He set down the glass, the clink echoing a little too loudly. His fingers fidgeted with the cocktail skewer of blackberries as he met my gaze, a practiced reassurance in his eyes—a gesture I remembered from the many times he promised everything was all right after one of his and mum’s fights. All those chats for nothing, since their continuous disagreements ended in them getting divorced. Matthew would never argue like that, never let things escalate. He was calm, steady, safe.
“Gemma, I’m fine. I promise I’m looking after myself.”
“No more midnight pasta dishes?” I waved a finger in his face.
He trapped my finger, cupping my hand in his own. “No, I’ve cut the carbs.”
“Good.” I patted his hand with my free one.
He nodded to the drinks. “Tonight is acelebrazione, so let’s toast.”
My hand was slow to lift from my lap, but I took the glass. The large milky ice sphere indeed resembled a moon.
“To you and Matthew.” He elevated his drink in salute. “May you be very happy.”
“Cin cin!”Clinking our glasses, we sipped our drinks, smudging the delicate sugary-crystal rim. Strong? What an understatement. The mango flavored vodka scorched my throat, only doused by the sweetness of the sugar coating the glass. Goodness, the waiter had to be new. He had no idea how to make a cocktail.
Papa continued to tell me more about his diet and exercise regime. Either the drink or the long day of sightseeing relaxed me to the point of yawning. The air grew hotter, and I grabbed a cardboard coaster to fan my neck. Had they turned the heat onin this place? In summer? I blinked back the sudden blur in my vision. Papa swayed in his seat, his eyes as heavy as mine felt.
“You okay, Papa?” My speech slurred, robotic to my own ears.
He flopped against the table, a muffled thud echoed throughout the restaurant upon impact. My heart galloped like a wild mare, each beat threatening to burst from my chest. “Help, someone call for help.” Why did I sound so weak? And why was no one rushing to my father’s aid? The young waiter paced in front of the bar and wiped the sweat from his brow.
Stranger reclined in his seat, unbothered by the spectacle, as though watching paint dry, but a flicker of something akin to satisfaction crossed his face before it vanished. The classical tunes mounted in crescendo, cellos and violins weeping their tragic melody. Too weak to fight the pressure, I slumped forward. Stranger’s mouth curved into a smirk as my world blackened.
Chapter 2
Enzo
My mother burst through my bedroom door, her clicking heels echoing over the marble tiles. A woman who rose with the birds; she wasted no time hunting me down this morning.
“Explain yourself. Now.” Her fevered scowl strayed to Gemma on the bed, her lips curling over her gritted teeth. “She’s the spitting image of her mother.”
I fastened the watch to my wrist, the cold metal doing nothing to cool the sudden heat rising on my skin. “The plan changed. She’s here.”
Gemma’s sleeping form remained peaceful, undisturbed by the ruckus before her. The way her nose had crinkled when she laughed, the playful glares she shot her friends, and the flush to her cheeks when she busted me staring, had drawn me in. A magnetic force. I’d hoped she would accept my drink offer; I’d wanted a few hours alone in her company, a chance to deepen her blush, to breathe in her frangipani scent, and to drown in those whisky-colored eyes.
We planned toobservethem at the restaurant, just as we had since she and her friends disembarked in Catania. Theoriginalstrategy hinged on hijacking her bridal car, but her addictive presence proved too difficult to resist. Car ambush, forgotten. I formed a new plan, bribing the young waiter to play along.
Her friends leaving their drinks behind couldn’t have worked out better for us. Their departure made our plan less complicated, since I preferred dealing with Gemma and her father alone.
Carina’s gaze narrowed, edged with cruelty. “And your promise?”
Her ever-present doubt thickened the air. I forced myself to meet her gaze, a familiar knot forming in my stomach. “I’m not about to back out on my word now, am I?”
Silence stretched between us.
The vow hung heavy between us, tasting like ash in my mouth. Ihadpromised my mother. Fifteen years of shared purpose. But glancing at Gemma’s face, her lashes feathering her cheeks in innocent slumber… the vow carried a heavier weight now, as if tainted.
These last few days, I’d been struck by her grace as she moved through the world. The curve of her smile at forgotten landmarks when sightseeing with her friends. The way she’d closed her eyes, the shining sun favoring her as she inhaled the moment—making me itch to experience the same peace. She embodied the complete opposite of my existence. Where she laughed, the sound lyrical and carefree—I couldn’t recall the last time I found anything humorous. Where she revered the beauty in a garden, running a finger over the soft petals, I observed the thorns. She was light, and I was darkness. And now, I’d snatched her from her bright life, dragging her into my shadows. I clenched my fists by my sides, nails piercing into my palms, a physical anchor against the rising tide of doubt.
Carina’s sharp breath pierced through my racing thoughts. “Keep two guards outside this room. We can’t have our beautiful bride running away now.” She hesitated at the door. “And her guests? Her father?”
“Her friends will not be a problem. As for her father, he’s still out cold in the wine cellar.” My brother guarded him and would inform me when he came to.
“Next time you decide to pull a stunt, run it by me first. If this wedding fails, there’ll be bloodshed.” She flicked her burgundy bob, and stormed out, the same relentless drive propelling her forward.
The door slamming shut echoed off the walls, causing Gemma to stir. In no hurry to leave, I studied her long dark hair framing her profile, the silky strands splayed on the pillow similar to a fairytale princess. But there would be no prince’s kiss for our little damsel; she’d awaken to a nightmare. She owned the thickest lashes I’d ever seen on a woman. I slanted closer. Her lips stood out, strikingly rosy and full, with the bottom lip curving just a little more generously than the upper. Carina didn’t lie; she was a replica of her mother.
