I frown. “That’s a weird way to describe your fiancé. Most would write poetry about the man they’re engaged to.”
She laughs. “I’m sure Lorenzo would enjoy that, he’s a secret literature buff. But our engagement is arranged, so I’m sure he can forgive me for not waxing poetry.”
“Arranged?’ I ask, raising a brow.
Her brows pinch together. “I keep forgetting you’re not from our world, yes, arranged. I’m marrying Lorenzo because it’ll be good for my family and his. And it isn’t really a bad hand. He’s one of the only people I haven’t heard call me a monkey behind my back.”
I cringe at that. At least I grew up where most of the people looked like me, so I didn’t have to worry about the other kids my age calling me shit behind my back that reflected my race. “That sounds horrible,” I tell her, “the racism,” I quickly clarify, “not the arrangement.” Though that doesn't sound good either.
Look at my own bullshit arrangement that has brought me more trouble than anything,
She shrugs her shoulders, “Yeah, well we all have our monsters, we just have to decide whether or not we’ll let them drag us into the darkness.”
My heart beats a little quicker in my chest at her words, because I understand.
And I know that I’m letting my monsters drag me right into the dark pits of hell.
Flashes of what I let Maximo do the other night races through my head before I banish it.
I bite down on my lip, trying to keep the conversation going so I can ignore my own thoughts. “Did you grow up knowing that you were going to have to marry him?” I ask her.
Her nose wrinkles. “No, I had no idea at all. It wasn’t until right before my father handed over the reigns to my brother that I found out about it. It was part of him finally passing over the mantel. Bram had to agree to marry me to Lorenzo.”
“And your brother just agreed?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “Not at all. My brother has always wanted to be the head of our family, but he wouldn’t let it come at the risk of my happiness. It wasn’t until I went and signed the marriage agreement behind his back that he acknowledged it was going to happen. But he didn't approve then and he doesn’t now.”
“He doesn’t like Lroenzo?” I ask, letting my gaze flicker over to where said man is still chatting with Giovanni.
I’d be a liar if I said he wasn’t a striking man, but even Lucifer was beautiful.
She said he’s nice to her, but maybe he’s a monster behind closed doors and that’s why her brother didn’t want her to marry him,
“No, he’s good enough friends with Lorenzo. But he’s always wanted me to seek the happiness I didn’t get in my childhood during my adulthood. And I’ve always wanted to repay him for protecting me my whole life. So, it was a catch twenty-two, someone was going to have to lose and I’ve lost so damn much that I refused to let it happen again.” A darkness enters her eyes before she looks down at her legs. She sucks in a deep breath before lifting her head, the smile back on her face and just as dazzling before. “But arrangements aren’t uncommon, surely you know about Gio-”
“Daria!”
I jump, spinning around to find Polo and Maximo approaching us. Polo’s box of popcorn is now gone, replaced with a pack of airhead straws. And again, he doesn’t look like a dangerous mafia man.
“Daria, dear,” he says lower this time, his gaze directly on hers.
Woah.
I try to act like I don’t see the absolute adoration in the man’s eyes as he gazes at her, but well, it’s hard to ignore when it’s on bright display.
And it only confirms that there hadn’t been any real interest in me when I met the man at the party. The look he’d given me had been one of the cat who caught the mouse that he was going to play with until he got bored. The look he gives Daria… it’s one that a man has before he proposes to the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with.
“Polo.” Daria rolls her eyes at him, but I don’t miss the delight in her voice as she offers him a crooked smile.
His face lights up.
And so much becomes clear.
No wonder her brother doesn’t want her to marry Lorenzo when she’s clearly in love with his right-hand man.
And the feeling is returned, ten -old.
Well, shit.