ALESSIO
1399 Words
“I’m telling you,” Enzo declares, stabbing his fork into a roasted potato as if it had personally offended him, “penguins have knees.”
Andros doesn’t even look up from his plate. “They do not.”
“They do.”
“They do not.”
“They literally have knees.”
“And you,” Andros replies smoothly, finally lifting his gaze, “have no brain.”
Enzo gasps as though physically wounded. “Mamma, do you hear the disrespect?”
Mother laughs softly, resting her elbow on the table as she sips her wine. “Enzo, amore, you started it.”
“I did not. I was educating him.”
“You googled it five minutes ago,” Andros says.
“That’s called research.”
“It’s called desperation.”
I lean back slightly in my chair, watching the exchange without intervening. The dining room lights cast a warm glow over the table. For a moment, it feels like any other night—comfortable, predictable.
Enzo points his fork at his twin. “And you need to stop acting like you’re superior just because you changed your name.”
Andros goes still.
Ah.
There it is.
He usually doesn’t mind most of Enzo’s nonsense. But that topic?
That one he guards.
“My name,” Andros says evenly, “is Andros.”
“No,” Enzo grins wickedly, “your name is Lysandros. Lysaaanndros.”
Andros’ eye twitches.
“It’s distinguished,” Mother chimes in lightly.
“It’s dramatic,” Enzo corrects. “He sounds like he’s about to conquer Sparta.”
“Better than sounding like a cartoon character,” Andros shoots back.
I intervene before Enzo escalates further. “Enough.”
Enzo turns to me immediately, affronted. “You see? You see this? Every time. The moment he gets defensive, you join him.”
“Because you’re being insufferable.”
“I am being entertaining.”
“You’re being twelve.”
“I am twenty-one.”
“And somehow regressing.”
Andros smirks faintly.
Enzo throws his hands up. “This is what I mean! You both gang up on me. Always.”
Mother reaches over, smoothing Enzo’s hair affectionately. “They’re only jealous because you’re the charming one.”
“That’s right,” Enzo mutters darkly, shooting us both a look of betrayal.
Father watches the exchange with quiet amusement, fingers loosely wrapped around his glass. He doesn’t laugh loudly. He never does. But there is a softness in his eyes when he looks at us like this.
Especially when he looks at her.
I notice it, the way he watches Mother as she leans toward Enzo, teasing him, consoling him. His gaze was steady. It had always been like that. Their marriage wasn’t loud or theatrical. It was composed.
Enzo had always been her favorite. She denied it, of course. But she indulged him more. Smiled at him more easily.
Father claimed he didn’t have favorites either.
And I believe him.
But I also know the reality.
I am his heir. Which means I am with him more. In meetings. On calls. At the office. Traveling. He doesn’t love me more. He invests in me differently.
There is a difference.
Father sets his glass down gently and clears his throat.
Every noise dies instantly. Even Enzo straightens.
Father doesn’t raise his voice. He never needs to. “I have an announcement,” he says.
Oh no. I had hoped he wouldn't bring this up.
“There will be a wedding in this family.”
Enzo blinks. Then slowly turns his head towards me, his lips curling. “Oh?” he drawled, eyebrows lifting suggestively. “Alessio?”
I don’t react.
He wiggles his brows.
Andros taps him sharply on the head. At the same time, I deliver a precise kick to his shin beneath the table.
Enzo yelps. “Violence! This is abuse.”
“Behave,” Father says calmly.
Enzo grumbles under his breath but goes quiet.
Father’s gaze shifts to me. “It's time for you to marry.” The words land flatly.
I stare at him.
There were many things I expected from my father.
Sudden announcements were not one of them. Well, this was not so sudden, considering he'd said the same thing to me earlier this morning, when Arnold Vale had visited the office today. And I had objected earlier.
“With respect,” I say carefully, “I disagree.” I'm objecting again.
Enzo inhales dramatically.
Andros remains still.
Father does not blink. “It is not a matter of agreement.”
I feel my jaw tighten. “I’m twenty-four.”
“Yes.”
“I have expansion projects underway in Athens. We’re negotiating—”
“This will not interfere with your work.”
“It will absolutely interfere.”
Mother shifts slightly in her seat but remains silent.
“It is contractual,” Father continues. “It's just for five years.”
Five years.
Five.
“Whose idea was this?” I ask.
“Mine.”
That ends that line of questioning.
I lean back slightly, fingers curling against the arm of my chair.
“This is unnecessary,” I say. “We do not need alliances.”
“It is not about need.”
“Then what is it about?”
“A debt.”
That makes me pause.
“As I told you earlier, Arnold Vale’s company has collapsed,” Father continues. “He requires support.”
“So this is charity?”
“It is structure.”
“That man can barely care for himself How on earth is he going to make his carcass of a company bounce back?”
“You will marry his daughter.”
I exhaled slowly through my nose.
“This is absurd.”
“It is decided.”
“So what happens after? After the five years?” I asked.
“After five years, we withdraw support. You may divorce her.”
May.
Not must.
I note that.
“So I am to tie my name to a failing company for five years,” I said coolly.
“You are to stabilize it.”
“And if she is like her father?”
The image flashed again.
Arnold Vale’s greedy smile. Impatient demeanor. Unscrupulous behaviour.
If his daughter mirrored him—
I would be in for a long five years.
Father’s voice remained level. “She is not her father.”
“How do you know?”
“I do.”
That answer tells me nothing.
Mother finally speaks. “It is not unreasonable, Alessio. It is five years of your life. You will barely notice.”
I almost laugh at that.
Marriage is not a minor inconvenience.
It is visibility. A whole lot of expectations. We mustn't forget the public scrutiny.
I have plans.
Growth projections.
International acquisition.
I do not have time for domestic theater.
“I object,” I say again.
Father’s eyes sharpen slightly, “You do not have that option.”
The room feels smaller.
Andros watches me carefully now.
Enzo looks between us like a spectator at a tennis match.
“It is signed,” Father says. “The contract is prepared. The announcement will be made within the week.”
Signed.
Without me.
I feel something flicker—anger, brief and hot. Then discipline smothers it. Arguing further will accomplish nothing.
Father is not going to move backward.
Ever.
If Uncle Alexios was still alive—
The thought intrudes unexpectedly. He might have pushed back. Challenged the decision. Forced a reconsideration.
But Alexios was gone.
And Father rules unopposed.
Five years.
I can endure five years.
My gaze lowers briefly to the table.
This is not personal. It is structural.
I can compartmentalize.
“I assume,” I say quietly, “that this is final.”
“It is.”
The silence stretches.
I feel every pair of eyes on me.
I can resist.
Cause tension.
Create division.
Or I can do what I have always done.
Accept responsibility, control what I can and execute.
I bow my head slightly, “Very well.”
Enzo exhales dramatically and Andros’ shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly.
If Arnold Vale’s daughter was anything like the man I had met earlier—
Then the next five years were not going to be simple.
And I do not like unpredictability.
Not at all.
- Writer
