Chapter 3 - The Lie at the Top of the Stairs
The first ten minutes of pretending to be Luca Moretti’s girlfriend taught me something important.
People were far more frightening when they were polite.
Nobody openly accused us of lying.
They smiled.
They kissed my cheek.
They told me how beautiful I looked.
And then they studied every inch between Luca and me as if we were suspects in an interrogation room.
Aunt Sofia was the worst.
She was elegant, silver-haired, and terrifyingly observant.
“So,” she said, holding champagne near her lips, “October?”
I nearly inhaled mine.
Luca didn’t blink.
“October.”
“How romantic.”
“It wasn’t.”
I kicked his shoe.
His hand tightened slightly against my waist.
Sofia noticed.
Of course she noticed.
“And who made the first move?”
“Luca,” I said immediately.
At the exact same moment, Luca said, “Emma.”
We looked at each other.
Julian burst out laughing.
Grandmother Alessandra narrowed her eyes.
I recovered first.
“He means I asked him to dinner.”
“She did.”
“And he kissed me.”
Silence.
Luca looked down at me.
I realized what I had just said.
Julian covered his mouth with one hand.
Sofia’s eyes sparkled.
Alessandra leaned forward.
“You kissed her?”
Luca’s expression remained perfectly calm.
“Yes.”
My pulse accelerated.
I smiled sweetly at him.
He knew I was threatening him.
His thumb moved once against my waist.
That tiny movement almost destroyed my concentration.
“When?” Alessandra asked.
“After dinner,” Luca answered.
“Where?”
“Grandmother,” Julian said, laughing, “give them some privacy.”
“I’m eighty-two. I don’t have time for privacy.”
Even Luca smiled at that.
Dinner was announced before the interrogation could continue.
I thought I was saved.
I was wrong.
A seating card placed me directly beside Luca, across from Isabella Rinaldi.
She was beautiful.
Not simply attractive.
Beautiful in the polished, old-money way that made photographers love her.
Dark blonde hair.
Perfect posture.
Cream silk gown.
She met my eyes and smiled.
“Emma.”
“Isabella.”
“We’ve spoken before.”
“On the phone.”
“Yes. You rearranged Luca’s Milan itinerary last year.”
“I remember.”
She glanced toward Luca.
“So you were already indispensable.”
I couldn’t tell whether it was a compliment.
Luca could.
His gaze sharpened.
“Emma has been indispensable for a long time.”
Isabella smiled faintly.
“I’m sure.”
Dinner began.
For twenty minutes, I almost relaxed.
Then one of Luca’s uncles asked when our relationship had become serious.
Another asked whether I planned to continue working for Luca.
Sofia wanted to know if my parents had met him.
Julian wanted to know why he had never caught us.
And Grandmother Alessandra asked the most dangerous question of all.
“Are you in love with my grandson?”
The entire table went silent.
I looked at Luca.
This was supposed to be theater.
A lie.
A solution lasting one night.
I should have answered easily.
Instead, my throat tightened.
“I…”
Luca’s attention remained on me.
No help.
No interruption.
Just those dark eyes waiting.
I forced a smile.
“He makes it difficult.”
Julian laughed.
Sofia nearly smiled.
But Alessandra didn’t.
“That wasn’t my question.”
“Grandmother,” Luca warned.
“No.”
Her gaze stayed on me.
“Everyone else in this room tells Luca what they think he wants to hear.”
That surprised me.
“His investors. His employees. Politicians. Lawyers. Sometimes even this family.”
Her voice softened.
“You don’t.”
I glanced at Luca.
“No,” I admitted.
“You tell him when he is wrong.”
“Frequently.”
“Constantly,” Luca corrected.
A few people laughed.
Alessandra watched us carefully.
“And he listens to you.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“That may be generous.”
“I notice things.”
The older woman reached for her wine.
“I’ve noticed the way my grandson looks at you for three years.”
My breathing stopped.
Luca became completely still.
Alessandra took a small sip.
“So I’ll ask only once more.”
She looked directly into my eyes.
“Do you love him?”
Before I could answer, Luca pushed his chair back.
“Dance with me.”
Everyone stared.
I stared hardest.
“What?”
Luca extended his hand.
“Dance.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
The musicians in the adjoining ballroom had begun playing a slow Christmas standard.
I took his hand because refusing would have been worse.
He led me away from the table.
The moment we reached the ballroom, I whispered,
“You panicked.”
“I don’t panic.”
“You absolutely panicked.”
“I changed the subject.”
“By dragging me onto a dance floor.”
“Efficiently.”
His arm settled around my waist.
My hand rested against his shoulder.
We began moving.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Too naturally.
“You didn’t answer her,” he said.
“You rescued me before I could.”
“I didn’t rescue you.”
“What would you have preferred?”
He looked down.
“For you not to lie.”
My step faltered.
He steadied me.
“That is a very strange thing for you to say while we are currently lying to eighty people.”
“This is different.”
“How?”
He didn’t answer.
Around us, family members and guests watched.
The room glittered with warm Christmas lights.
Snow pressed white against the tall windows.
I became painfully aware of Luca’s hand at the bare skin of my back.
“You need to stop looking at me like that,” I whispered.
“Like what?”
“Like you forgot this is fake.”
Something unreadable crossed his face.
“Maybe you should stop reminding me.”
My heartbeat became louder than the orchestra.
“Luca.”
“Emma.”
“That is not funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
I searched his expression.
A server approached the edge of the dance floor to whisper something to Sofia.
Then several people looked toward the entrance.
Luca’s body immediately changed.
Not dramatically.
But I felt it.
His shoulders hardened.
His attention shifted.
A tall older man had entered the ballroom.
Silver hair.
Dark suit.
Cold eyes.
I had seen him in photographs.
Carlo Rinaldi.
Isabella’s father.
He greeted Alessandra, then looked directly at Luca.
Then at me.
The warmth vanished from his expression.
Luca noticed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“That is your lying voice.”
“I have a lying voice?”
“You have six.”
His attention returned to me.
“This one means you’re deciding how much information I can handle.”
A pause.
Then Luca said,
“Carlo expected tonight to end differently.”
“With you choosing Isabella.”
“Yes.”
“Does he have business with your family?”
“A great deal.”
“How much?”
“Enough.”
That single word carried weight.
I understood.
This wasn’t only a grandmother wanting grandchildren.
There were financial expectations involved.
Old alliances.
Potential consequences.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I wanted you to say yes.”
“That’s manipulative.”
“Yes.”
“Glad we agree.”
The music ended.
Applause rose.
Luca didn’t release me.
Instead, he looked across the room toward Carlo Rinaldi.
Then toward his grandmother.
Something in him seemed to settle.
A decision.
“Come with me.”
“Where?”
He guided me toward the grand staircase.
The ballroom quieted as we climbed several steps.
I became nervous.
“Luca.”
He stopped.
Turned toward me.
Everyone could see us.
His family.
The Rinaldis.
Guests.
Employees.
People who had known Luca since childhood.
I whispered,
“Everyone here knows I’m your assistant.”
His hand remained steady at my waist.
“They knew.”
“Past tense is not helping.”
“How exactly are they supposed to believe this?”
Luca looked directly into my eyes.
“Don’t act.”
My breathing caught.
“What does that mean?”
He turned toward the ballroom.
The room fell completely silent.
Then Luca Moretti, a man who guarded every private thought like state intelligence, spoke clearly enough for everyone to hear.
“Emma is not here tonight because I needed someone to play a role.”
My stomach dropped.
This was not what we had agreed.
He continued.
“She is here because my family has repeatedly asked me what kind of woman I would choose if the decision were mine.”
I stared at him.
Luca’s hand found mine.
“And I’m tired of pretending I don’t already know.”
Nobody moved.
Not Isabella.
Not Carlo.
Not Grandmother Alessandra.
Luca looked back at me.
“Emma is the only woman I would ever choose.”
For one terrible, beautiful second, I forgot there was an audience.
My fingers tightened around the front of his shirt.
“Luca,” I whispered.
His gaze dropped briefly to my mouth, then returned to my eyes.
“That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“No.”
“You promised.”
“I know.”
“What are you doing?”
His answer was almost too quiet to hear.
“Something I should have done a long time ago.”
Then applause started.
Not everywhere.
Julian first.
Sofia next.
Others followed uncertainly.
Grandmother Alessandra simply sat there smiling as if she had just won a war nobody else knew she was fighting.
But across the room, Carlo Rinaldi did not applaud.
Neither did Isabella.
And when Carlo looked at Luca, I understood immediately that a romantic lie had just become something far more dangerous.
May you like
Because whatever expectation Luca had shattered tonight, the Rinaldis had never considered it optional.
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