Page 13 of Promised to the Don of Naples
"It worked."
"Where's your brother?"
"Behind you."
I didn't turn around right away. I waited half a second and breathed, and then I turned.
Luca stood ten feet away. Black tuxedo, perfect, bow tie, his hair combed for the first time since I'd known him. The scar in his eyebrow catching the candlelight. And beside him, her arm coiled around his like a snake that knows its tree—Bianca Varga.
Platinum blonde, in a silver dress. Thirty-five, maybe. Beautiful in a dangerous way, the way of a woman who'd grown up as the most beautiful one in the room and had never gotten used to losing the title. She saw me and smiled, slowly letting go of Luca's arm, like someone making a point of showing she can let go but doesn't have to.
And she came toward me.
"Tu sei lei!" A soprano voice, a Roman accent. Her hands on mine before I had time not to give them. She kissed both my cheeks. "Madonna, how beautiful! Luca didn't tell me the bride was just a girl."
I smiled at her the way I'd learned from the Mother Superior.
"Signora Varga. A pleasure."
"Oh, Bianca, please. In a family home we don't bother with surnames." She looked me up and down, openly. "What adaring dress. Didn't your mother teach you what to wear to a first dinner?"
Behind her, I heard Raffaele cough out a laugh.
I looked at Bianca and smiled a little wider.
"My mother died when I was thirteen, Bianca," I said slowly, with all the sweetness in the world. "She didn't get the chance to teach me much, but I think she'd have chosen this dress too, you know? Young women can allow themselves certain things."
Her mouth closed a half millimeter.
"Right," she said.
"You look beautiful too," I went on, in the same tone. "Silver-gray is a very brave color for someone past thirty. It's hard to pull off, but you're managing."
Silence.
Behind her, Raffaele's laugh turned into a real cough.
Bianca let go of my hands and stepped back.
"How sweet," she said, her voice lower.
"Thank you."
She turned to Luca.
"Caro, shall we sit?"
Luca didn't answer and looked straight at me.
"Valentina. Come with me."
And then he held out his arm.
I looked at his arm. I looked at my father across the room, who was watching me now—who had seen the whole scene. I looked at Bianca, frozen half a step back. I looked back at Luca.
Even so, I put my hand on his arm.
"Andiamo," I said.
