Page 129 of Cara
Dante covers Mimi’s runaway mouth when she begins to tease about the state of the foyer when they arrived. She nips at him until he lets her go, too drunk to notice how flushed my face has become.
Caesar approaches us first. “Rosa wanted to stop by since we missed you at the gala.” His smile is unbelievably kind when he extends his hand to me. “You must be Sophie.”
“Yes, it’s nice to meet you. Xavier has told me so much about you.”
When he steps aside, I stiffen at the sight of his beautiful wife. Not only because I traveled from halfway across the world, believing this was the woman who took my husbandaway from me, but also because Bellarosa Barbieri is connected to our turbulent beginning—the woman who objected to the wedding that was meant to free me from my prison.
“Rosa, hi. It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, genuinely meant. For Isabella’s sake, I want her approval. Ineedher approval.
I can tell within two minutes that this woman is deeply in love—and it’s not with her husband. She fixates on the crimson lipstick mark we overlooked at the curve of Xavier’s neck. I worry nothing will come out of this meeting when she averts her gaze.
It probably would’ve been better if we never met.
When she lifts her face, water brimming at her eyelids, my stomach recoils as I prepare for the worst. Because of that, I don’t expect it at all when she walks right into me seconds later, throwing her arms around my body, hugging me close.
Over her shoulder, Caesar smiles as if he somehow understands. Everyone else is at a loss, glancing at each other uncomfortably. For some reason, the way she holds me brings tears to my eyes. I embrace her just as tightly, trying to understand why I ever thought she wouldn’t be as wonderful as her daughter.
Her first words to me are spoken from someplace deep, a place only someone in love with Xavier Marcello could understand. “Thank you… for coming back to him.”
Without needing to, she tells me what I already know.
That she’s seen him—hurt and alone.
That she would have done anything to change that.
That she loves him enough to want for him what he won’t accept from her.
“Isabella fell for you the second she saw you.” Rosa steps back to look me over. Whatever she finds prompts her to nod, smiling despite the tears. “Itrusther judgment.”
Sophie
The last time I had seen a crowd like this at the Marcello estate was on the night of my wedding.
All morning, the veranda has been gradually overtaken by elegant banquet tables and Chiavari chairs, all dressed in pristine white linen tablecloths. Fragrant hydrangea arrangements mark the spaces between each place setting. Every single detail—the upbeat music, the caterers, the thoughtfully arranged seating charts—was chosen over the course of the month with Courtney, who helped me through every pivotal decision that needed to be made. She did it because she loves me. Because she knew that stepping into my mother’s shoes was what I have dreaded most in this life… And it wasn’t just her.
Despite taxing days navigating the city, attending frequent meetings, and handling problems far beyond the scope of a mere party, Xavier would carve out days to drive us into the city, pretending to care about floral arrangements and hors d’oeuvres while juggling the literal lives of those around him. He never complained, insisting on taking us for lunches and strolls through Central Park when we had enough security.
Arturo Marcello would have never done that.
In truth, no man at this gathering would have been raised to follow me onwomanlyduties. My father would’ve laughed in my mother’s face for even trying.
From the corner of my eye, Dario is shoving the camera-toting paparazzi away from the driveway, waving his arms at the undercover police sedan lurking at the curb while the nervous caterers haul in truckloads of Dom Pérignon, fearing for their safety.
Anormal dayin the Marcello household.
Growing up with Vito Marin as a father, I’ve seen my fair share of parties like this one, but never quite like this. Never as a host. I could always hide behind my parents. Or his parents.
Not today.
While everyone socializes beneath the shimmering lights, my attention drifts over the recognizable faces, pausing on the more intimidating ones, resisting the urge to retreat into this room until they all leave.
A few months ago, I was dragging people to the ground on blood-stained mats and eating half-cooked food, just trying to make it from one day to the next. That hardened woman is still here, inside me, watching these people with distrust, now skilled in their game. They will smile and praise while plotting your downfall. They’ll turn a blind eye to injustice for the sake of power and money, sleeping soundly while I still struggle to close my eyes at night.
Spotting my cousin Bianca and her husband Ivan, toting not one, but two kids to the banquet table, has me sitting in strange emotions.
A dainty arm curls around my own, stained with dark age spots. Courtney flashes me a knowing smile. “You’ve got to go greet them sometime.”
“I will.”
