Chapter 6
1376 Words
I’ve learned to read people by what they don’t say.
But Aria she was fluent in disguise.
The day Millia told her about our engagement, the air in the garden smelled like rain heavy, still, waiting to break. I stood by the open doors, close enough to hear the soft clinking of china, far enough to pretend I wasn’t listening.
Millia, poised and graceful as always, reached across the table. “Aria, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Her daughter’s laughter light, musical filled the space. “You sound serious, Mom. Should I be worried?”
Millia smiled faintly. “No, my dear. Just… surprised. Dante and I have decided to get marry.”
The words fell with the quiet finality of truth.
For a heartbeat, Aria froze. It was subtle a blink too long, a hand pausing halfway to her cup then she smiled. Wide. Bright. Convincing enough to fool anyone else.
“Oh,” she said, a light laugh bubbling from her lips. “Well, that’s expected! congratulations!”
Her voice was steady, cheerful. Only her eyes betrayed her the way they flicked briefly toward me through the glass reflection, then away just as fast.
Millia, pleased, reached for her hand. “You’re taking it better than I feared.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Aria said easily, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You deserve happiness, Mom.” She tilted her head with a grin that felt just a little too sharp. “And Dante… well, he’s definitely a catch.”
She said it like a joke. But the way her throat moved as she swallowed told a different story.
Millia laughed, relieved. “Then you approve?”
“Of course,” Aria said, rising from her seat with effortless grace. “I always did have good taste seems you’ve inherited it.”
They both laughed softly, but I saw the flicker of something else behind Aria’s eyes as she turned away something quick, unguarded, and gone before Millia could notice.
That smile of hers it was a shield.
And it worked on everyone but me.
That night, the mansion was quiet, too quiet. The corridors stretched like shadows, long and polished, the moon cutting pale shapes across the marble floors. I couldn’t sleep. My mind kept circling back to her face, that smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
I’d told myself this arrangement was simple. A deal. A clean line drawn for protection for her, even if she never understood it. But I hadn’t expected the line to blur so easily.
The faint sound of soft footsteps broke the silence.
I turned and there she was again. Aria.
She was barefoot, wrapped in a short satin robe the color of champagne. Her hair fell in loose waves down her back, and the faint glow from the moon traced her silhouette like a secret.
“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.
Her tone was casual, almost teasing, as if the afternoon hadn’t changed everything.
I folded my arms. “Neither could you, it seems.”
She walked closer, every step unhurried, confident. “Guess we’re both insomniacs now. Maybe it’s contagious.”
A faint smile tugged at my mouth. “Maybe.”
Her gaze lingered on me assessing, curious. “So,” she said lightly, “should I start calling you Dad now?”
I nearly choked on air. Her grin widened at my expression.
“Relax, I’m kidding,” she said, laughing. “God, you should’ve seen your face.”
“I don’t think that’s funny,” I replied, though my voice lacked conviction.
She leaned against the wall, arms folded, eyes bright. “Oh, I do. You get so serious when you’re uncomfortable. It’s almost… charming.”
I raised a brow. “You enjoy pushing people’s limits, don’t you?”
“Only yours,” she said softly.
It was meant to sound playful but the pause that followed made the air heavier.
She shifted her weight, looking up at me through her lashes. “So, tell me… do you love her?”
I hesitated. “That’s not a question you should be asking.”
“Maybe not,” she murmured. “But I asked anyway.”
There was no judgment in her tone only curiosity, the kind that scraped deeper than she realized.
When I didn’t answer, she smiled again, but this time it faltered at the edges. “It’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I get it. She’s beautiful, smart, powerful. And she loves you.”
She said it too smoothly too perfectly rehearsed.
“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself,” I said.
Her eyes flicked up to mine, and for a moment, the mask slipped. I saw something raw, flickering in the dark a mixture of longing and resentment that shouldn’t have been there.
Then, just as quickly, she laughed it away. “Please. Don’t flatter yourself.”
I took a step closer. “Aria.”
“Hmm?”
“Why are you really here?”
She shrugged, the movement lazy, but her voice softened. “Maybe I just wanted to see the man my mother’s marrying. Up close.”
My pulse ticked in my jaw. “You’ve seen me before.”
“Not like this,” she said quietly.
The silence stretched between us, thick and charged. The scent of her perfume jasmine, honey, something faintly dangerous lingered in the air.
She tilted her head slightly. “You always look so calm,” she whispered. “Like nothing ever touches you. But I wonder…”
“Wonder what?”
“If that’s real.”
I should have stepped back. But instead, I found myself watching the way her lips curved as she spoke, the way her voice lowered when she said my name.
“Dante,” she said softly, the sound of it a whisper that settled somewhere it shouldn’t.
I exhaled slowly. “Go to bed, Aria.”
“You say that a lot,” she teased, pushing off the wall. “You really don’t like being alone with me, do you?”
“It’s not about what I like.”
“Then what is it about?”
I didn’t answer. My silence only seemed to amuse her more.
She stepped closer, her robe brushing against my arm, her eyes holding mine. “You could’ve picked anyone, you know,” she said “why accept my deal”?
“Because she deserves peace,” I said quietly. “And I can give her that.”
Her smile faltered. “And what about you? Do you get peace too?”
I looked down at her, at the way moonlight clung to her skin like it belonged there. “Peace isn’t something I was built for.”
Her expression softened something almost like pity flashing in her eyes. “You talk like a man who’s lived too many lives.”
“Maybe I have.”
We stood there for a moment two people pretending not to notice the storm between them. She was so close I could feel the warmth of her breath, see the faint tremor in her pulse.
Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “I’m happy for you, you know. I really am.”
The words were sweet. But her eyes betrayed her a flicker of sadness beneath the glow.
“I know,” I said.
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Goodnight, Dante.”
And then she brushed past me the light touch of her shoulder against mine enough to leave a mark.
I didn’t move for a long time after she was gone. The scent of her lingered, soft and haunting, mixing with the ache that had already made its home in me.
When I finally returned to my room, I stared at my reflection in the window the face of a man bound by duty, yet tempted by the one thing he couldn’t have.
Aria’s laughter still echoed faintly in the halls.
Her smile that beautiful, deceptive smile was burned into memory.
And beneath it all, I knew the truth I could never say aloud:
She wasn’t happy.
She was pretending.
And maybe, so was I.
- Writer
