Sunday dinners at the Moretti estate operated like beautifully choreographed warfare. Everyone arrived dressed impeccably. Everyone kissed each other on both cheeks. And everyone judged each other over handmade pasta and twelve-hundred-euro wine. Unfortunately for Sienna, tonight she was the main topic of evaluation.
“You’re gripping the champagne flute like it insulted your family,” Luca murmured quietly beside her as they crossed the sprawling terrace overlooking the Monaco coastline.
“I’m being psychologically assessed by Italian aristocracy.”
“My family are not aristocrats.”
“Your aunt owns a vineyard and speaks like she personally invented judgment.”
“That’s fair.”
Sienna exhaled slowly while candlelight flickered across the enormous outdoor dining space ahead. The Moretti estat
