My sister’s fiancé wants me

The air inside the arrivals terminal at Toronto Pearson Airport carried a dry Canadian chill—a stark contrast to the warmth Fleury had left behind in Rome. ​She struggled to pull her heavy suitcase while her husband, Leo, chatted on the phone with his usual calm smile, wrapping up a quick call with one of his hospital colleagues. She turned to him once he hung up: — "Could you help me with this? My hands are exhausted!" ​Standing before her, he glanced at her: — "Why didn't you ask one of the airport attendants to fetch a trolley to carry all the luggage?" ​— "Seriously?? Am I the one who's supposed to do that?" ​— "Fleury, my love, didn't you see how caught up I was in calls the moment we landed? What difference does it make whether it's you or me?" ​She sighed in frustration and walked off to signal an airport staff member for assistance with their bags. Upon her return, before she could even speak to him, she found him absorbed in yet another call. ​When they finally got into the car, he remained preoccupied with that lengthy phone discussion—checking on a patient who required post-operative monitoring—while she stared out at the Canadian sky. ​Returning home after months of travel was supposed to mean stability, relaxation, and the family warmth she had longed for. Yet, something in the atmosphere tonight felt poised to turn that peace upside down. ​An hour later, Leo’s car pulled up in front of her family home. The lights were on, and faint laughter filtered through the window overlooking the garden. ​When her mother opened the door, she wrapped Fleury in a tight embrace before Nareen—her twenty-year-old younger sister—rushed over to throw her arms around her. Nareen was radiant with obvious joy, a pair of diamond earrings sparkling with her every movement: — "Finally! I thought Rome was going to steal you from us forever!" Nareen exclaimed, taking Fleury’s hand and pulling her inside while Leo exchanged greetings with her father. ​— "Welcome back, Fleury, Leo..." her mother’s warm voice echoed above the chatter as the dining table groaned under dishes of dinner. ​Fleury stood at the threshold of the living room, taking in the familiar comfort of the space, until Nareen interrupted her thoughts, linking her arm through Fleury’s and guiding her toward the man standing by the fireplace: — "Fleury... I want to introduce you to Cesar." ​Everything in the hallway ground to a halt for Fleury. ​The man standing there was leaning one hand against the wooden mantelpiece of the hearth. He wore a dark suit without the jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up in a practical manner that showcased his powerful build. He didn't wear the typical welcoming smile that a new fiancé usually offers his future sister-in-law. ​Instead, the moment he saw her, he sank into a deep, intense gaze. ​When their eyes locked, an inexplicable shiver ran down Fleury’s spine. Cesar’s gaze was sharp, grey, and so penetrating that the air in the room suddenly felt thin. It wasn't a look of curiosity; it was the look of a man reading something yet unwritten. ​— "Cesar... this is Fleury, my sister whom I told you about, and this is her husband, Dr. Leo," Nareen said proudly, gazing up at her fiancé with clear adoration. ​Cesar took a step forward. His movement was measured, carrying the quiet authority of an executive accustomed to dominating every space around him. ​He extended his hand toward Fleury, speaking in a low, deep voice: — "Welcome home, Mrs. Fleury." ​He spoke her name with a peculiar tone... neither formal nor entirely friendly, but rather as though he had been waiting to see her for a long time. ​Fleury extended her hand to shake his, attempting to maintain her external composure. ​Yet the instant their palms brushed, an unexplainable, warm surge coursed through her body. It was no brief handshake; Cesar didn't squeeze her hand, but he didn't release it immediately either. He prolonged the touch for two extra seconds—long enough for her to feel the subtle roughness of his palm... two seconds that were enough to make Fleury’s heart pound audibly in her ears. ​She slowly pulled her hand back, shooting him a warning, bewildered look. But Cesar didn't back down; he held her eyes with unwavering stillness before turning to Leo, extending his hand for a warm, fully diplomatic handshake: — "Dr. Leo, it is my pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard a great deal about your surgical work in Italy." ​— "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Cesar. Nareen hasn't stopped talking about your companies and the development you're bringing there," Leo replied with his usual easy smile, completely oblivious to the strange spark that had cut through the air just a moment prior. ​At the dinner table, Cesar sat directly opposite Fleury. ​Leo sat beside her, but before he could begin eating, another incoming call forced him to step away, leaving his wife alone once more. Meanwhile, Nareen babbled on about the details of the wedding venue Cesar had selected for her. ​For Fleury, however, another world was spinning above the table. ​Every time she raised her eyes to sip from her glass of water, she found Cesar’s dark eyes tracking her. He barely participated in the conversation, preferring to conduct a private dialogue with her in pure silence. ​Leo finished his call and returned after a few minutes, sitting down and gently patting her thigh in an affectionate gesture: — "Did I keep you waiting, my love?" ​— "Not at all." ​As she answered, Fleury caught Cesar’s silent reaction: he set his glass down on the table with deliberate slowness, his jaw clenching as his eyes fixed intensely on her thigh where Leo's hand rested, before raising his gaze right back to her eyes. ​It was an aggressive look... ​Fleury felt the tension double in her chest. Her breathing grew uneven, and the room suddenly felt far too warm. ​Why is he looking at me like this? I have never seen him before in my life! And he is my younger sister's fiancé! ​She gripped her cloth napkin beneath the table, squeezing it until her knuckles turned white, attempting to ignore his sharp, enigmatic stance.