hunt.

“No, he hasn’t. Papa, please listen to us!” I beg.

The doorbell sounds again, and I whip my head round, frustrated by the unexpected interruption. This conversation is too important. Connie wouldn’t have had time to get home with Micah yet and she would just walk in anyway, so who could it be?

My eyes widen with dismay as Maria shows Raphael into the room. I’m dumbfounded. He’s got a cut on the bridge of his nose and dark shadows under his eyes, but he looks like he’s healing well after what Michael told me he and Gianni did to him in the hotel room when they rescued me. I watch, shocked, as Papa crosses the room, extending his hand. Raphael takes it and beams at him, throwing me a subtle smug glance as he does.

Papa slaps Raphael on the back and invites him to sit down without commenting on his injured face. Maybe he thinks his father did it; it wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe that’s why Papa has always had so much compassion for him. Why Connie and I did. But not anymore. I let go of Michael’s hand and move towards the door to the terrace, not wanting to be anywhere near him.

“Cecelia!” says Papa. “You’re being rude. I’ve noticed Raphael hasn’t been around lately, so I asked him here today. Whatever has happened between you, it is time to fix it. You’ve been friends for too long to just throw it all away.”

I look across at Michael and can tell by his expression and body language that it’s taking all his willpower not to rip Raphael apart. Out of respect for my father, who is not showing him the same respect in return, he’s containing himself and my heart expands with even more love for him. But I fear Papa’s counter ambush means that he’s not going to hear us out. Still, I have to try. I inject my voice with as much density as I can.

“Papa, Raphael and I are no longer friends, and we never will be again. Please send him away so you and I and Michael can discuss things privately. We will both do whatever it takes to prove to you that our relationship is worthy of your blessing.”

Papa looks at me and I think I see a spark of acceptance in his eyes. Then, as he fastens his gaze on Michael for the first time since he arrived, I realize I’ve imagined it. “I will never give you my blessing,” he says. “Now leave this house, Luciano. You are not welcome here.”

My heart cracks as the hurt registers on Michael’s face.

“Cecelia, let’s do as your father suggests,” he says quietly, clearly as bitterly disappointed as I am. “We can intercept Connie and Micah on the way.” He turns, strides across the hallway past Maria, opens the front door himself and heads out to the car.

My tears blur my vision as I hurry to follow Michael and I feel a hand grab my arm as I reach the doorway. I turn, hoping to see Papa’s remorseful face but it’s Raphael’s.

“Cecelia, I know you’re still cross with me but—”

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