Scarlet Ties

CHAPTER TWO

Camila’s POV

Two days had passed since the engagement was finalized, but the world already felt like it was pressing in on me.

I was curled up on Eva’s couch, one leg tucked under me, the other swinging idly, a mug of steaming tea warming my hands. Eva, my cousin and best friend, was perched beside me, scrolling through her phone with the practiced disinterest of someone who had seen the chaos of our families up close before.

“So,” Eva said, looking up finally, lips quirking. “Two days in, and I’m just going to ask—are you okay?”

I let out a long sigh, trying to appear nonchalant. “I’m fine. It’s… fine.”

Eva tilted her head, eyes sharp. “Fine like the calm before a hurricane? Or fine like you’re planning to throw your tea in Dante’s face the moment he tries to explain what a ‘strategic alliance’ is?”

I didn’t answer. I stared out the window at the New York City skyline. Every glass tower reminded me that my life now involved a man I barely knew, and a family that didn’t hesitate to make decisions in the shadows.

“Camila,” Eva said, voice softening. “You’re not just engaged. You’re… married to one of the biggest power players in the city. This isn’t just some business deal. Dante Moretti is—”

“Yeah, I know who he is,” I interrupted, trying to sound casual, though my chest tightened. “CEO. Italian mafia. Very tall, dark, and handsome. Very serious. Very dangerous. Not a knight in shining armor. Got it.”

Eva laughed, a short, sharp sound that made the room feel warmer than the skyscrapers outside. “Exactly. And now you’re going to be on every magazine cover, every gossip blog, every social media feed in Manhattan. You do realize that, right?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I do. Trust me, I do.”

Just as I took a sip of my tea, the door opened. My mother stepped in, all controlled elegance, her heels clicking against the hardwood floor. She didn’t wait for greetings.

“Camila,” she said, eyes sharp. “Get ready. You and Dante are going to the studio for your engagement photoshoot in about an hour. Public announcement is tomorrow, and we need everyone to see the Santos-Moretti alliance in full effect.”

I froze mid-sip, tea halfway to my lips. “Photoshoot? Tomorrow? Public?”

“Yes. He is Dante Moretti,” my mother said, voice measured, precise. “And every second he is seen with you in public is an opportunity. A statement. We cannot wait.”

Eva leaned back, raising an eyebrow. “Statement, huh? Sounds like you’re marrying a headline.”

I groaned and set the mug down, wishing the walls would swallow me whole. “I can’t believe this. Two days and already—photoshoots, cameras, announcements. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to wear.”

Eva smirked. “You look amazing in anything. But knowing your mom, this is going to be a black-tie affair with enough diamonds to blind the paparazzi.”

I muttered under my breath. “Perfect. Exactly what I wanted two days after being told I’m betrothed to a man I barely know.”

Mom’s expression softened slightly, just enough to let me know she understood but would not tolerate whining. “Camila, you’ve always been practical. Focus. Get ready. Eva, you will help her. We leave in an hour.”

Eva and I exchanged a look.

“Don’t worry,” Eva whispered as my mother left. “I’ve got your back. We’ll make this work. You just… survive the cameras, okay?”

I nodded, but my mind was elsewhere. Cameras. Headlines. A man I barely knew, waiting for me somewhere, probably reviewing suit measurements or calculating how to frame me in the perfect light.

I leaned back on the couch and closed my eyes, letting the tension wash over me.

Two days in, and already I felt like I was walking a tightrope over a city that didn’t care if I fell.

And somewhere beneath the practicality, beneath the strategy, beneath the stress…

A small, irrational thought slipped into my mind:

What if Dante isn’t the danger I’m expecting?

I set my mug on the coffee table and stretched, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten again.

“I should… start getting ready,” I murmured.

Eva glanced up, raising an eyebrow. “Already? Mom said an hour, you have time to breathe.”

I shook my head, tugging lightly at the hem of my blouse. “I can’t just… sit here. Not with the photoshoot, the cameras, the whole city about to know I’m engaged to Dante Moretti. I need to think.”

Eva leaned back, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. “Think or panic?”

“Both,” I admitted.

She laughed softly, a sound that made the room feel warmer than the skyscrapers outside. “Fine. Go survive the glamour, cousin. I’ll keep the tea warm for when you’re done.”

I rose from the couch, smoothing the fabric of my blouse down over my waist. My hair fell in soft waves around my shoulders. I traced my fingers over the bracelet on my wrist, Mateo’s, feeling the weight of responsibility settle heavier than the silk against my skin.

As I stepped toward the door, I paused, glancing back at Eva. “Don’t let Mom micromanage me too much,” I said with a weak smile.

Eva waved a hand dismissively. “Too late. But hey, if she gets on your case, just remind her that you’re still Camila Santos. Surviving’s kind of your specialty.”

I let out a small laugh, the sound tighter than I intended. “Yeah… surviving. That’s what this is.”

With that, I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. The polished floors reflected the soft glow of the chandelier above, the quiet hum of the apartment pressing against me. Every step toward my mother’s domain, toward the room where I would begin preparations for the photoshoot, felt heavier.

Eva followed a few steps behind, her sneakers silent against the polished wood. “Alright, let’s get this over with,” she said, tugging open a wardrobe I normally never dared touch. “Mom’s orders. Cameras. Public statement. The whole New York City circus.”

I sank onto the small stool in front of the vanity, my eyes catching my reflection in the mirror. The face staring back at me looked calm. Composed. But I could see the tension coiled behind my eyes, the flicker of unease I couldn’t quite hide.

Eva pulled out several options. “Classic black dress. Elegant, powerful. Emerald green. Shows strength and warmth. And…” She held up the silk blouse and skirt my mother had chosen, “Mom’s pick. Sophisticated, approachable, but blah.”

I hesitated, then shook my head. “None of that. I’m wearing red.”

Eva blinked. “Red? You mean—showstopper, instant headline, everyone will be staring at you?”

I lifted a flowing red dress from the rack. Its fabric was light, but it draped over the body perfectly. “Yes. Because if I’m going to be on the covers of every magazine in Manhattan tomorrow, I want it to be on my terms. Not hers.”

Eva smiled. “Finally, some rebellion. I like it.”

I slid into the dress, adjusting the straps and letting the fabric fall naturally over my shoulders and hips. The color felt daring, alive. The city outside would see me, yes, but they’d see me, not just the carefully curated image my parents wanted.

“Now,” Eva said, crouching in front of me with a makeup kit, “we make sure the city doesn’t blink and miss you.”

I let her work. Light powder, subtle blush along my cheekbones, eyeliner framing my chocolate-colored eyes, mascara brushing my lashes. Finally, a sweep of soft rose on my lips.

As she worked, I caught my reflection. Hair styled in loose waves, dress a striking shade of crimson, bracelet glinting on my wrist. I looked… alive. Grounded. Present. Not perfect. Not polished like a doll. But undeniably me.

“Done,” Eva said, stepping back. “You look like fire. And no one can ignore fire.”

I let out a soft laugh. “Surviving is my specialty. Controlling attention… maybe not so much.”

Eva grinned. “Then let the city watch. And remember—don’t let the cameras make you forget who you are.”

I stood, adjusting the dress one last time, smoothing the skirt over my thighs. Every movement mattered: posture, composure, confidence. Cameras would capture it all. Every glance, every gesture, every flicker of emotion.

But beneath it all, beneath the fabric and the gloss and the expectation… a quiet, unbidden thought flitted through my mind:

What if Dante isn’t the danger I’m expecting?

I swallowed, lifted my chin, and took a deep breath. Practicality first. Composure second. Survival… always survival.

Eva handed me my heels. “Lead actress. Showtime.”

I smiled faintly, toes slipping into the shoes, and stepped toward the door. The world outside was waiting, bright lights and cameras and headlines, and I was walking into it on my own terms—for once.