The husband she never wanted

7

Alessia stared at the cabinet beneath the television. It looked completely ordinary. A cheap piece of furniture she'd bought two years ago and never thought much about afterward. Yet somehow it now seemed to dominate the entire room. Hidden behind its closed doors sat Victor's folder, the photocopies, the contract, the witness signature, and every question that had been tormenting her since the previous night.

She drew in a slow breath, smoothed both hands down the front of her sweater, and forced herself toward the entrance. By the time she reached the door she had already made one decision. Whatever happened during this conversation, Victor would not be mentioned. The contract would not be mentioned. The witness's signature would certainly not be mentioned.

Not until she understood exactly what she was looking at.

The moment the door swung open, her aunt's face came into view.

For a brief second, genuine relief flashed across the older woman's features. It disappeared almost immediately, replaced by something far more cautious. Worry, perhaps. Guilt. Alessia couldn't quite tell. Her uncle stood beside her with his usual composed expression, looking every bit as controlled as he had a few days ago when he'd informed her that her life had apparently been scheduled without her participation.

The sight of him immediately reignited the irritation she'd spent the last ten minutes trying to suppress.

"Are you going to leave us standing out here?" he asked.

There wasn't anything particularly rude about the question. If anything, his tone was perfectly reasonable. Alessia stepped aside without answering.

Her aunt entered first this time, moving carefully into the apartment as though she wasn't entirely certain she'd be welcome. Her uncle followed behind her, his eyes briefly scanning the room in a way that immediately put Alessia on edge. It wasn't suspicious enough to draw attention to itself, but she noticed it anyway. The couch. The coffee table. The kitchen. The television. The cabinet.

Her heartbeat kicked slightly.

Then his attention moved elsewhere.

Only then did she relax.

The apartment felt different with them inside. Smaller somehow. The same walls, the same furniture, the same view through the windows overlooking the city, yet the atmosphere had changed completely. It no longer felt like her apartment.

Nobody sat down immediately.

The silence stretched between them long enough to become noticeable.

Her aunt eventually settled onto the couch, folding her hands neatly in her lap. Her uncle remained standing. Alessia stayed near the window. The physical distance between them felt appropriate.

For a while nobody spoke.

Outside, traffic crawled through the streets below. A delivery truck pulled up beside the building across the road. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed briefly before fading away.

Alessia almost envied the tranquility in it.

"How are you feeling?" her aunt finally asked.

The question hung in the room. It felt absurd. Alessia turned away from the window and looked at her. Really looked at her.

She looked tired. Under different circumstances, Alessia might have felt sympathy. Under different circumstances, she might have appreciated the concern.

Instead she laughed softly. Because she genuinely didn't know how else to answer.

"How am I feeling?" she repeated. "Let's see. Few days ago, I found out my family arranged a marriage behind my back. This morning I woke up still trapped in the same nightmare. And now both of you are sitting in my apartment acting like we're having a normal conversation."

She folded her arms.

"So honestly? I think I'm doing remarkably well."

Her aunt lowered her eyes. Her uncle's expression hardened slightly. There it was. That tiny shift. That almost invisible tightening around his jaw. Alessia had missed things like that before.

Not anymore. Yesterday she'd been angry. Today she was paying attention. And the more attention she paid, the more convinced she became that everyone around her knew far more than they were willing to admit.

The realization sat quietly in the back of her mind while the silence settled over the room again.

Nobody rushed to fill it. Nobody hurried to defend themselves. And somehow that made everything worse. Because if they truly believed they'd done the right thing, shouldn't this conversation be easier for them? Shouldn't they have explanations ready?

Instead, they looked like people carefully navigating a minefield, terrified of putting a foot wrong. Alessia watched them for another moment before speaking again.

"What exactly are you hoping to accomplish here?"

Neither answered immediately.

The hesitation lasted only a second or two, but it was enough. Enough to make her wonder whether they had rehearsed what they intended to say on the drive over. Enough to make her wonder how many conversations about her future had taken place without her knowledge.

"Alessia—"

"No, it's fine."

Her eyes remained on her uncle. Because despite everything, he was clearly the one deciding how much information entered this conversation. He had been doing it since the moment they walked through the door.

"Tell me something," she said. "Have either of you actually stopped to consider how ridiculous this looks from my perspective?"

Neither answered.

Alessia continued before they could.

"I found out I'm apparently getting married because of some agreement that was made years ago. Nobody explains anything. Nobody gives me a reason. Every question I ask gets answered with half a sentence and a vague expression."

She spread her hands.

"And somehow I'm supposed to trust that everyone has my best interests at heart."

Her aunt looked genuinely pained now. The sight almost softened Alessia. Almost. Then she remembered the contract. And whatever sympathy she'd started to feel disappeared again.

"We were trying to protect you."

The words came from her aunt this time. Alessia stared at her.

"From what?"

Her aunt opened her mouth. Then closed it. The answer never came. Her uncle stepped in.

"Some things are complicated."

"There it is."

His brow furrowed.

"There, what is?"

"The favorite answer."

Alessia pushed away from the window and started walking slowly across the room. She needed something to do with the restless energy building inside her.

"Necessary. Complicated. Trust us. You'll understand later."

She shook her head. "You know what's interesting? None of those are actually answers."

The apartment fell silent. Alessia stopped beside the bookshelf. A framed photograph sat on one of the shelves. Her father smiling at something outside the camera. All three of them looking at the same photograph.

Remembering different things. The silence felt different now. Because it wasn't anger filling the room anymore. It was grief. When her uncle finally spoke again, his voice was quieter.

"Your father believed he was doing the right thing." Alessia kept staring at the photograph.

"Did he?"

"Yes." The answer came immediately. Certain. Firm.

For the first time all afternoon, her uncle sounded absolutely convinced of something. Which was exactly why her next question slipped out before she could stop it.

"Then why won't anybody tell me what that thing was?" No answer was given.

The conversation continued for a while after that, although Alessia couldn't have said exactly how long.

At some point, it stopped feeling like a conversation and started feeling like three people repeating the same thoughts in different ways. She wanted answers. Her uncle wanted patience. Her aunt wanted peace. Nobody got what they wanted.

The apartment gradually grew darker around them as evening settled outside. The sunlight that had filled the room earlier had long since disappeared, leaving only the soft glow of the lamps and the distant lights of the city beyond the windows.

Eventually, even arguing became exhausting.

Alessia stood near the bookshelf with her arms folded while her aunt remained seated on the couch. Her uncle had drifted toward the window several minutes earlier and hadn't moved since.

"You should read it."

Alessia frowned.

"Read what?" He turned away from the window.

"The agreement." For a second she simply stared at him. She genuinely couldn't believe they were only arriving at this conclusion now.

"That would've been useful yesterday." A brief flicker of something crossed his face. Guilt. Maybe.

It disappeared too quickly to be certain. He dropped a folder on the table. A ridiculous amount of paperwork. The folder landed on the coffee table with a soft thud. Alessia looked at it. Then at him. Then back at it again.

"That's it?"

Her uncle raised an eyebrow. "What were you expecting?"

She wasn't entirely sure. After the way everyone had been behaving, she'd almost expected the thing to burst into flames the moment it touched the air. Instead, it looked disappointingly ordinary.

Her aunt leaned forward slightly.

"I wanted you to have it that day." The confession caught Alessia's attention. Her aunt looked down at her hands.

"At the house." Her aunt smiled sadly.

"Things got out of control." That was probably the most honest thing anyone had said all day. Alessia couldn't even argue with it. Things had absolutely gotten out of control.

Her gaze drifted back to the folder. The agreement. The thing everyone kept talking about. The thing that somehow seemed to dictate the future of half the people around her.

"Read it." Alessia looked at him.

"And then what?"

For a moment he simply held her gaze. Just tired.

"The wedding is in four days." The reminder immediately irritated her. Her expression must have shown it because he continued before she could respond.

"I'm not saying you have to like it."

"I'm saying you should know exactly what the agreement says."

His eyes briefly dropped to the folder.

"What your obligations are. What Damien's obligations are. What the arrangement actually involves."

The room fell quiet. Her uncle folded his arms.

"You should've had it from the beginning." A brief silence followed. Then he added,

"So read it." No attempt to sell her on the marriage. Just a practical statement from someone who believed she had a right to know the details, whether she accepted them or not.

A few minutes later, the apartment was quiet again. The silence settled slowly after the door closed behind her aunt and uncle. For a while Alessia remained standing exactly where they'd left her, staring at the entrance as though expecting someone to knock again. Nobody did. The hallway outside remained silent. The elevator doors opened and closed somewhere down the corridor before everything went still.

They were gone. Finally.

The argument replayed itself in her head as she walked back toward the living room. Certain moments lingered longer than others. Her uncle refusing to explain himself. Her aunt repeatedly looking like she wanted to say more than she actually did. Nothing about the last two days sat right with her. The folder remained exactly where her uncle had left it.

Resting in the center of the coffee table. Waiting. It looked surprisingly ordinary considering how much damage it had already done to her life. A dark folder. Several pages, judging by the thickness.

Slowly, Alessia lowered herself onto the couch. For a few seconds she simply sat there looking at it. Days earlier she would have thrown it across the room.

Now she simply read. Page after page. Clause after clause. Most of it was exactly what she expected.

Legal language stretched into endless paragraphs. Conditions. Obligations. Definitions. Entire pages dedicated to explaining concepts that could have been summarized in a single sentence.

Several times she found herself rolling her eyes. Lawyers truly had a talent for turning ten words into ten pages. By the time she reached the middle of the agreement, her neck hurt and her patience had nearly disappeared.

Still, she kept reading.She didn't want to. But she needed to.

Every now and then she came across something she'd already heard about from her uncle. Company obligations. Financial protections. Procedures in the event of a breach.

The deeper she went, the more she realized the document had been designed to account for almost everything.

Arguments. Separations. Financial disputes. Public scandals. Even death. Every possibility seemed to have its own section. Its own clause. Its own carefully prepared response. It was unsettling.

Alessia turned another page. Then another. Her attention was beginning to drift. The legal terminology had started blurring together. She found herself skimming entire paragraphs before forcing herself to go back and read them properly.

Halfway through another section, she reached for her coffee without looking. The mug was empty. She sighed. Wonderful. Exactly what she needed. More paperwork. Less caffeine. Alessia dropped her gaze back to the page.

A bold heading caught her eye.

At first she almost skipped it. Then she frowned. Slowly, she sat up straighter. Her eyes moved back to the top of the section. Reading it again.

The heading hadn't changed. Neither had the words beneath it. Then she flipped back a page. Certain she'd misunderstood. She hadn't.

The agreement required both parties to establish permanent residence in the same household for the duration of the marriage. Her stomach dropped.

Slowly, very slowly, she lowered the document into her lap. Nowhere in the last two days had anyone mentioned that. And judging from the wording, there was absolutely no room for negotiation.

Alessia stared at the clause. Then at the page number. Then back at the clause again.

A sharp knock suddenly echoed through her apartment.

The sound made her jump. Her head snapped toward the door. Another knock followed immediately after. Much firmer this time.

Alessia frowned.

It was nearly five o'clock. Her uncle couldn't have turned back, that's impractical. A third knock sounded.

Then a voice. Deep. Male. Unfamiliar.

"Miss Moretti."

Alessia froze.

The voice continued.

"Mr. Alvan sent us."