The chair squeaked as Camillo got up from the table, pulling me away from my thoughts. Putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans, he stared at me intently.
“Fabiano hasn’t told you because he doesn't know it yet.”
I felt the color drain from my face. “’He doesn’t know’?”
“I spoke with his mom and uncle. They’re quite pleased.”
Closing my hands into fists, I tried to hold the surge of anger. “You have no right to decide on other people’s lives.”
“I have every right, Signorina Parker. I make the rules around here, in case you haven’t noticed.”
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Oh, I've noticed. Believe me. And it appears you’re quite good at applying those rules and ignoring people’s feelings in the process.”
His expression turned stern, his eyes holding my gaze. “I just… It will be good. Fabiano will benefit from this marriage. And so will Francesca.”
“Oh, right. As if you actually knew him at all. But hey, medieval practices, right? I had forgotten that this is customary around here."
“Call it what you want, Signorina Parker. His famiglia is very happy, and I know he will be too. Besides being beautiful and intelligent, Luca's daughter is still a young woman and, as far as I know, still innocent. Anyone in Fabiano's place would be delighted to have a woman like that in their life.”
Before I could ask myself why on earth that comment stung so much, the words spilled out of my mouth, “Then why don't you marry her?”
His lips parted, but nothing came out, and his hands jumped out of his pockets, hanging limply at his sides. He stared at meas if I were some exotic animal, and I couldn't help but feel my face flush.
“I'm going to get changed,” I said, and bolted out of the kitchen, leaving him standing there.
Chapter 43
Daisy Peonia Mary Parker
August, 2025
Reggio Calabria, Calabria, Italy
“Traitor…” I growled, just as I stuffed my mouth with strawberry gelato. Glancing sideways at the man next to me, I saw his hand freeze in midair, his spoonful of pistachio gelato melting. He stared at me with a dejected expression. “Why didn’t you tell me your boss was arranging a marriage between Francesca and Fabiano?”
Luca set his little box ofgelatoon the bench and pulled a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his beige polo shirt. Wiping the beads of sweat from his tanned bald head and the moisture beginning to drip from his hooked nose, he looked at me like a war criminal.
“Signorina, I can’t discuss Don Camillo’s private affairs!” He apologized, and the only reason I didn’t throw thegelatoin hisface was that I couldn't bring myself to lift a finger against those amber eyes of his, just like the ones of an abandoned puppy. They were even round and enormous. “Since Don Camillo told you, you should also know that the engagement hasn’t been celebrated yet, so you can rest easy.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Good to know who I can count on,” I muttered and turned toward the sea in front of us. In the distance, the Sicilian coast beckoned to me like a promise of something grand, just as it had the first time I saw it.
Luca whined beside me, waving his hands and making his thick gold bracelets jingle on his wrists. “Don’t be unfair, Signorina. You know I’ve always been on your side!”
I answered him with nothing but a grimace.
After a few more minutes of exchanging barbs, he led me to what they simply called the Corso.Corso Giuseppe Garibaldi. It was a huge street, lined entirely with shops. After walking down it for a few moments, with Luca pointing at every shop window we passed and asking me if I wanted to buy anything, I was grateful for the contents of the bag Camillo had left on my bed that morning.
In addition to a canary-yellow bikini with ruffles on the straps, I’d found a pair of denim shorts, a white tulle top that left my shoulders bare, and comfortable flat sandals. Those very sandals were a godsend for my feet right now..
We continued our walk, and I was grateful for the shade we found along the way, because even though it wasn’t even noon yet, the sun was already unbearable.
“Calabria at this time of year, it’s got to be the beach. That’s why Don Camillo wanted to bring you here,” Luca remarked at one point.
I looked at him with a twinge of pity. His bald head was getting sunburned.
“Speaking of which, how’s the… ‘business’? Has the situation improved, or shouldn’t we be here at all?” I asked and saw his anxious expression. Luca used to be quick with his answers, but now he was even avoiding looking in my direction. I took a deep breath and couldn’t help but widen my eyes.Oh my good Lord.“How bad is it, really? Don’t lie to me.”
He paused, pretending to look at the window of a clothing store, and put his hands on his hips. Seeing us in the reflection of the glass, I couldn’t help but find it funny that in his jeans and polo shirt, with sunglasses hanging from his collar, Luca looked just like a father out for a walk with his daughter, and not a mobster.