Chapter 8: Lunch and all it's friends

Bianca

The lunch stretched before me like a beautiful, elaborate execution. Each course arrived with precision—delicate pasta, perfectly seared fish, wine that was expensive but I tasted none of it. Everything turned to ash in my mouth. I smiled when my mother glanced my way. I laughed at my father's jokes, the sound hollow even to my own ears. I was a marionette, and they held every string.

Alessandro sat across from me, and I felt him everywhere. His presence pressed against my skin like a physical weight, heavy with all the words we couldn't say. I knew he was watching me. I could feel his gaze tracking my movements, pleading silently for me to look at him, to acknowledge what we'd been. What we'd lost.

I wouldn't give him that. I couldn't.

Instead, I focused on my father's animated conversation with Leonardo DeSanti, on the way my mother's rings caught the chandelier light, on the intricate pattern of the tablecloth—anything but the man who'd held me in Positano and whispered promises against my skin while hiding who he really was.

"Bianca has always had such a sharp mind for business," my mother said, her voice pulling me into the performance. She reached over and squeezed my hand with practiced affection. "She's been absolutely vital to our recent expansions. Her grassroots program has been particularly successful ,she has such a gift for connecting with people."

The irony wasn't lost on me. Connecting with people. I'd connected with Alessandro, all right. Connected so deeply I'd forgotten to protect myself.

"Indeed," Leonardo said, his calculating eyes moving between his son and me like he was watching a chess match

. "A perfect complement to my son's new venture here in South Africa. Your strengths align beautifully."

I set down my wine glass with deliberate care.

"Of course," I said, my voice emerging flat and professional. "I'm sure Signor DeSanti and I will have much to discuss regarding the merger details. The due diligence alone will require extensive collaboration."

The word hung in the air between us, cold and transactional. Merger. Like we were discussing acquisitions and market shares, not the complete destruction of my life as I knew it. A business deal. Assets being transferred. That's all this was, really.

I saw Alessandro flinch in my peripheral vision, saw his hand tighten around his fork. But he said nothing. He'd lost the right to say anything.

When the ordeal finally, mercifully ended, Leonardo rose from his chair with the satisfied air of a man who'd closed a profitable deal. "Wonderful meal. Excellent conversation. Now, shall we discuss the arrangements?"

Something in his tone made my stomach drop. "Arrangements?" I asked carefully, setting my napkin aside with trembling fingers I hoped no one noticed.

"Oh yes," he said, his smile sharp and cold as winter. "Given the... delicate situation, and the need for discretion, you'll both be staying at our private resort in Cape Town for the next month or so depending. A chance to get reacquainted before the formal engagement announcement. Build that unified front the media will expect."

The room tilted. "A month?" The word came out strangled, barely audible. "Together? With him?"

My father's voice cut through my rising panic. "It's already decided, Bianca." His tone left no room for negotiation, no space for my feelings. I was a chess piece, being moved according to strategy I had no part in crafting. "We need to maintain appearances. Show a united front to both families and the business community. Any hint of discord could jeopardize everything we've worked for."

Everything they'd worked for. Not me. I was just the glue holding their empire together.

I felt the walls closing in, the beautiful dining room becoming a cage. A month. Thirty days. Seven hundred and twenty hours trapped with the man who'd shattered my heart while wearing a mask of lies.

"When?" The whisper barely made it past my constricted throat.

"Tomorrow morning," Leonardo declared, already pulling out his phone to finalize details. "A car will collect you at nine."

The drive home blurred past in fragments.

The sleek black car arrived exactly at nine, of course. The DeSanti's were nothing if not punctual. As we wound along the coastal highway towards the resort, I watched the ocean blur past and tried to remember how to breathe normally. How to be the composed, professional woman everyone expected instead of the broken girl who'd cried herself to sleep last night.

The DeSanti resort rose from the cliffs like something out of a dream,cascading white stone and glass, infinity pools that seemed to pour directly into the ocean, gardens so perfectly manicured they looked painted onto the landscape. It was magnificent. Stunning. The kind of place I would have loved under any other circumstances.

I hated every beautiful inch of it.

Inside, the lobby opened into a soaring space filled with natural light and the soft sound of water features. And there, standing near the windows with his brother Danilo, was Alessandro.

He looked different than I remembered from Positano. More formal in his tailored suit, his hair styled instead of windblown from the sea. ,his eyes—those Green, expressive eyes that had once made me believe in magic,those were the same, they found mine the instant I entered, making all the air leave my lungs in a rush.

He moved toward me immediately, his father trailing behind. My heart hammered against my ribs, fighting to escape.

"And you must be Bianca," Leonardo said smoothly, extending his hand. "Alessandro has told us so much about you."

I forced myself to look directly at Alessandro, channeling every ounce of ice I could find in my shattered heart. Made myself meet those pleading eyes without flinching. " DeSanti," I said formally, offering my hand to the man who'd been my lover, who'd held me and kissed me and made me believe in fairy tales. "How nice to finally meet you properly."

He took my hand, and that old electricity jolted through me—familiar and excruciating. His fingers tightened, holding on a moment too long, silently begging for acknowledgment of what we'd been. I pulled away sharply, like his touch burned.

"Shall we?" I said to the room at large, already turning my back on him. "I'm sure we're all eager to get settled into our accommodations."

Alessandro fell into step beside me as a manager led us through the resort. I could feel him there, close enough that his sleeve brushed my arm, sending unwanted shivers through me.

"Bianca, please," he said quietly, urgently. "Let me explain..."

"Don't." I kept walking, kept my eyes forward, my voice low and sharp enough to cut. "Don't say my name like that. You lost the right. You lied about everything—about who you are, what you are. The man I knew in Positano was a complete fantasy."

"He was real," Alessandro insisted, his voice rough with emotion. He stepped closer, nearly blocking my path. "That man was me. The only lie was my name, sort of..."

"Your name?" I stopped, finally looking at him fully, letting him see the devastation he'd caused. "You lied about your entire life. Your family. Your business. You knew exactly who I was the whole time, knew I was running from an arranged marriage to you, and you seduced me anyway. You let me fall for you, trust you, while playing some sick game."

"It wasn't a game." His eyes were desperate now, swimming with unshed tears. "I never meant to hurt you. I was trying to give us a chance."

"You did hurt me,"

I whispered, and I hated how my voice broke, how the tears threatened to spill.

"You broke my heart. And now we're both trapped here, playing house for our families' business interests, because of choices you made. Lies you told."

"I know." His voice cracked. "God, Bianca, I know. And I'm..."

"Don't," I cut him off, straightening my spine, rebuilding my walls. "Just don't."