In love with my step dad

Chapter 7

The morning sunlight slipped through the tall windows of the mansion, painting everything gold the marble floors, the flowers arranged by the staff, the silk curtains that fluttered gently with the sea breeze. The whole house seemed to hum with quiet excitement, the kind that precedes something grand.

Aria lay awake long before the world stirred. Her mother’s words from yesterday replayed over and over, soft yet weighted.

“Dante and I are getting married.”

She’d smiled then, clapping her hands, leaning forward with feigned joy. She even teased Millia about finally finding someone who could keep up with her, someone who could “handle her fire.” But beneath her laughter had been something sharp a tiny tear forming in the fabric of her composure.

Now, as she sat up in bed, Aria wondered how she had managed to sound so happy. Her chest felt tight, her thoughts looping back to Dante’s eyes the night before that quiet intensity when she had found him outside. The memory was both thrilling and unsettling.

She exhaled, rubbing her temples. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered to herself. “You should be celebrating, not…”

Not what?

Jealous? No. That wasn’t her. She wasn’t the kind of girl who envied her mother’s happiness. She’d set this whole thing in motion, hadn’t she? She was the one who’d pushed Dante and Millia together, convinced herself it was the right thing.

Then why did it feel like she’d handed something precious away?

A knock came at her door. “Miss Aria,” a maid’s voice floated in, “your mother requests your presence for breakfast.”

Aria rose, slipped into a cream sundress that hugged her waist and flared at her knees, and brushed through her golden brown hair until it fell in soft waves over her shoulders. She dabbed a hint of gloss on her lips, forced a bright expression, and descended the grand staircase.

Millia was already seated in the glass walled breakfast room, elegant as ever in a lilac blouse and white trousers, her phone beside a plate of fruit. She looked up with that radiant, knowing smile that always made Aria feel both loved and slightly seen through.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” Millia said. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” Aria lied easily, sitting opposite her.

“Good. The planner will arrive in an hour. We need to finalize some designs for the ceremony.”

Aria reached for her orange juice, swirling it in thought. “The wedding dress or the entire setup?”

“Both.” Millia’s eyes glowed with that familiar business brilliance. “I’m thinking something in the garden. Simple, elegant. Not too grand, but”

“still unforgettable,” Aria finished with a small grin.

Millia chuckled. “You know me too well.”

Aria smiled back, her expression bright, effortless. But her mind drifted.

She could feel Dante’s presence somewhere in the house, like gravity unseen but impossible to ignore. She wondered if he’d had breakfast already, if he’d glance her way the same way he had last night, that quiet, dangerous softness in his eyes.

When she and Millia finished breakfast, Aria excused herself under the pretense of helping the decorators. Instead, she found herself wandering into the gardens.

The air outside was warm and thick with the scent of roses. The fountains glimmered under the late morning sun, and butterflies fluttered lazily between the hedges. She sank onto the white stone bench near the koi pond, absently tracing patterns on the edge of her skirt.

That’s when she heard footsteps firm, measured.

She didn’t have to look up to know.

“Skipping meetings already?” Dante’s voice held that quiet amusement she’d come to recognize.

Aria glanced up, shielding her eyes from the sun. He stood a few feet away, casual as always, in a black shirt rolled at the sleeves and dark slacks. Nothing about him screamed “mafia boss” yet everything about him commanded.

She gave him a playful smile. “I could ask you the same, soon to be husband.”

Dante’s brow arched slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “So, you’ve heard.”

“Oh, I did more than hear,” she said, rising to her feet. “I practically planned the wedding colors in my sleep.”

He studied her face the way her eyes sparkled with mischief, but didn’t quite reach the depths behind them. “You sound thrilled.”

“I am,” she said quickly. Too quickly. “You and my mom deserve happiness.” She paused, tilting her head. “Besides, she hasn’t stopped smiling since you came along. That’s rare, you know.”

Dante crossed his arms, watching her. “And what about you, Aria?”

“What about me?” she said lightly.

“Are you happy with it?”

She laughed soft, airy. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

But her hands betrayed her; they fidgeted with the hem of her dress, fingers brushing over the fabric as though she could smooth away her unease.

For a moment, neither spoke. The breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the scent of jasmine from the distant sea. Dante looked at her, really looked at the sunlight catching strands of her hair, the warmth in her voice she tried so hard to disguise.

“You have a terrible poker face,” he said quietly.

Aria’s smile faltered, then returned, softer. “Maybe I’m just bad at pretending around you.”

Their eyes met and time thinned.

The world around them blurred, just the two of them suspended in something unspoken.

Then her voice came again, light but trembling. “Do you love her?”

Dante’s expression didn’t shift. “Your mother is remarkable.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He held her gaze, steady and unreadable. “Love isn’t part of the deal.”

Something flickered in her eyes surprise, hurt, but she masked it quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “So it’s a deal then,” she murmured. “Just business.”

“Everything in my life is,” he replied, his tone low, final.

She took a small step closer, eyes glinting. “And me? What am I to you ?”

The words lingered in the air, heavier than either intended.

Dante exhaled slowly, forcing a small, guarded smile. “You’re trouble, Aria.”

Her lips curved. “I’ve been told.”

Before he could reply, a voice floated across the garden smooth, elegant, familiar.

“Dante,” Millia called, approaching from the terrace, her tone warm and unsuspecting.

Aria instantly took a step back, her composure snapping into place like glass hardening. Millia reached them, her expression glowing as she looped her arm through Dante’s.

“There you are,” she said. “The planner’s waiting.”

Aria flashed a bright smile, her voice light and unbothered. “You two look good together.”

Millia’s eyes softened. “You think so?”

“Absolutely.” Aria turned toward Dante, her gaze steady, unreadable. “Take care of her, okay?”

“I intend to,” Dante said quietly.

And as they walked away together, Aria stayed rooted among the roses, her smile fading at last, a single petal drifting to her feet like a secret she could no longer name.