Page 42 of Claimed At First Sight

Gabe studies me carefully. “Does Mialina know you’ve apparently already married her in your head?”

“I proposed.” Kind of.

“And did she agree?”

“No.”

Rafa nearly chokes on his drink. I ignore him because it changes nothing.

Mialina is young, stubborn, and understandably resistant to the idea of a man she barely knows dictating her future. Once she sees what I can offer her, she’ll reconsider.

And if she doesn’t, I’ll find another way to convince her. The outcome remains the same.

Much later, after the last guests leave, I return alone to what is now my study.

The fire has burned low. My mother’s portrait remains above the mantel, untouched by the shift that took place beneath it today.

I move behind the desk and look toward the western side of the estate. Darkness covers the gardens now, but I can already see what will stand there.

A place where winter cannot reach.

Interesting how naturally the image formed after meeting a woman who loves flowers and hates the cold.

I open my laptop and write two short emails. I read both messages once, then send them.

Chapter Thirteen

Mialina

“Is Aldo not calling you tonight?” Sienna asks when the clock in the sitting room chimes for the seventh time.

All of us abandon our books and look at Mamma. She continues reading, as if none of us are staring at her.

Since Aldo Marino left Sicily, he’s called every night during his lunch hour in Chicago.

God knows what they talk about, but Mamma laughs now. Actually laughs.

After years of watching her navigate the minefield of our father’s moods, seeing her look this relaxed is like looking at a stranger.

A much happier, younger stranger.

“No, he’s busy,” Mamma says. “Maximo is officially taking over from his father. The succession ceremony is being held today.”

Isabella glances my way, searching for a reaction.

What could she possibly be looking for? This isn’t exactly breaking news.

We all knew Maximo Marco was destined for a throne. He carries himself like a man who was born with a crown and a scepter, even if both are made of cold steel and blood.

One of his great ambitions in life is now complete. Hopefully, that will keep him too occupied to remember that I exist.

So far, the signs are positive. I haven’t heard a single word from him since he left Sicily.

Part of me expected a bombardment of messages or some other grand gesture tied to his cocky claim on my future. Instead, there has been nothing. Not even a ripple in the air to suggest I’ve crossed his mind.

I should be relieved. I am relieved.

Being left alone by a man like Maximo is the closest thing to a blessing I’m likely to get.