The Delayed Wedding: I Refuse It

After Luca went into the study, Vanessa did not follow him the way she usually would.

She stayed in the living room, still holding the champagne dress in one hand. For the first time that night, there was caution in the way she looked at me. I had been too calm, and calmness had never been part of the script she prepared for me.

After a while, she walked over and lowered her voice.

"Selene, I know you're upset," she said, "but Italy really matters this time. The southern route has been stuck for weeks, and Luca needs someone there who understands the accounts."

I didn't answer.

Vanessa paused, then reached into her purse and pulled out a folded confirmation slip, as if she had only just remembered it.

"Actually, there's one thing I need to ask you. A document is being delivered here tomorrow. It's an authorization copy for one of the southern-route warehouses, and someone has to sign for it."

I looked at her.

She smiled, easy and practiced. "You know papers like that can't be left with the front desk, and they definitely can't be handed to a regular courier. Luca leaves early tomorrow, and I'm going with him. Could you stay another day or two and receive it before you go?"

It sounded reasonable enough.

Except an authorization copy at that level would never be sent to a private apartment. And it certainly wouldn't need me, an outsider in Luca's eyes, to sign for it.

I watched her for a moment, then asked, "Is it urgent?"

"Of course." Vanessa nodded quickly. "Things are messy on the southern route right now. If that document is delayed, Luca takes the risk."

I lowered my eyes. "Fine."

Relief crossed her face at once. She stepped forward as if she wanted to hug me. I moved aside.

Her arms paused for half a second before she smiled again, softer this time. "I knew you'd still help him."

After Vanessa left with the dress, the apartment became completely quiet. I stood alone in the living room and watched rain slide down the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the New York night into black glass. I had lived here for three years. Still, suddenly, nothing here felt like mine.

The rain on the glass reminded me of the first night I met Luca.

It was at a port foundation gala in Manhattan, the kind of event where men raised money for children's hospitals in the ballroom and negotiated dock access behind closed doors. Luca was younger then, less polished, but already dangerous in a way the old families noticed. Moretti had money and men, but not enough recognition. No one in that room treated him like he belonged.

I was there as Selene Vale, sitting two tables away from the Castellano men, quiet enough that most people forgot to look twice.

That night, one of Rossi's lawyers tried to trap Luca with a warehouse agreement. Luca did not fall for it. He read the appendix, found the clause, and walked away before Rossi could make him look desperate in front of half the room.

That was the first time I took him seriously.

After that, we started seeing each other in places where business was never just business: port dinners, private clubs, charity auctions, hotel bars after negotiations ran too late. Sometimes I gave him information. Sometimes he gave me access to people Castellano could not approach directly.

At first, we both knew what we were doing. Moretti needed a way closer to the old families, and Castellano needed someone reckless enough to disturb the southern route in New York.

But somewhere between all those late nights, the balance changed. I stopped looking at Luca like a useful risk, and he started calling me his future.

The next morning, I did not get up to see Luca off.

Before he left, he came into the bedroom and stood by the bed for a moment.

"Still mad?" he asked.

I kept my eyes closed and gave him nothing.

He bent down and brushed my hair back, his voice soft in that careless way men used when they believed forgiveness was already waiting for them.

"Be good. Wait for me."

The door closed behind him.

Only then did I open my eyes.

A few minutes later, I heard the car start downstairs. I got up, changed my clothes, and pulled my suitcase to the door.

When I opened it, Agnes was standing at the end of the hallway with her old handbag in one hand and a small medicine case tucked against her chest. She looked as if she had been waiting there for a while.

"Ma'am," she said uneasily. "I didn't go far. I was supposed to stay with my sister for the holiday, but after thinking about it, I didn't feel right leaving you here alone."

I paused. "You were worried about me?"

Agnes lowered her voice. "I heard some of what Mr. Moretti and Miss Vanessa said last night. She specifically told me not to come back for the next few days. Said I shouldn't disturb you."

She frowned, still trying to make sense of it herself.

"But the more she told me not to come back, the stranger it felt."

Only after saying it did Agnes seem to realize she had spoken too much. She covered her mouth at once.

"Ma'am, did I say something wrong again?"

The elevator numbers changed slowly above the doors. I watched them for a moment, then smiled.

"No, Agnes."

"You said exactly enough."