CHAPTER 10
28
Amara’s POV
“Matteo, you’re as impossible as ever. Some things never change, do they?” a light, playful voice floated up from downstairs. It was a woman. And according to my previous research on Matteo Vitale, he did not have any girl siblings.
Who was she?
I tightened the robe on my body and descended the rest of the stairs. The closer I got to the dining room, the clearer their voices became. I could hear the clinking of cutlery, a chair scraping against the floor, and her laugh again, this time louder, as if she did not care who heard.
When I reached the doorway, I stopped to take in the scene in front of me, being too familiar with what I had occasionally witnessed back in The Obsidian – my husband and her mistress Casey Tartt.
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However, this time, I may be the wife, now that I had signed the marriage contract a few days ago, but I knew very well that our relationship was business and temporary, that my place in this family was nothing. I reminded myself of that and swallowed the trauma that reeled in my head.
Matteo sat at the head of the long dining table, dressed in a crisp white shirt with the top button undone. He looked composed, as always, his dark hair slightly tousled, as though he had run a hand. through it absentmindedly. But it was not him that caught my attention.
A gorgeous woman with chestnut brown hair cascading over her shoulders sat beside him. She was dressed in a pale blue blouse that hugged her figure, paired with sleek white trousers. She was beautiful, confident, and utterly at ease in Matteo‘ s presence who was always cold and distant to others, but surprisingly to her, he was… too relaxed.
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“Oh, good morning,” she said brightly when she noticed me standing there. Her hazel eyes swept over me, taking in my casual appearance – the simple robe, my unbrushed hair – and a flicker of
amusement danced across her features.
“You must be Amara Saints.”
“Yes,” I replied, stepping into the room. “And you are?” I asked politely, telling myself that she was no threat if she could
be this close to Matteo.
She stood, her smile widening as she extended a hand. “Bethany Jones. Matteo and I go way back. Our fathers were close friends, so we practically grew up together.”
Her handshake was firm, and her grip lingered just long enough to establish dominance. I nodded, withdrawing my hand as quickly as I could without seeming rude. And I came to realize, from that dominating handshake that she must be someone who was supposed to be above
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me, someone who should be next to Matteo. My eyes narrowed a little at my suspicion. Perhaps, if it was not for me, she could have been the wife. But well, I did not care because I knew that my presence here was only temporary. She can have the position when I’m gone.
“Nice to meet you,” I said, keeping my tone neutral and I glanced at Matteo as he spoke.
“Bethany’s visiting for a few days,” Matteo informed casually, leaning back in his chair. “She has some business. nearby.”
“Right,” Bethany added, her gaze flicking back to Matteo with a softness that made my chest tighten, though I did not know why. “It’s been ages since we’ve caught up properly. I missed this.”
There was that word again – missed.
I took the seat furthest from them, feeling like an outsider in a scene I did not belong
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- to. A servant appeared with a cup of coffee. and set it in front of me. I mumbled a quiet thanks and wrapped my hands around the warm mug, using it as a barrier between myself and whatever was happening across the table.
Bethany launched into a story about her latest travels, peppering her sentences with inside jokes and their shared memories. that I could not possibly understand. Matteo responded with occasional nods or smirks, but his usual stoicism remained
intact.
Still, there was an ease between them that
was evident.
“You should’ve seen Matteo back then,” Bethany said, laughing. She turned to me as though letting me in on a secret. “He was such a wild teenager. Always getting into trouble, but he had this charm that made it impossible to stay mad at him.”
I forced a polite smile, nodding as though I found her story amusing. But inside, I was
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trying to reconcile this version of Matteo – the carefree boy she described – with the cold, calculating man I knew.
“Did he tell you about the time he sneaked into my father’s vineyard just to steal a bottle of wine?” she continued, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
