No More Leftovers

The next day, Luca took me to see the new house.

It was the lake villa prepared for the alliance, with pale stone walls, electronic gates, and Moretti security. I walked toward the front passenger seat, and Luca caught my wrist. "Wrong seat, sweetheart. That's Bianca's."

Bianca stepped out onto the porch right on cue. Luca opened the door for her with a naturalness. "She's been thinking about buying a quiet place for her foundation archives. She'll come look with us."

I sat in the back. "Sure."

Luca and Bianca discussed charity auctions and political donors as if I weren't behind them. I watched their profiles and understood that I had never been in the back seat. I had been in the margin.

Bianca fell in love with the upstairs master bedroom because it faced the lake sunrise. She stood by the glass with shining eyes. "The light is perfect. My paper files wouldn't warp here."

Luca answered without hesitation. "Then it's yours. Come stay whenever you want. I'll have the designer turn it into your private archive room."

I stood at the doorway and curled my fingers into my palm. Luca had never joined one meeting about this house. Now he stood beside Bianca, planning a room that should have been ours. They looked like the real couple.

Bianca turned to me with a sweet smile. "Elena, you don't mind if I use this room, right?"

I looked at Luca. "You know this is the master bedroom for the wedding, don't you?"

His eyes stayed calm. "Master is just a word. Bianca's archives need this environment. You can choose another room. The one downstairs is nice. It's close to the garage."

I released my aching palm. "Do whatever you want."

Luca touched my head. "That's my Elena."

I moved away from his hand. He didn't notice.

After the villa, the bridal salon called Luca and said my three wedding dresses were ready for fitting. Bianca linked her arm through mine. "I'll help you check them. You shouldn't always wear black. You need something brighter for your wedding."

She sounded exactly like a caring sister.

I had just put on the ivory satin reception gown when Bianca took a call and came back looking worried. "Oh no. My gown for tonight was ruined at the dry cleaner. I have to meet a senator's wife for the foundation, and I can't find anything suitable."

Luca scanned the boutique. "Then pick one here."

The staff brought several dresses. He rejected them all. At last, his gaze landed on me. "This one works. Bianca has cool undertones. It'll look clean on her. Give it to her first."

The stylist couldn't help herself. "Mr. Moretti, this is Miss Elena's reception gown. She came in more than twenty times for the waist detail."

Luca looked at me like the problem did not exist. In his mind, Bianca needed it, so Bianca got it.

I looked at myself in the mirror and felt the pain go quiet. When hurt reaches the end, the heart becomes strangely clear.

I changed out of the dress and handed it to Bianca. "Take it. You'll look beautiful."

Luca looked surprised. Then his face softened. "That's better. I'll help you choose something nicer."

He said it, but his eyes stayed on Bianca. He crouched and arranged every fold of her skirt with careful fingers.

I had once imagined that scene for myself. I had come here more than twenty times. Luca came once, stared at casino accounts, and said staff should handle hems because they were paid for it.

Now I watched him kneel at Bianca's feet and tasted the price of my fantasy.

Everyone loved Bianca more. My parents did. Luca did. Still, I had loved him once.

When we were little and my mother called me slow in front of guests, Luca slipped a mint candy into my hand. "Slow isn't bad, Elena. You're cute when you're quiet."

I hid that sentence in my heart for years.

When Bianca refused the alliance and Luca came to me, I knew I was his second answer. I still took his hand. I wanted too badly to know what being chosen felt like.

To stay beside him, I became his assistant and learned contracts, casino flows, and informant lists. I still never became Bianca.

My phone buzzed.

[The studio is ready. Your ticket is for late on the wedding night. The car will wait near the hotel service entrance.]

I typed back.

[Okay.]