Page 37 of My Wedding Mafia Style

“That is your criteria?”

“It was a stressful situation.”

Isabella makes a sound like she is in pain from not laughing.

Lucy folds her hands together. “So I kissed him because I wanted Derek to think I had moved on. That part was fake. Or at least it was supposed to be.”

My chest tightens. I know what she is going to say before she says it. I want to hear it anyway. She glances at me, and the room disappears for half a second.

“But I don’t think it stayed that way,” she says.

There … a simple sentence. No declarations, promises or dramatic confessions. And still it moves through me with more force than anything she could have performed.

I look at her and the pieces of the evening appear again. The family pressure. My father’s doubts. Nonna’s interest. The advantage Lucy creates simply by sitting beside me looking like a woman who might belong in my world.

All of that remains. But none of it feels like the center anymore. She does.

Nonna watches me watching her.

“And you, Luca?” she asks.

I do not take my eyes from Lucy at first. This would be easier if I lied.

I am good at careful answers. Good at giving enough truth to satisfy a question while keeping the vulnerable part untouched. It is one of the reasons I win. It is one of the reasons my grandmother worries I know how to builddeals better than I know how to build anything that lasts like a legacy … a family.

Lucy has just answered honestly. Badly, perhaps. Bravely, definitely. I owe her no less.

“I knew it was fake when it began,” I say.

Lucy turns toward me.

“And I let it continue because it interested me.”

Bianca’s eyebrows lift, but for once she says nothing.

“At first,” I add, because the distinction matters. “Then because she interested me.”

Lucy’s lips part slightly. My grandmother’s expression does not change.

“But you also saw opportunity,” Nonna says.

There is no accusation in her voice. That makes it worse.

“Yes,” I say.

Lucy’s face changes. Only a fraction, but I see it. I hate that I caused it.

I turn toward her fully. “My family has been concerned lately that I am too detached from the parts of the business that require… roots.”

“Roots,” she repeats softly.

“My father wants me to take on more authority. Nonna wants me to take on more responsibility. They are not always the same thing.”

My father lowers his glass.

My mother watches me now with the kind of softness that makes me look away when I am younger. I do not look away tonight. I keep my attention on Lucy.

“When you appeared,” I say, “my family saw something they have wanted to see from me.”