Chapter 4: meeting the DeLuca’s

I am wearing a emerald green gown that hugged my curves in all the right places. The dress exudes confidence and elegance. The fabric was soft and flowed effortlessly as I walked, and the intricate beading added just the right amount of sparkle. I paired the dress with simple diamond studs and a matching bracelet, letting the dress speak for itself.

My mother chose a more conservative outfit. She wore a classic black pencil skirt and a white blouse with a modest neckline. Elizabeth, on the other hand, wore a tight-fitting red dress that left little to the imagination, with a plunging neckline and a short hemline. Her outfit was daring and provocative, but I knew that was her intention.

As for my father, he wore a tailored black suit with a crisp white shirt and a black tie. He looked sharp and professional, as always. Together, we made our way outside to our black limousine. ”Good evening mr and Mrs Locke, miss Amina, miss Elizabeth” mark our driver greeted us. I nod at him as I enter the car.

Within fourth-five minutes we arrived at the Deluca estate, I am awestruck by the magnitude and beauty of the property. The mansion was massive, towering over the smaller homes that surrounded it. The garden was vast and seemed to go on for miles, with well-manicured lawns and a variety of exotic flowers.

As we walked in, we were greeted by maids dressed in long black and white uniforms with starched white aprons, reminiscent of a bygone era. They led us inside the living room, and I was taken aback by the grandeur of the interior. I couldn't help but feel nervous. The room was vast, with high ceilings that showed off intricate designs. The opulence was almost dizzying, and it made me feel like I was out of place.

There were paintings of great artists that I only ever read about in books, antiques from the different parts of the world, and gorgeous decor every inch of the mansion spoke of luxury and extravagance.

Mrs. Deluca, the matriarch of the family, finally made her grand entrance, with grace and elegance. I couldn't help but be awed by the woman, even though there was an air of formality that was hard to ignore.

On Mrs. DeLuca’s left was a tall, broad-shouldered man who has grey eyes he was introduced as Peter DeLuca, Damien’s father. He was situated at a seat at the far end of the room, overseeing everything that was said. He was stoic and stern and I could tell that he commanded the utmost respect from everyone.

As I observed the room, my eyes finally landed on Damian's mother, who was sitting across from her. Her name was Mary DeLuca, and she had piercing blue eyes that I could feel probing me. There was a certain regalness to her that suggested she had lived a luxurious life. Her hair was silver, but her skin was wrinkle-free, hinting at a penchant for face-lifting surgery.

I felt unnerved by the way Madam DeLuca studied me, as if assessing everything from my looks to my background. As if sensing my discomfort, she finally pulled her gaze away, her lips curling into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

But there was one notable absence Damian. As the conversation moved forward, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with my fiancé's family. However, I pulled myself together, resolved to go ahead with everything, no matter how trying.

The DeLuca’s were a family that made you feel the weight of their wealth, but beside the strong expectations from the situation, I felt uneasy as I was keeping such a massive secret.

The mood in the living room was palpably tense as Madam Margaret DeLuca broke the silence. "Now that we're all here, let's begin," she said, her voice crisp and no-nonsense. "Mr. Locke," she addressed my father, "I believe you talked with your family about the contract?"

My father David crossed his arms, and his face took on a stubborn expression. "Well, Madam DeLuca, I did," he replied, his tone curt.

Madam DeLuca’s eyes flashed. "I need to know what sort of woman my grandson is marrying," she said firmly.

My mother, who had been watching the conversation with a silent expression, finally spoke up. "Mrs. DeLuca, what exactly do you want to know?" she asked in a calm voice.

Madam DeLuca raised an eyebrow. "I want to ensure that my grandson is marrying a respectable woman. Tell me, Amina, what sort of hobbies and interests do you have?" she asked, turning towards me.

I took a deep breath, trying to quell the flutter of nerves in my stomach. "I'm interested in art and literature," I said softly.

Madam DeLuca’s eyes narrowed. "And how do you plan to further your education and career?" she asked.

"I plan to continue my studies in Fine Arts after marriage," I replied, defiant and unyielding, looking into those intimidating blue eyes of Madam DeLuca’s.

I couldn't help but notice the smug expression on Liz's face, and the mix of disgust and irritation that was on mother's. Her father, however, appeared calm yet firm in what he wanted.

Throughout the conversation, the tension was thick in the air. Each person present was trying to uphold their family's honor, while I bore the brunt of it all. With each passing moment, the weight of expectation grew greater.

Madam DeLuca continued with her questions, her tone cutting and harsh. Even though my father tried to placate the old woman, the damage was done. My honest, albeit innocent, replies were tearing the family's reputation apart piece by piece.

Liz's expression was one of triumph as she saw how I was being grilled and interrogated, while Mom struggled to keep her smile at bay. In contrast, my dad sat with a look of weariness like one who was all too familiar with the pain of being judged.

I held my head up and kept answering to the best of my ability, but I felt the weight of Madam Deluca's probing questions bearing down on me.I didn't know how much more I could take, or how much longer the marriage arrangement would continue.

As the conversation went on, I couldn't help but feel a little sick to my stomach. The unease grew until it was too much to handle, and I excused myself to go to the bathroom. I walked down the long hall towards the bathroom but couldn't help notice the family portraits hung on the walls.

There were a lot of pictures of Benjamin DeLuca, who passed away some years back,and his wife Margaret, there were some with Mary and Peter DeLuca and a male child around twelve years old, who has grey eyes and dark black hair he was quite handsome, there was no doubt in my mind that the boy in the picture was Damian. Walking further down the hall I realized that there were no more pictures with him, Was he cut off from the family, or were they hiding something?

The possibility of Damian's darker nature arose in me and the weight of my dilemma became heavier than ever, It was difficult enough as it was to marry someone upon which you placed so much doubt, but the confusion over pictures raised alarms.

If Damian was or had done anything that would raise more alarms, that would affect the bigger picture of the marriage more than it already was. With a heavy heart, I excused myself to head back to the living room, and back into the unease of the marriage repartee.