Page 28 of Dario DeLuca

Dario's impatience is transmitted through the lips of an innocent staff member.

I catch a glimpse of my annoyance in the mirror but quell it swiftly.

"Just a moment," I reply, my voice betraying none of my vexation.

With the practiced grace I’m accustomed to, I slip into the off-the-shoulder, long-sleeved black gown that waits for me like a shadow at dusk. A dress of his choosing, just as everything that’s transpired has been to cater to his desire—his demands. Sliding into it feels like slipping into another skin, a more dangerous one. It clings to me, every ruched detail a dark promise.

Satisfied with my final once-over, I grab the matching rhinestone clutch, its facets catching the light, winking like stars plucked from the night sky.

The descent down the staircase is a slow bloom, petals unfurling with each step. My gaze lands on him, Dario, the epitome of tailored power.

He's dressed in a black-on-black Armani tuxedo that fits as if it were made for him, entangled with whispers of wealth and secrets adorned with a black oyster Rolex.

His hair is low-cut with precision, not a strand daring to defy him. Seeing him sparks a rage within me—an anger at my traitorous heart for acknowledging his allure.

When I reach the final step, he extends a hand. His cologne is a woodland spell, momentarily disarming me.

I compose myself, and with a tone laced with contempt, I say, " All right, let's go get this farce of an engagement over.”

His hand envelops mine, warm and steady, guiding me down the last few steps.

“Before we go, there’s one more thing.” Dario takes a ring from his inside jacket pocket and slides it onto my left finger.

It’s a perfect fit for a perfect lie. The diamond sparkles like a captured star, and I can't help but marvel at its splendor. Fakeengagements usually have the bare minimum in most romance stories, but then again, this isn’t a romance.

"Appearances," he notes, his voice a low hum that resonates with our shared understanding of this pretense. “It’s important that we keep them up. You know, sell the illusion of a happy couple.”

“Yes, even though we are anything but.” I pull my hand away from his grasp and walk toward the foyer.

Rafael holds the door open, and we step out of the doorway and slide into the awaiting car.

Silence accompaniesus during the ride. Dario makes a few business calls, speaking in Italian to whoever’s on the opposite end. As we coast towards the ballroom, my thoughts drift to what the evening will hold. Who will be in attendance? When was this planned? Maybe I should be more attentive and not hauled up in my room. Who am I kidding? My father already had me married off without my input, so why should I be surprised at this?

“We’re here,” Rafael announces when he pulls into the hotel's drive. Then puts the car in park and steps out to open the door for me.

“Mia, put on a smile for the cameras and the news. You don’t want to give them the impression there’s trouble in our relationship,” Dario says.

“Dario, I know how to charm the public. I’ve been doing it since I was in middle school.” I take Rafael’s hand as he helps me out of the vehicle. When we arrive, the camera flashes jolt through me like electric charges, a storm of lights and expectations.

Evelyn greets us with her camera-ready smile. “Mia, don't you look lovely. Dario, we have a few outlets who want a good picture of you two.” She guides us through the crowd of photogs and onlookers.

I can feel my heart racing. My breath catches, anxiety clawing up my throat as I notice the media’s prying eyes. My fingers twist around the glistening diamond on my finger, betraying my inner turmoil and drawing more attention than I’d like. What I said to Dario was true. I’m well-versed in public appearances, but this one feels different. All of the faces—male faces with brown eyes and dirty blonde hair like that guy—are making me nervous.

"What's wrong?" Dario whispers, close enough that his breath tickles my ear.

Worried whispers escape my lips, "What if someone makes another attempt on my life?"

His touch is gentle, a soft caress against my cheek, grounding me to the moment. "Mia, you have nothing to worry about. Rafael did some research on the guy’s identity, and he found nothing. We dealt with the lone threat. You're safe."

His touch lingers longer, and for one second, I feel at ease. Then I realize that’s only one part of the puzzle. He’s the other. Flashes of light continue to emit from the cameras as we stroll inside the building.

“The media couldn’t stop salivating when the city got wind of this engagement. They’ve been calling the office non-stop for a chance to sit down with you. The numbers have improved in the polls and the community is behind you even more now.” Evelyn continues her monologue while we step into the ballroom.

An engagement party sign with a black background and gold script is at the entrance.

Welcome to Mia and Dario’s engagement partyis splayed on the board in an elegant font.

We’re met with thunderous applause along with cheers and congratulations.

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