Chapter 4 - The Bride Who Refused to Be BoughtThe first thing Matteo did after announcing our accelerated wedding was send me shopping.
The second thing he did was discover that I hated shopping.
“I need a dress,” I reminded him as his assistant escorted me into a boutique that looked as though it had been designed for women who regarded ordinary prices as personal insults.
“You need several dresses,” Matteo replied.
“I need one dress.”
“One wedding dress. Several dresses for public appearances. Something appropriate for the reception at the estate. Something suitable for dinner with my business associates.”
“Your business associates can admire the dress I'm already wearing.”
His assistant, a composed woman named Elena, studied the ceiling.
Matteo looked at my blouse and black trousers.
“You're wearing shoes with a broken heel.”
“The heel is not broken. It is slightly unstable.”
“It makes a noise when you walk.”
“Then people will know I'm coming.”
He stared at me.
I stared back.
Elena cleared her throat.
“I believe we should begin with the wedding dress.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Matteo looked at his watch.
“I have a meeting. Elena will help you select whatever you need.”
“Whatever I need?”
“Within reason.”
“What constitutes reason?”
“The budget is not a concern.”
“That is not what I asked.”
For several seconds, neither of us moved.
Then Matteo exhaled.
“Choose what you like. If you dislike something, don't buy it.”
“That's the first sensible thing you've said all morning.”
“I'll try to recover.”
He left.
I watched the door close behind him.
Elena waited until his footsteps disappeared before turning toward me.
“May I offer you some advice?”
“Please.”
“Mr. De Luca is accustomed to people agreeing with him.”
“I noticed.”
“He does not always understand that silence is not consent.”
I liked her immediately.
“Does anyone tell him?”
“Not often.”
“Then perhaps this marriage will be educational for both of us.”
Elena smiled.
We spent the next three hours trying on dresses.
I rejected a gown covered in crystals, another with a train long enough to require its own transportation, and a third that made me look like an expensive lampshade.
Eventually, I found a simple ivory dress with clean lines, a fitted waist, and sleeves that fell just below my elbows.
It was elegant without being theatrical.
When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw someone I recognized.
Not the abandoned fiancée.
Not the woman who had walked into a bar hoping to forget her humiliation.
Just Nora Bennett.
I stepped out of the fitting room.
Elena's expression softened.
“That is the one.”
I turned toward the mirror again.
For the first time since discovering Arthur and Lydia together, I felt something resembling excitement.
Not happiness.
Not yet.
But possibility.
Then I noticed the price tag.
I nearly choked.
“No.”
Elena blinked.
“No?”
“I will not spend that much on a dress.”
“Mr. De Luca has authorized—”
“I don't care what he has authorized.”
I returned to the fitting room and changed into my own clothes.
Elena followed me into the corridor.
“May I ask why?”
“Because I don't want to begin my marriage by becoming a luxury item.”
Her expression changed.
Understanding replaced surprise.
“I see.”
“I know what he can afford. I know what he expects this marriage to accomplish. But I need to be able to look at myself without wondering whether everything I own is another reminder that he purchased my cooperation.”
Elena considered that.
“Then we shall find something else.”
We did.
The final dress cost less than a month's rent on my apartment, which was still absurd, but I could accept it as a practical expense.
I paid for the alterations myself.
When Matteo returned that evening, he found me sitting in his office with a notebook.
He stopped at the door.
“What are you doing?”
“Preparing.”
“For what?”
“Our wedding.”
He glanced at the notebook.
I had written three headings.
Things I Will Agree To.
Things I Will Not Agree To.
Things We Need to Discuss Before Either of Us Signs Anything.
Matteo removed his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair.
“This should be interesting.”
“It will be.”
I began with the guest list.
“I will attend the public events we agree upon, but I won't be expected to sit silently while people insult me.”
“Agreed.”
“I won't pretend to be in love with you.”
His gaze lifted.
“Why would I ask you to do that?”
“Because everyone will expect it.”
“Then we will disappoint them.”
“I will not be introduced as a helpless woman you rescued.”
“Agreed.”
“I will not be expected to abandon my job.”
“You can continue working.”
“And I will not have someone following me into the bathroom.”
“That seems unnecessary.”
“You have security personnel.”
“I do.”
“Then you understand my concern.”
Matteo rubbed his forehead.
“I'll arrange discreet protection. No one enters your personal space without permission unless there is an immediate threat.”
I wrote it down.
“And I want to know when there is an immediate threat.”
“That depends on the threat.”
“No. It depends on whether you think I can handle the truth.”
His hand went still.
The room fell quiet.
I realized I had touched something important.
Matteo studied me for a long moment.
“People have died because they knew things they couldn't protect themselves from.”
“I understand that.”
“Do you?”
“My father died when I was seventeen. My mother spent years pretending the insurance money would solve everything. I worked through college while Lydia received the things she wanted because she knew how to cry at the right moment.”
I closed the notebook.
“I understand that people can be hurt by the truth. But I also understand that being kept ignorant doesn't make anyone safe. It only makes them easier to control.”
Matteo said nothing.
I thought I had gone too far.
Then he pulled out the chair opposite mine and sat down.
“You're right.”
The admission startled me.
He continued, “I cannot promise to tell you every operational detail of my business. But I can promise not to lie about a danger that directly affects you.”
I studied him.
“That is acceptable.”
He glanced at the notebook.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
I turned to the last page.
“About Arthur.”
His expression hardened.
“What about him?”
“I want to know what you intend to do.”
“Nothing, unless he gives me a reason.”
“He may already have.”
“Then I will deal with the reason, not the man who happens to be standing beside it.”
I searched his face.
“You won't hurt him because of me?”
“No.”
“Even if he deserves it?”
Matteo's gaze was steady.
“Especially then.”
I had no idea why that answer made me feel safer.
Perhaps because he had acknowledged the difference between justice and revenge.
Perhaps because he understood that I needed to make my own decisions, even the difficult ones.
Or perhaps because he was the first powerful man I had met who seemed willing to let me disagree with him.
The wedding was scheduled for Friday.
Three days away.
The following morning, Elena took me to the estate where the ceremony would take place.
It stood on a hill overlooking the river, surrounded by ancient trees and gardens carefully maintained by staff who moved like shadows.
The house was beautiful in a severe, old-fashioned way.
Stone columns.
Tall windows.
Dark wood floors.
A library that smelled of leather and cedar.
I could imagine generations of men making decisions in rooms like these, believing that wealth and bloodlines entitled them to rule everyone around them.
I could also imagine how lonely it must be to grow up inside such a house.
Matteo met us in the entrance hall.
“You're early.”
“I wanted to see where I'm going to be married.”
“And?”
“I haven't decided whether I like it.”
“You don't have to like it.”
“That's reassuring.”
He offered to show me the gardens.
We walked beneath the trees, keeping a careful distance from one another.
I noticed that the security personnel were stationed at the perimeter rather than following us directly.
“You changed the arrangement,” I said.
“You asked for privacy.”
“Thank you.”
He nodded.
For several minutes, we walked without speaking.
Then I asked, “What happened to your father?”
Matteo stopped.
The question had been sitting inside me since our meeting.
He looked toward the river.
“My father was murdered.”
I waited.
“He was a complicated man,” Matteo continued. “He built an empire by making people afraid of disappointing him. He believed fear was more reliable than loyalty.”
“Was he right?”
“For a while.”
Matteo's expression became distant.
“Eventually, everyone who feared him wanted him dead. Some wanted his money. Others wanted his position. A few simply wanted to stop living under his shadow.”
“Who killed him?”
“We never proved it.”
“But you have a suspicion.”
“Yes.”
“Your uncle?”
Matteo looked at me.
“Salvatore benefited from his death.”
“That isn't proof.”
“No.”
“Do you want revenge?”
His jaw tightened.
“I want to know what happened.”
It was the first time I had heard him admit to wanting something that could not be purchased or commanded.
I understood that desire.
For years, I had wanted my mother to explain why she always expected me to sacrifice more than Lydia.
I had wanted Arthur to tell me when his feelings changed.
I had wanted my sister to admit that she had known exactly what she was doing.
Sometimes the truth mattered more than the punishment.
“I hope you find it,” I said.
Matteo looked at me for a long moment.
“So do I.”
We reached the edge of the garden, where a stone bench overlooked the water.
He removed his jacket and placed it on the bench.
“May I ask you something?”
“Apparently, that's what we're doing today.”
“Why did you ask me to marry you?”
I looked toward the river.
“Because I was humiliated.”
“That's the obvious answer.”
“Because I wanted someone to look at me and see a woman worth choosing.”
The admission escaped before I could stop it.
I felt my face warm.
“I know how pathetic that sounds.”
“It doesn't.”
“You're supposed to disagree with me.”
“I'm not.”
I swallowed.
“For three years, I made myself smaller to keep Arthur comfortable. I stopped applying for promotions because he said my hours were inconvenient. I canceled trips because he didn't like being alone. I lent Lydia money I couldn't afford to lose because my mother said family should come first.”
I looked at my hands.
“I thought being dependable meant being loved.”
Matteo remained silent.
“Then I walked into my apartment and found them together. And all I could think was that I had spent three years making room for people who would never make room for me.”
The words hung between us.
I expected him to offer reassurance.
Instead, he said, “Then don't do that again.”
I looked up.
“It's not that simple.”
“No. It isn't.”
His voice softened.
“But you can start by refusing to build your life around people who only value you when you're useful.”
I stared at him.
It was a strange thing to hear from a man whose entire empire appeared to depend on people being useful.
Perhaps he recognized the irony.
Perhaps he simply understood the cost.
For a moment, I wanted to ask him whether he had ever loved someone who did not love him back.
Whether he had ever been abandoned.
Whether he had spent years pretending that control was the same thing as safety.
But the question felt too intimate.
Instead, I stood.
“We should return.”
Matteo rose beside me.
As we walked toward the house, his phone vibrated.
He read the message and stopped.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Your sister has announced her engagement.”
I felt the familiar sting, sharp but brief.
“When?”
“Tomorrow evening. A private party at the Whitmore residence.”
I laughed without humor.
“They couldn't even wait until my wedding date passed.”
“No.”
He slipped the phone into his pocket.
“Do you want to attend?”
I stared at him.
“Why would I?”
“Because your sister expects you to disappear quietly.”
“And you think I should disappoint her.”
“I think you should decide whether attending serves your interests.”
I considered the question.
Part of me wanted to see Lydia's face when she discovered that I had married Matteo De Luca.
Another part wanted to forget both of them.
I was tired of measuring my worth against their reactions.
“No,” I said finally. “I don't want to go.”
Matteo nodded.
“Then we won't.”
I looked at him.
“You won't try to convince me?”
“No.”
“Most people would tell me I should show them what they're missing.”
“Most people confuse revenge with freedom.”
The words settled somewhere deep inside me.
I had spent the previous night imagining Arthur watching me walk down an aisle beside a man more powerful, wealthy, and intimidating than he could ever hope to become.
I had imagined Lydia discovering that she had not won.
But what if winning required me to keep looking back?
What if freedom meant building a life that no longer needed their regret?
For the first time, I considered the possibility that marrying Matteo did not have to be an act of revenge.
It could be a decision.
A temporary alliance.
A chance to discover what I wanted when I stopped asking what would hurt them most.
That evening, I signed the contract.
Matteo signed beneath my name.
The wedding would take place in forty-eight hours.
When I returned to my room, I found a message from my mother.
Lydia tells me you're planning to marry a criminal. Please tell me this is not true.
I stared at the screen.
Then I typed:
It is true. His name is Matteo De Luca.
Her reply came almost immediately.
You cannot be serious.
For once, I did not feel compelled to explain myself.
I placed the phone on the table and turned toward the window.
The river shimmered beneath the city lights.
Somewhere beyond the estate walls, men were making plans, exchanging threats, and deciding who deserved to rule.
I had no intention of becoming one of them.
But I was beginning to understand that a woman did not need to become dangerous to stop being vulnerable.
Sometimes, she simply needed to stop asking permission to exist.
And on Friday, I would walk into a church wearing an ivory dress I had chosen for myself.
I would marry a man I barely knew.
I would make mistakes.
I would face consequences.
May you like
But whatever happened next, one thing would be different.
I would no longer confuse being chosen with being owned.
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