Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77359 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
I didn’t love the way he was talking about me instead of to me, but I didn’t sense any intended rudeness. And it couldn’t be argued that compared to him, I was both quiet and little. Pretty much anyone was the latter in his presence.
Stefano took my hand, the music started, and the ritual repeated itself. Except this time, I didn’t have to look quite as far up to see my dance partner’s face. And this time, my dance partner actually asked me questions.
“Are you having a good time?”
“Yes.” The word came automatically to my lips—what else was I going to say?
Stefano seemed to hear what I meant, not what I said. “I know, it’s a lot to take in. I mean, most people don’t even realize that arranged marriages like this still happen.” He shook his head. “It’s 2024, for God’s sake.”
My eyes darted around to see if anyone was listening to us, but no one was too close. My parents were watching from our table, but they were well out of earshot. Cautiously, I nodded.
“Regardless of the circumstances, I’m happy to have you join our family, Allegra.” The expression on his boyish face seemed sincere. I accidentally kicked his calf—his guidance wasn’t as firm as his brothers’ had been—but he just grinned as he held me steady.
“It’s Leila,” I said, yet again. By this point, I didn’t have much hope of any of the Morettis addressing me that way, but Stefano smiled.
“That’s pretty,” he commented. “Good to know I don’t have to call my sister-in-law the same name as my allergy medicine.”
My answering smile was genuine for the first time all night.
“Are you excited about living in Chicago?” he continued. Because he’d been sincere, I gave my answer some consideration.
“Yes… for the most part. I’ve never lived anywhere except NYC.”
“It’s a cool city, but I’ve got to warn you, the pizza’s different.”
That made me grin again. For my entire life, I’d been taught what was expected of me as the future wife in an Italian family. Once the arrangements with the Moretti family had been made, the instruction had intensified—but in the midst of all that serious stuff, several people had warned me that I was leaving New York-style pizza behind.
We didn’t say much for the rest of the dance, but it was easier being in his arms than in his brothers’. For one thing, I didn’t have to crane my neck so far back to see his face.
The music ended and Stefano looked over my shoulder. “Your next dance partner is here.”
I frowned. “I thought there were only three of you.”
“This one’s not my brother.” His hand on my arm, he turned me around, and I saw my father approaching.
His dark gray suit looked ill-fitting compared to the expensive clothes the Moretti men wore, but still, I couldn’t help smiling. My dad and I had a complicated relationship. Though I didn’t know the details of the organization he ran, I knew he had his hand in illegal activities. But still… he was my dad, and I’d lived with him for two decades. It was hard to believe that that part of my life was over.
He shook hands with Stefano and then pulled me away, clumsily leading me into the next dance. “Having fun, Leila?” With no one to hear us over the music, he used the name I preferred to be called.
“It’s a beautiful night.” My answer didn’t actually address his question, but I didn’t want to upset him. Tonight was important—to him. I didn’t know what kind of deal he’d struck with Massimo, but it was something he’d been working toward for years. In my father’s world, if you had a son, you raised him to take over the family business. If you had a daughter, you raised her to marry into a family that could increase your position. And my father only had daughters.
Though not a good dance partner, it was a relief to be with someone who knew me. Most of the people here tonight were strangers, either my father’s business associates or people from Massimo’s side. My dad, though not usually a sentimental man, had a hint of a sad smile on his face. “You be a good girl, Leila. A good bride for him.”
“I will,” I said honestly, because I would try. Not for my sake—and not for Massimo’s—but for my father’s.
Tears threatened to fall, and I blinked them away. My fingers fumbled at my neckline for a moment before I remembered that the gold locket I always wore wasn’t there. My mother had insisted it didn’t go with my jade-colored dress, so it was packed away. Which reminded me of something. “Is all my luggage on the plane?”
“Yes.”
My parents had insisted that we had to appear wealthy in front of the Morettis, so I’d packed every item of clothing I’d owned into a series of trunks. Some of them were half-empty, but hopefully no one else knew that. My mother had even added things to a few, like old embroidered tablecloths, to make them seem fuller.