Chapter 33

Iheld my breath as Matteo continued to tower over me.

Would he believe me? Could he tell I was lying?

After what felt like an eternity, he turned away and continued his conversation on the phone.

Only then did I let the air out of my lungs in a dizzying rush.

Despite what had just happened between us, I couldn't tell him the truth about Antonia's whereabouts. Not yet. Not until I had a chance to think through everything.

Matteo turned and gestured to a small pile of clothes on the bed. For you, he mouthed before gesturing that he would be another minute.

When he left, I grabbed the clothes and snuck down the hallway when the coast was clear, back to my own room.

Rifling through the pile, I was secretly pleased to see the pink Balenciaga cashmere sweater and a pair of capris. There was even a pair of Prada Napa leather ballet flats. They looked like they'd be a size too big, but I could stuff tissues into the toes to make them fit.

I leaned over and checked the entrance to the bedroom to see Matteo pacing just out in the hallway. Holding the clothes to my chest, I scrambled back into the far corner of the bathroom, away from the broken door, to change.

By the time I emerged, Matteo was waiting for me. "Ready to go?"

The towel wrapped around my wet hair slipped onto my shoulders. "Go? Go where?"

Was it possible he was taking me to the train station so I could return to Sicily like I asked?

"Into town. I have to pick up a part. Come with me."

"I think I'll just stay here."

He approached.

Once more, I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. He was just so tall. His shoulders alone were half my height. My cheeks burned at the thought of all that heavily muscled weight pinning me down only a half hour earlier.

"It wasn't a request, little one. While we are there, we can stop in to see Father Luca."

"Father Luca?"

Fuck, I sounded like a demented parrot just repeating his phrases back to him.

Matteo tugged on one wet curl. "Yes. I need to inform him about the wedding. We'll need the next possible available date."

"The wedding?"

For the love of God, stop repeating everything the man says.

"Yes. Our wedding."

Why was it so hard to breathe? It was like I had to consciously focus on expanding my lungs. "About that. We need to talk."

"We'll talk about the details while we are in town. Have you eaten anything yet?" His brow furrowed as he asked.

"I'm not hungry."

"That's not what I asked. We'll get some food first." He then turned and tossed over his shoulder, "Dry your hair and meet me downstairs in thirty minutes."

I followed him into the hallway. "But I'm not hungry. And I don't want to go into town," I called after him, addressing his back as he was already descending the staircase.

He paused with his hand on the wrought iron railing and looked up at me. "Thirty minutes."

Then he was gone.

Returning to the bedroom, I just stood there in shock.

What have I done?

The full ramification crashed down on me so hard my knees buckled. Like a child, I sat on the carpeted floor with my legs curled up and hugging my knees, wishing I could just hide in the closet like I used to when my father would rage at my mother.

I never asked for any of this.

I had just wanted a quiet life in Sicily, giving cello lessons to the local children and perhaps playing in a local quartet for the tourists. Knowing who and what my father was, I had never even dreamed about getting married or having a family. Dreams like that were for women with options. I had known from a very young age my future husband would be chosen for me by my father.

The mafia was infamous for securing loyalty through marriage like some leftover of the medieval feudal system.

The best I had ever hoped for was a husband who, if not kind and loving, would at least allow me the space and freedom to play my cello.

Now I was in Abruzzo, the fiancée of a Cavalieri. A family name that had a legacy of power, wealth, and dangerous influence stretching back to before Italy was even a country.

Even though I was present almost every step of the way, I still couldn't seem to follow the twisted path which had led to this moment.

It was as if I were staring at a sheet of music. I could recognize the notes, but the melody was out of tune.

Staying on my hands and knees, I crawled the short distance to where I had my cello propped against the bureau. With my hand wrapped around the fingerboard, I moved to sit on the ottoman. Even as I did so, memories of the night before and Matteo's buzzing riding crop bounced around my mind like discordant notes.

My fingers gingerly turned the screw on my bow to tighten the strings. Then, placing the instrument between my legs, I played my favorite portion of Stravinsky's TheRite of Spring. The savage and strange dissonance and chaotic notes matching my own internal emotions.

Playing centered me.

This entire mess, pretending to be my sister and dealing with Fino's constant threats as well as the increasing danger my father posed, had me questioning who I was.

When I played, my world came back into order. I could think clearly.

As much as I was developing feelings for Matteo, I had to accept the fact that it would never work. For starters, there was my father. Then there was the inevitable scandal, since it had already been announced Matteo would marry Antonia not me.

With Antonia pregnant and it sounding less and less likely that the father would divorce his wife and marry her, there wasn't a question that my father would force Matteo to honor his original agreement and marry her for the sake of the family name.

Even though I may want to, I could never go against my family's wishes. Although I hoped my father would be arrested for what he may have done to my mother, I wasn't foolish enough to think that would be the end of his influence over us.

And, as horrible as she was to me, Toni was still my sister. I could never sacrifice her well-being for my own. She was safer with Matteo.

My bow screeched along the strings, then rattled against the wooden lower bout as I dropped it.

I swiped at my tears before picking my bow up and setting my cello aside.

Resolved, I picked up my phone and pressed the button to autodial my sister. After several rings, it went straight to voicemail. "It's me. It's urgent. Matteo knows I'm me and not you. Call me back as soon as you get this."

There wasn't a chance in hell I would tell her what had just happened between Matteo and me. That was a secret I would take to the grave, but I needed to warn her I had been found out.

Realizing I had already wasted too much time, I quickly dried my hair and dug around in her suitcase until I found the makeup bag again. Adding some blush to bring some color to my ashen cheeks, I also put a little concealer under my eyes to hopefully mask that I had been crying. I finished with a swipe of mascara and some tinted ChapStick from my purse before racing out of the room and down the stairs.

I crossedthe exterior courtyard in time to see Matteo approach.

My heart lurched at the thought of what could have been.

He was just so strong and capable and intelligent. True, he was also domineering, arrogant, and far too confident, which I was sure came from being a freaking walking god among men with a godlike fortune to match, but still … it was equally obvious that he was also funny and sweet and caring.

Although I couldn't trust my current rising feelings for him since they were easily influenced by the unusual stressful circumstances, I suspected if things had been different, given time I could have easily fallen in love with him.

I laughed mournfully at myself.

Could have? How about alreadydid fall in love with him?

As he got closer, his smile turned into a frown.

Before I could stop him, his arm wrapped around my waist, and he pulled me against the hard strength of his chest. His hand pushed into my still slightly damp curls at the nape of my neck. "Are you okay? Was I too rough with you earlier?"

My gaze shot to the left and right. "Not so loud! People will hear!"

He chuckled. "I promise you. Fucking my beautiful fiancée in the middle of the afternoon is the least scandalous thing my family could possibly hear." He pushed a lock of my hair behind my ear. "In fact, we may have to try harder to raise some eyebrows or my cousins are going to consider us boring."

I bit my lip. "Matteo, about the whole fiancée thing."