Page 102 of Mafia Daddy's Christmas Bride

I can feel eyes on me. La Corona families probably wondering why the new Mrs. Ginetti stands alone while her husband and stepdaughter enjoy themselves.

Roman catches my gaze and whispers something to Angelica. They skate toward the edge of the rink where I just realize I’ve gravitated to.

"Join us.”

It's not really a question. His eyes dart briefly to where my father stands with Marco and the other Dons.

I understand immediately.

We're on display. The happy family. The successful arranged marriage.

The proof that La Corona's solution was the right one.

"I don't have skates," I say, searching for an excuse.

Roman gestures to a rental booth. "That can be fixed."

Angelica watches our exchange, her expression guarded. She hasn't forgiven me for refusing to teach her sewing, and I can't explain that her father ordered me to stay away from her.

"Please?" Roman adds, his voice lower. "It would look strange if you didn't."

Appearances must be maintained. "Fine," I say, heading toward the rental booth.

Minutes later, I step tentatively onto the ice, immediately regretting my decision. I haven't skated since I was a teenager, and my ankles wobble precariously.

Roman's hand shoots out, catching my elbow before I can fall. "Careful.” His grip is firm but not painful. "Take it slow."

I'm acutely aware of his touch, of how close we're standing, of the eyes watching us from around the park.

The perfect family portrait—the devoted husband supporting his wife, their adorable daughter nearby.

I want to scream that it’s all a lie. Even more, I wish my heart would stop wishing it were true.

"I'm fine.” I try to pull away, but his hand remains.He's only doing this for show, to make it seem like all is well in the Ginetti household, I remind myself.

"You'll fall," he says simply. "Hold on to me until you find your balance."

I cling to Roman's arm as we make our way around the rink, my initial stiffness gradually giving way to a more natural rhythm.

Despite my determination to keep emotional distance, there's something disarming about seeing him enjoying his daughter, wanting to be attentive to his wife.

"You're doing well. Just keep your knees slightly bent."

When I wobble again, his arm wraps around my waist to steady me, and I catch the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

"What?" I ask, wishing I could pull away without risking falling on my butt.

"Nothing. Just remembering teaching Angelica to skate. She fell so many times but refused to quit."

"Stubborn," I say, watching her now as she attempts a small twirl nearby.

"Like her father," Roman admits, and there's a playfulness in his eyes I've rarely seen. "Though her mother was just as bad."

The mention of Emilia doesn't sting as I expected. Instead, it makes me sad for them. As rotten as I have it, it’s hard for him too. He’s forced to be with a woman who isn’t the love of his life.

Angelica glides over to us. “I can skate, Isabella. Watch,” she says to me.

While her tone isn’t like when we sewed, the fact that she’s talking to me at all is progress.