Page 6

I straightened my shoulders and raised my chin.

He must have read every rumor about me, my family’s fall, the whispers of scandal, and yet he treated me like something to inspect in a cabinet of curiosities.

I shot a look at Avra. She dipped her head in perfect sympathy, her lips pressed tight, acknowledging our silence.

Relief warmed me in a pool at my feet. At least someone here understood.

Dominic folded his hands in front of him and took a step back.

“Nice to meet you, Dominic.” I let formality rest in my voice like a shield.

Elias cleared his throat. “Avra and I have tickets to the symphony. We’ll leave you to dinner. Our chef has prepared something special.”

His smile offered escape. I’d known about the dinner before I arrived, but at that moment, every bite felt poisoned by embarrassment .

Avra brushed my arm. She stared at the parquet floor, as if willing the moment to pass faster. I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was too late to change our plans.

Elias lifted Avra’s hand.

“It was good to see you, Eli,” Dominic said, sliding one hand into his suit pocket. “Perhaps lunch next week?”

Eli offered a grin. “Absolutely.”

Avra passed me a supportive glance. “Call me later.”

“I will,” I answered, forcing my mouth to curve into a smile.

They walked off together, their footsteps fading against the marble. A moment of quiet settled in their wake, and I turned back toward Dominic.

“The dining room is this way,” I said, sweeping my arm toward the long corridor.

He stepped forward, hand hovering politely in midair. “After you.”

I led the way down the hall, each footfall echoing through the gilded space. My throat tightened, but I willed myself forward. I’d invited him here. To turn cold now would be as discourteous as refusing the invitation in the first place.

Halfway to the dining room, I accepted a small truth: this dinner could go two ways. He might redeem himself, or we’d part with nothing more than a polite nod. Either outcome felt manageable.

As we neared the heavy oak doors, he paused beside one of the tall, gilt mirrors lining the walls.

I halted behind him, watching as he adjusted his tie, straightening the knot, smoothing the silk.

He tilted his head left, then right, examining every angle.

A satisfied grin touched his lips, and he gave himself a single nod.

Then he met my gaze and froze, caught in the act.

I nearly snorted, but I pressed it down. I lifted my chin and offered the same polite smile I’d given him moments ago, waiting for him to turn and lead the way.

“I hope you’re hungry. The staff left a feast for us.” I pushed open the double doors and stepped into cool lamplight, my heels clicking on the marble floor.

He followed, lips parting into a whistle as his gaze swept over platters of glistening kofta, bowls of steaming rice, stacks of fresh pita, and dishes of hummus and baba ghanoush. “This looks amazing,” he said. He drew nearer, sniffing the air. “Eli’s chef is famous for his spetzofai.”

I settled into a chair at the head of the table and motioned to a seat opposite. “Oh, yes. He outdid himself at our family dinner last week.”

Beneath the chandeliers, steam rose in lazy spirals from every dish, carrying the warm, spiced aroma straight to my chest.

We sat. Silverware chimed against china. I stared at the food, wondering how long it would take him to stop small talk and strike a real topic. The question answered itself the moment I sank my fork into a kofta.

He cleared his throat. “So, you’re looking for a husband, Calista?”

I lifted my gaze. “I’m weighing my options.” I scooped hummus onto a piece of pita. “I hear you’re in the marriage market too. ”

His shoulders lifted, one then the other. A grin tugged at his lips. “Sure. I don’t need a wife, but do I want one?”

He held my stare as if I might supply the answer from across the table.

I watched a drop of olive oil catch the light on my plate.

“Look,” he said, leaning back so the candlelight danced off the gel in his hair. “A wife would probably do me good. Pop out a few children, keep the family line strong.”

I swallowed—a cool knot formed in my throat.

“I’m a busy guy,” he admitted. “And in our world, men gain a certain sense of respect when they have a wife. So, having a wife would help my reputation and maybe boost my career a bit. I won’t lie, having a wife around would make entertaining much easier.”

“Why is that?” I asked, cocking my head to the side.

I had a feeling I knew what the answer was going to be, but I wanted to let him dig his grave even deeper.

“Well, because of all the shit involved,” he said. I ignored his crude language and didn’t blink an eye.

“Like what?”

“All that hostess stuff. Making sure everyone is comfortable and happy and has a drink in their hand.”

“Couldn’t your staff handle that? You’re describing a waitress.”

“It’s not the same at all.” He shook his head so emphatically that his hair broke free of the confines of the gel holding it down. “A wife can socialize, you know? Tinkling laughter? Flash a little cleavage? Flatter your boss in a corner, maybe let him slip a hand if he fancies himself bold? ”

My fingers clenched the glass in my hand. I brought it to my lips, gulping until my lungs burned. What the fuck was wrong with him?

Bile rose in my throat, and I swallowed down every bit of water I could.

“God, sorry,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. “That was inappropriate. You know. Considering.”

Anger surged, fiery and ready to be unleashed. I leveled him with a look that dared him to repeat himself.

“Considering?” My heart hammered as a murderous haze clouded my eyesight.

My other hand drifted beneath the table, brushing leather against the dagger strapped to my thigh. One twist and his throat would part like silk. Blood would bloom across Elias’s white marble.

He swallowed, a blush creeping into his cheeks. He looked sheepish, but not enough to stop himself from saying the asinine thing that was about to come out of his mouth.

“Considering what you went through. It’s not exactly private—everyone’s heard.”

I let out a breath that felt too loud. My gaze narrowed, pressing him into silence.

He leaned forward, as if we were about to share a secret. “Tell me, Calista, since it’s just the two of us. Were the rumors true? The ones about what they did to you? Because of the stories… God, they made it sound like you were torn apart.”

I sat very still, the blade in shadow at my side .

My jaw slammed open, heat flushing my cheeks. How dare he? We’d only just met.

He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial murmur, as if that lessened the offensiveness of his words. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but you look really good.”

He sank back in his chair, a thin sheen of sauce glinting at the corner of his mouth, and grinned like he’d just delivered a compliment.

“Seriously, you look great. You’d never know a thing by looking at you. That’s why I asked if it was as bad as I heard.”

His words fell between us like shards of broken glass. Beneath the table, my fingers tightened around the knife’s handle.

I imagined the satisfying give of warm flesh and the metallic tang of blood scenting the air, then wrenched the thought away before it could escape.

“I’m not sure how to answer that, Dominic.” I forced a brittle smile and met his gaze. “But let me assure you, the deepest scars are the ones you can’t see.”

He cocked his head. “Oh, you mean like…”

He scanned my body, tracing the line of my blouse, and I closed my legs, the table’s edge cutting off his view.

“I mean psychological scars,” I stated, my tone composed yet firm.

My palms itched to rise, to send every fork and wine glass crashing off the polished oak.

I was seething with anger now, and I wasn’t doing much to hide it. How could he not notice? He seemed blissfully unaware of how he was affecting me.

He held up both hands, palms forward, flashing that smug smile. “I don’t mean to offend. I was curious since we were talking about marriage. Sometimes those things break women. They don’t always come back from it. Seriously, though, you look good. You don’t seem broken at all.”

A piece of lamb dangled from his fork as he watched me with the clinical detachment of a scientist observing a specimen. The chandeliers overhead rattled softly in the hush his words had carved out.

You don’t seem broken at all.

The echo of his praise morphed into a blistering insult in my mind.

My pulse throbbed against my temples.

I pressed my lips into a thin line and leaned forward until the lace edge of my sleeve brushed the table.

“Don’t worry about wedding bells, Dominic.” I tilted my head, offering him a smile as brittle as cracked porcelain. “I have several suitors to consider. I’m nowhere near saying yes.”

He shrugged, wiping sauce from his chin. “That’s fine, but obviously I’m the best choice. You’ll see.”

I lifted my glass, rosé catching the candle’s glow, and sipped cool wine before setting it down with perfect, unhurried poise.

“Will I?” I whispered, my smile unwavering.

Fuck this guy.

The low glow of the candlelight carved sharp angles across his face, and for a second, he looked nervous, a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar .

My sisters had taught me that true power thrums in silence. I let the room settle around us, the quiet pressing against him.

He swallowed, his confident smile flickering. He had no idea I’d already made the only decision that mattered. Not in a million years would I become Mrs. Lucianos. Not with a man who thought he could grade my life by the curve of my smile.